The Student of Sun and Shadow

Chapters

Prerequisites - Doubts and Royalty
Prerequisites - Shadows and Thoughts
Introductions - The Ruler of Obsidian
Introductions - The Silent Cinder
Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 1
Prerequisites - Light and Ice
Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 2

Prerequisites - Doubts and Royalty

Twilight sits in her bedroom chamber at the top of Canterlot Palace's third highest spire. All is dark, save for the silver light of the moon that streams through her window and the crystal lamp that glows with a pale blue fluorescence. The lamp itself is a gift from Princess Cadence. Its base is a heart of aquamarine and the light's source a six-pointed star cut from pink quartz. The lamp is enchanted, as Cadence described in her letter, with her magic and would glow with the light in Twilight's heart. As Twilight understands, it is like a mood-bracelet, but one that she could read by at night.

Before her is a rather elegant vanity mirror. It was a coronation gift from the Pegasus Princess Emira Cloudia: The Heart of Coltstantinople. While Twilight had received many a coronation gift from various royalty loyal to Equestria—original copies of fables and tales from The Lady Song and Prince Knight Light of Canterbury, among her favorite—Cloudia’s is by far the most exquisite, and excessive.

The mirror is as much a reflection of the Princess Cloudia's eccentric tastes as it is of the marvels of her empire's craftponyship. The table upon which the mirror stands, and the frame and backing in which it is mounted, bear the ornate signature of Coltstantinople woodworking. Little space is left between the intricate flowing symbols and iconic images of flora and fauna: a two-headed pegasus—an ancient emblem for the empire—peacocks with curled tails and pavonine feathers blooming into floral designs, and grapevines that neither tremble nor sway.

The wood itself is of equal quality—Amaranth: a hardwood, extremely dense, naturally resistant to water and rot, and more commonly called Purpleheart. Beneath the smooth lacquer finish, the wavy grains and thick growth rings are a testament to Coltstaninople’s lush coastal climate. It is called Purpleheart because, once cut, its light brown wood reacts with the air and becomes a rich aubergine.

The mirror too bears the pegasus’ mark. The frosted edges of the float glass were embroidered pink, to both match Twilight's cutie mark, and to give each reflection a rose-tint. The mirror’s silver backing is whiter and more lustrous than it should be were it made of silver. Having scanned the mirror for enchantments, and finding none, Twilight concluded that the mirror was, in fact, backed with platinum. Which, if true, was an absurd expense that clashed with Twilight's more pragmatic and utilitarian mindset. Yet allied itself so perfectly with Cloudia’s.

Yet now, in the dark of the night, the pale light leeches the color from Twilight as she stares at herself in her mirror. The room’s various furnishings, with their vibrant colors and elaborate designs—dressers, bookshelves, a writing desk, a sitting table, all courtesy of Cloudia—are reduced to their most basic geometries. Above her, the height of the room disappears into darkness.

This has been her bedroom in the past, when she was simply Celestia’s protégé. Now it is her bedroom once again, but as Equestria’s newest princess. After almost three years, she is back in Canterlot.

She has returned home.

Twilight had spent this day, as well as several previous days, learning about her duties as a princess. Being educated in the ways of royalty, Luna would joke. Initially, the lectures in Equestrian Law, Foreign Affairs, Trade Regulations—even the ones in Politics and Tax Reforms—were interesting and rather enjoyable. Her enthusiasm making it more so. Twilight might be a princess now, but she’d never lose her love of learning. Or so she had thought.

Now, she found herself spacing out during lectures, and meetings, looking onwards with glassy eyes and disinterest—her mind elsewhere. It had been two months since her coronation as Princess, and its glamour had tarnished.

She has returned home to Canterlot. But it is not her home. Not anymore. If home is where the heart is, then it certainly isn’t here. Her heart hasn't come with her; it has stayed behind, in Ponyville.

Spike had also stayed behind in Ponyville, on Twilight’s request, to take care of the library until a new librarian could be found. He and her friends come to visit as often as they can, but their visits are too few and far between, and this leaves her in want.

She is no stranger to solitude. She had spent so many nights, and so many days, in this very room, alone. For her life as Celestia’s most faithful student, this had been a requirement, even if self-imposed. Her studies had been the most important thing to her. They were what gave her purpose. All else was secondary. The solitude never bothered Twilight then. It had been peaceful, even comfortable. In this high spire, its personal library: her Ivory Tower.

But then she made friends.

Now, studying didn't seem as important anymore, and solitude no longer brought her peace. Twilight had changed; her time in Ponyville had changed her, having friends had changed her.

She just hadn't realized how much.

Now, as Twilight stares at herself in the gilded mirror, she is staring at a stranger. Twilight looks into the eyes of a mare with violet eyes much like her own, yet these eyes do not sparkle. Twilight’s crystal lamp used to glow soft pink, the purple wood and her lavender coat vibrant in its light.

Now, the mare’s coat is gray in the pale lamplight, drained of its color. The color that Twilight associates with joy and vitality is replaced with one more solemn—the mirror’s playful metaphor falling flat. It stands in stark contrast to the mare’s extravagant attire: a hot-pink dress adorned with gold embroidery that the bleaching light can not diminish and a diadem inlaid with a star-shaped tourmaline—the Element of Magic—that mirrors the dress’ color. Then there are her wings tucked to her side, appendages that look unnatural in her eyes and feel awkward on her back.

It is strange, not recognizing your own reflection.

In Twilight’s mind, she is still the lavender unicorn, diligent in her studies, with dreams of becoming one amongst the greatest mages of Equestria, like the fabled Starswirl.

In her mind, she is not a Princess.

That is her title, yes, a title she knows she has earned. It is just that it has yet to stick.

Princess Twilight Sparkle.

The name feels foreign. Not unlike the first time she had been addressed as Miss Sparkle. Being called Miss made her think of her mother: an older, wiser mare that knew how to take care of herself, and how to take care of others. Being called Miss didn't feel right. Yet, unlike this more mundane title, Princess carries a far greater weight. She is expected to not only to act more mature, but to be a leader. She is expected to be like Luna and Cadence, or like Celestia.

It is a unwelcome weight upon her shoulders. Made all the heavier by her desire for her friends to be by her side.

Solitude may not be a stranger, but it is no friend. Now that she is alone, Twilight feels neither peace nor comfort. What she feels is a quiet sensation, one that is not in her head but in her chest, gnawing at her and leaving a void. An emptiness that shows in the eyes of the mare in the mirror—longing eyes that speak a quiet sadness.

Loneliness whispers in the softest of voices, deafening in the silence of solitude. In its light, Purpleheart looks very much like ebony.

Twilight has begun to miss being Celestia’s student. Being just a student. Things had been so clear, so simple. It was her duty to learn, not lead; to follow and to be guided by Celestia. It was not that Twilight lacked aspiration, it was because she had had a clear purpose. She knew her goals and knew what she wanted. For that, she was content.

But Twilight is a student no more—gone are the days of the studious little unicorn. Now she has earned her wings and has been given a much greater responsibility, greater purpose, than she could have ever imagined. Being an Archmage, a High Magister, a researcher in the Canterlot Laboratories, a Professor at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, or even just a simple librarian in the Canterlot Archives or libraries elsewhere—she could have imagined—but not a princess. It was something she was not ready to imagine. Nor ready to be.

Could she do it? Could she really become the princess the Celestia hoped her to be? Twilight knows she can. Though doubts may chip at the foundation of her confidence with a well-forged pick, she is certain she is qualified and more than capable; and her heart falls at the thought. Her head and wings hang low. The question she should truly ask herself: did she even want to be a princess?

Lavender wings, lavender coat, a gold crown, a pink dress, Purpleheart, purple furniture. Purple, purple. Purple is the color of royalty, and has been since ancient times. Purple dye was once made from the washed up shells of sea-snails, and the process of making them into dye was once long, tedious, and expensive. Making it a color only in the reach of the ruling and the wealthy.

In ancient times, the Ponycians, the famed “purple ponies”, were among the greatest traders of their time, excelling in shipbuilding and monopolizing in the manufacture of the precious purple dye. It is said the the Ponycians would color the sails of their flagships purple to intimidate pirates in times of peace, and enemies in times of war—quailing at the sight of such grandeur. Today, what remains of Ponycia is part of the Coltstantinople Empire.

Cloudia finished her little history lesson to Twilight by commenting on how her own flagship, The Needle, also bore the traditional sails, and on how she always thought the color was more lavender, than purple. Eyeing Twilight and smiling wily as she turned to leave, her golden mane flowing like rivers of sunlight around wings of vibrant peach and toga of perfect white silk, Cloudia added, “One would think you were destined, with colors such as yours.”

Twilight, still unfamiliar with the games nobles played, at first mistook Princess Cloudia’s gifts as an attempt to gain her favor—as several nobleponies had done before. Only now does she realize that Cloudia’s gifts are more akin to the empurpled sails of the Ponycians: to leave Twilight overwhelmed—quailing at the sight of such grandeur. Pearls so beautiful that they made you feel like swine.

Cloudia came to Canterlot under the pretense of diplomatic interests and wanting to verify that her gifts to Twilight had arrived intact. In truth, she was curious about Princess Twilight and wanted to meet her. Wanted to see her. In her piercing sapphire eyes, Twilight saw curiosity—the kind of curiosity that makes a snake look into a bird’s nest. In Cloudia’s eyes, Twilight was transparent, and she was able to voice the thoughts that Twilight did not yet realize, and that now plague her.

Was this her destiny, to become a princess? Was this something beyond her control? Could she not deny what she was becoming? At some point would she have to accept her fate?

If only her friends could be with her now, maybe then she could accept her role as a princess. It is certain her friends would support her. But now that she is royalty, would things between them remain the same? With a sinking feeling, she knows they won’t. Even now, Twilight is aware of the distance growing between her and her friends—the physical distance of being in Canterlot dwarfing in comparison to the distance created by her newly acquired authority. She intimidates them, just as Cloudia intimidated her, and there is nothing she can do about it.

Why did things have to change? Why does it feel like she has no control over anything going on around her? Why does being a Princess have to feel so lonely?

The sigh that escapes her lips is warped into a growl by her frustration. But it lacks energy and sounds hopeless and hollow. In the quiet of the late night hours it sounds loud but quickly fades into silence. Nopony would know a sound was ever made. Only the light of the moon and the shadows cast about are there to listen.

The moon is indifferent, but the shadows take heed.

Prerequisites - Shadows and Thoughts

Before the gates of Tartarus do the condemned await their final judgement. But Sombra, King Sombra, will not be found among them. For he is neither condemned, nor dead. Merely… lost.

Adrift.

He has stared into the abyss so long that it holds no influence over him. Look into your greatest fear, never turning away, and you will overcome its power.

He is a shadow amongst a vast sea of shadows. Only thoughts distinguish it from the darkness it calls home. A shadow without power, without purpose.

A shadow without restriction, it would seem.

Sombra may have returned to the shadows once more, but this time no prison binds him. He is free, free in every sense of the word.

He has no walls to stop him, and no body to limit him. He is a shadow, and wherever the shadows exist, so too, could he. Whether the shadow be in some dark corner where the light does not shine, or in the dark corners of one’s mind.

Thus, in his freedom, he chooses to do the only thing he cares to do. Satisfy his curiosity.

He is curious about his defeat. Curious about the one who defeated him.

Yes, it was that little purple drake that returned the Crystal Heart and the combined efforts of the entire Empire that ultimately ended him, but it was made possible by the hooves of one—a single unicorn mare.

He wants to know how she bested him, to know what else she is capable of, and to know why Celestia chose this mare as her personal protégé.

Celestia…

Her name rekindles the emotions once stripped from Sombra.

Celestia thought she chose mercy by imprisoning me, thought she would find peace by forgetting me.

So Celestia had sent her personal protégé to stop him in her stead. How arrogant of her. Or perhaps, he muses, even after a thousand years, Celestia still had not overcome her fear of him.

Then there was the mare—Twilight Sparkle. Celestia had had enough faith in Twilight to send her to face him. What had Celestia seen in this mare to warrant such trust?

With time he finds his answer, and he is not disappointed.

Twilight was no ordinary unicorn. She was clever, intelligent, and immensely powerful. Sombra finds that he cannot hate her. No, if anything, he feels admiration for her. She has not only proven herself to be a worthy opponent, but an impressive one. Further, both she and her friends were bearers of the Elements of Harmony, and Twilight, Bearer of Magic, bore the most powerful of these Elements. These weapons of the gods.

The Elements have found bearers that wield them to a far greater capacity than the Two Sisters, and yet, they were not wielded against me. What more does Celestia fear to lose that she has not more than once already?

A thought occurs to Sombra.

Twilight had so easily beaten his enchantments. True, her special talent was magic—all kinds of magic—but to see through his enchantments with such ease would have required her to understand his magic.

Sombra knows for certain that Twilight did not learn this from Celestia. Twilight had a special talent indeed. A dark talent.

What a shame it would be to see it go to waste.

Sombra would see that this talent is developed, but how? There is a limit to what he can do in the state he is in. He could reveal himself, leaving the safety of the shadows, but that would put him at risk, and he is already vulnerable. However, if she were made susceptible, were shadows to form in her mind, then he could have an audience with her, and her alone.

So he waits.

On multiple occasions he almost had the chance he was looking for. But to his annoyance, what shadows that could have formed were always dissipated by a light, a light called Friendship. Whenever Twilight was faced with a trial that could have overwhelmed her—banishing a horde of pink clones, dueling with a unicorn possessing a cursed power, or coping with petty life crises—her friends were always there to aid her. Whether this so called Friendship was some optimistic ideal, or a possible manifestation of The Elements’ power, it was certainly a powerful source of influence—it had been able to tame Discord himself, after all. It seemed that Friendship protected Twilight from Sombra in much the same way Love protected the Crystal Empire.

How curious.

Sombra lacks the impatience necessary to become discouraged. He has all the time he needs, and he does not need much. He is soon given the opportunity he desires.

Twilight Sparkle’s Coronation.

Twilight's ascension to the Alicorn race and her subsequent crowning as the newest Princess of Equestria, provided Sombra with all he needed to know about Twilight’s power and gave him the one thing he needed to get to her: complacency.

Sombra merely watched as Twilight, now Princess Twilight, adapted to her new role and responsibilities. Her performance was remarkable, no surprise, but Sombra is confident his chance will soon come. He is confident because a mistake has been made, not by Twilight, but by Celestia.

By bringing Princess Twilight to Canterlot Palace, Celestia had taken her away from her friends, and when Princess Twilight inevitably became overwhelmed by her new responsibilities, there would be no Friendship to stave off the shadows this time. The great irony of it was that the absence of her friends was what ultimately incurred the shadows.

There is nothing that makes one more vulnerable than loneliness, and after two months, Twilight is left defenseless.

Introductions - The Ruler of Obsidian

Darkness blocks out the moonlight that streams through Twilight’s chamber windows. Save for herself and her mirror, all is consumed by shadows—the pale lamplight a glowing island in a sea of blackness.

Yet she pays it no mind.

Her eyes are fixed on her reflection, and her thoughts are elsewhere. She has followed them back to Ponyville, back to her friends. She wonders what they are doing now: Applejack would undoubtedly be asleep, tired from a day’s hard work; Fluttershy would be cuddled up with her angel bunny, the little rabbit stealing most of the covers; Pinkie Pie might occasionally be up to check on the Cake Children, Pound and Pumpkin; Rarity would probably still be up at this late hour laboring away at one of her numerous orders; and as for Rainbow Dash, that mare sleeps more than any pony Twilight knows, so her bits are on asleep.

A sound pulls her from her thoughts.

A night breeze ruffling the curtains, perhaps. Has she forgotten to shut the windows? Maybe it’s the voices of the palace staff, if their voices could carry all the way up to her room. It sounded close, like a whisper.

A whisper calling her name

Twilight turns to look around at her chamber and sees nothing before her. When did it become so dark? Even if her eyes haven’t adjusted from the lamplight, there should be enough moonlight to see by. Curious, she takes several steps forward—ten to be precise, it is ten steps from her mirror to her bed—and sticks her hoof out to touch where she knows the bed’s frame to be. Or where it should be. But as she stretches her hoof to her leg’s full extent and sweeps it side-to-side, no contact is made.

Even more odd, Twilight notices that though she can see nothing in the darkness, she can still see her hoof. Its lavender fur and ornate golden horseshoe are still illuminated by the pale lamplight. Turning back to the vanity mirror and crystal lamp, Twilight sees that they too have vanished.

No light to see by, yet she can still see herself. How is that possible?

Her surprise subsides as she quickly recognizes the situation. It is an illusion. One that is both visual and tactile. That would explain what she is seeing, and why she couldn’t find her bed. In fact, she is probably still sitting by her mirror.

But this presents another question: who cast the illusion? Whoever it was has to be nearby. Regardless, the first thing she should do is to free herself from the illusion. Illusions could be tricky to deal with if you aren't aware of being influenced by one—the best illusions usually being the most subtle. But this one is far from subtle.

Twilight's horn begins to glow pink as she forms the proper counterspell—Marelin’s Truthful Unveiling. As she casts it, an aura of prismatic light expands around her like a balloon, spreading in all directions until it fades away. It takes a moment for her eyes to readjust, but once they do, Twilight had every expectation to see her chamber back to normal. But as she looks around to try and make out any discernible object, there are none to be found.

Okay, so maybe she misjudged this illusion.

Her ears perk up as the silence is broken again. This time by a more distinct, repetitive sound. Like a series of stifled coughs, or perhaps… a chuckle.

Somepony is laughing at her.

“You are right not to trust your eyes, but you are mistaken if you think this to be a mere illusion.”

The words, though spoken softly, have a weight to them. The voice is deep and comes from all directions.

“Who are you?” Twilight turns in a circle as she calls out, looking for the source of the voice. “Show yourself.” It is more a request than a command.

“I have waited some time to finally meet you face to face.” The voice comes from one direction now. Twilight spins around to see a figure, a stallion, emerge from the darkness. “Twilight Sparkle.”

The words are spoken with the delicacy and precision of a nail held before the hammer’s strike.

Twilight is slow to respond—her voice has caught in her throat, shock subduing her. Then recognition sinks in and shock gives way to disbelief. She knows what she’s seeing isn’t possible. But there is no mistaking him: a dark gray coat, wrought iron armor and crown, a regal cape of crimson, a red blade-like horn, a jet-black mane flowing out to merge with the surrounding darkness, and red slitted eyes with poison green sclera and flowing purple miasma.

Her chest tightens as she speaks, her voice coming out in a gasp.

“S-Sombra?”

He laughs. Sombra’s teeth are white and pointed.

This is impossible. She had seen him destroyed by the Crystal Empire’s protective barrier. She had seen him engulfed in the light of the Empire's magic, and his being shatter like glass.

“How?” She begins, then masters herself. If he could survive a thousand years banished in the ice, then he could survive the Empire’s Light—he had been underestimated. Now is not the time to act like a surprised little filly. She is a princess, like it or not, and it is time to act like one.

Twilight stands up straight, in what she hopes is a regal composure, and speaks with as much authority as she can muster, “Why are you here?”

“Is it not clear?” Sombra circles around her as he speaks—a puff of air as he passes. “I seek an audience with you, Twilight Sparkle.” He turns to face her. His eyes have taken on a more natural complexion—as a polite gesture. They are just maroon now, and they reflect light redly in tiny points.

Twilight feels the hair stand up on the nape of her neck.

“An audience? For what reason? And that’s Princess Twilight Sparkle to you.” She flares her wings as she speaks. Rainbow Dash would have done this to make herself seem larger, and more opposing, but Twilight did this instinctively to put a physical boundary between her and Sombra. He was moving too close to her.

“Ah.” He looks away. “My apologies, Princess. It seems that I missed your coronation.” He then continues to circle around her. “I am pleased to see that you have embraced your title at last…” He pauses. “Even if it is unbefitting of your stature.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she speaks, pulling a wing and hoof away as Sombra passes, the side of her mouth pulling back in a look of disgust.

“I meant no offense, of course. It is just that I find it a great shame that a mare such as yourself hesitates at her chance for greatness, choosing instead to remain in her mentor’s shadow. You think that you are undeserving of your title as Princess, when in reality you are deserving of far greater.”

“And why’s that?”

“Do you think it was by Celestia’s power that you ascended? No, it was by your power and yours alone. By granting you the title of Princess, Celestia has attempted to limit your potential.” He is in front of her again and turns to face her.

“Your potential to be a Queen.” As he speaks he holds up his hoof, and in a spurt of dark fire a slender circlet appears, held aloft in the flame. It is made of a violet obsidian, inlaid with amethyst, and a star-shaped rubellite as the centerpiece. When worn, it would rest around her horn in much the same way as Sombra’s spiked crown, but instead of spikes, the circlet is adorned with small, silver, feather-like blades that would curve around her head like a wreath: wings of the Vyatkyrie.

Elegant—that is how Twilight would describe it. By comparison, it makes her own diadem seem… gaudy. Though it lacks the extravagant design that Rarity is so fond of, Twilight is certain that she too would be pressed to find fault in it. Not that the same can be said for its creator.

Twilight doesn’t respond. Her thoughts have become fixated on the thin crown and on what Sombra implied by it.

“You asked why I have presented myself before you.” Sombra’s voice fills in the silence. “It is because you have earned my respect. Back in the Crystal Empire, when I first sensed that somepony had uncovered the way into my vault and then continued to thwart my enchantments, I had expected it to be Celestia or her moon-stricken sister. Imagine my surprise to discover that it had been a mere unicorn mare… Or so I had thought.”

He brings the circlet, embraced in flames, in front of him—its light dancing in his eyes like fireflies, behind them, endless night.

“In my castle, you showed a talent for dark magic that was nothing short of exceptional. A talent that Celestia, your mentor, has made no attempt to develop. The dark magic you used to open my vault, you learned from Celestia, but she did not teach it to you, did she?”

No, Twilight reflects, she didn't really. Yes, Celestia demonstrated dark magic to her. Demonstrated it in order to impress upon her the importance of stopping Sombra from reconquering the Crystal Empire. But no, Celestia didn't actually teach her how to use the dark magic. Twilight simply was able to figure out how to use it. Through the use of logic. Through experimentation.

Through intuition.

“Just think,” Sombra spoke as if in accord with her thoughts. “Think about how far you have come, how much you have achieved, and realize that you accomplished all of it with not even half of your true potential.”

Twilight shivers at the thought and wonders if there is any truth to it.

“Celestia wishes to keep you in the light. Her influence has blinded you from your true nature. Even now, you dress in the colors of dawn, when it is the colors of dusk that suit you best… See for yourself.” At that, dark flames leap up from beneath Twilight’s hooves. She yelps in surprise as the flames engulf her. Though she feels no heat, she can feel the flames clinging to her and solidifying into some sort of mass around her body.

When the flames subside, she finds herself surrounded by crystalline spires, each of their wide facets bearing her reflection.

Twilight’s attire has changed. Along with the circlet Sombra presented, she now wears a torc made out of the same violet obsidian. It rests around her neck and drapes across her barrel, serving as both regalia and barding. Her horseshoes, made of the same dark material, extend past her hooves and cover the cannon of each leg so that, like the torc, they serve as exquisite protection. In place of her extravagant pink and gold dress is a simpler one of silver and purple, made of an impossibly light fabric that ends just below her knees instead of dragging across the floor. The flank of the dress bears a stellate array that she recognizes as the constellation of Caspianiopeia. The design is as ornate as it is accurate—Twilight is sorry to note that this pleases her. Her previous attire was merely for appearances, whereas this attire is also meant to be functional. Under normal circumstances this would appeal to her, but these aren't normal circumstances.

Twilight looks into each of the crystalline facets, her reflections looking back at her, each bearing the colors of dusk, and each bearing a different expression. In one of these, a Twilight stands erect, with her head held high, her composure regal. Her face and demeanor speak wisdom and confidence.

“Do you know why you were able to defeat me, Princess?”

In another reflection sits a Twilight staring off into the distance with a serene expression, a slight smile, with an air of grace and mystique.

“I was not the one who defeated you. It was Spike, Cadence, and the Crystal Ponies.”

A Twilight with wings flared and horn aglow, in her eyes is fury, her image stands dignified and intimidating, and her maleficent stare bears down on the real Twilight.

“The Crystal Ponies had no more a hoof in my defeat than that little drake or their lovely princess. Nor did they more than a thousand years ago. It was you how found the Crystal Heart, was it not?”

Twilight turns and finds herself staring into her own vanity mirror, at her unadulterated reflection. She sees herself, her eyes wide and fearful, her wings ruffled and shaking slightly, and her mouth held agape. Her reflection stands in stark contrast to the others surrounding her—a diminished image of herself.

“What is the point of this, Sombra?” Anger is evident in her voice now, where before had only been anxiety.

“To show you what you how you are now and what you could be.” The voice comes from behind the crystals. Occasionally, Twilight could see King Sombra’s silhouette through the gaps in the spires. But, like the shark stalking its prey from the shadowy depths, Sombra circles around her crystalline enclosure largely unseen.

“And what makes you think this is what I want to be?” Hostility punctuates her sentence.

“I see in you great admiration for the other princesses. There is an innocence in admiration. It is found in those for whom it has yet occurred, that they too might one day be admired. Yet, so too is there foalishness. You have let yourself become blinded by Celestia’s light, and you choose to follow in her hoofsteps. But you reward your teacher poorly by always remaining her disciple.”
There is a pause. Then—

“You do not intend to stay in Celestia’s shadow forever.” It is a statement, not a question.

“So you propose I swap one shadow for another, is that it?” She tries to look for Sombra between the gaps in the spires, but keeps finding herself staring at her reflections.

“No, not a shadow, Princess. What I offer is the chance to learn magic that not even Celestia could hope to control, let alone understand. What you possess is the potential to be greater than Celestia ever could. A potential I would help you realize. With my help, you could obtain a level of power that few have ever possessed.”

Is it the tone in his voice, or the way he holds himself? Maybe it is his insinuation about Celestia, about herself, and what she desires. Or, perhaps it is how her reflections make her feel inadequate. Regardless, she finds that she no longer has the patience to listen to Sombra.

“You mean the same power you tried to take over the Crystal Empire with?" At first she speaks coldly and then with fire, "The power that was so easily defeated by the light and love of the Crystal Ponies? Ha! You speak of power, but that’s not power! Just look at you now! Twice you’ve tried to take over the Crystal Empire with this power! And twice you have failed! And the final time you were defeated by love. Love! That’s not power!” Twilight’s horn glows briefly, and brightly, then emits a shockwave that shatters the crystalline spires surrounding her—their fragments falling as jagged rain. “And you’re no king! You’re just a mere shadow forced to resort to petty trickery!”

Twilight turns to face Sombra, and she glares at the shadow of a king. Her wings are flared, and her horn glows. She is readying a spell in case she has to defend herself. She still wears the attire Sombra’s magic created. If the reflective facet bearing the maleficent Twilight still stood, one would be hard pressed to find a difference in their visage.

Sombra looks at the crystalline fragments scattered about with disinterest. With a thought, he lets them dissolve back into darkness. He then looks at Twilight; she finds she can’t read his expression.

“Just a mere shadow, you say. One forced to resort to petty trickery…” He turns away.

A palpable silence hangs in the air, broken only by a soft pulsing hum. Twilight thinks it comes from her horn, then she realizes it is the beating of her heart. It sounds in her ears like the hollow drumming of wings.

“Well, Princess.” His voice chills her. “Behold the power of a mere shadow!” He turns suddenly, fixing her with a burning stare, his eyes wide, the poison green glow blazing. Blazing as the purple miasma pours.

Twilight yells and releases the energy she has built up in her horn, forming a protective shield. For a moment everything is tinted pink as she surrounds herself with the telekinetic barrier. Then there is a white flash, the painful shock of magical recoil, and the sound of shattering glass as the barrier is crushed from all sides. Black crystalline spikes close in on Twilight like the teeth of a massive jaw, clamping down on her legs and torso.

With some small relief, the armor of her attire actually serves its purpose, causing most of the jagged edges of the crystals to only crush her instead of also cutting her. But in the areas not protected by the barding, the edges dig into her flesh, with the slightest movement causing excruciating pain. Twilight’s horn glows as she begins to summon magic to free herself, but the act is met with shock from the spikes, black and indigo electricity arcing over her body. The pain alone is enough to disrupt her magic.

A stifled whimper escapes her lips, muffled largely by the fact that she can barely breathe.

“What is wrong, Princess?” Sombra smiles as he approaches Twilight. “Surely you have not been bested. By a mere shadow.” He stands face to face with her, grinning amusedly. After a moment, the smile fades. “Unwilling to acknowledge your potential are we? You are still holding back, Princess. That will not do.”

To her horror, Twilight watches as the crystals continue to advance, growing and expanding with every passing moment. Dendrites sprout and spread over her body, and the pressure exerted by the crystals increases. She realizes that soon she will be completely encased and unable to breathe, or simply crushed to death. Whichever happens first.

Twilight’s horn glows brighter now. No longer is she willing the magic to coalesce; she is seizing it with every ounce of resolve she possesses. When the shock comes this time, she is able to endure the spasms of agony and maintain her spell. She grits her teeth, pushing through the pain and fear attempting to consume her thoughts, and reaches out for exponentially more magic.

For a brief moment she thinks she will succeed.

An agonized scream tears away from her throat as her focus snaps under the crystal’s unrelenting torment, and the magic she has built up rebounds on her. Her head falls forward limply. She has not lost consciousness, but the electrocution and subsequent recoil of her magic leaves her thoughts in shambles. It is several moments before Twilight can regain her senses.

Sombra turns and walks away. “I had hoped that things would have gone differently. You showed such promise, yet you seem so eager to waste it.” Sombra listened as Twilight made another vain attempt to escape—her screams of pain and frustration falling on apathetic ears. This goes on for a time, with Twilight becoming more desperate with every attempt.

Her effort was valiant, thought Sombra, but it is quickly becoming pathetic.

“You should not have disregarded my offer so quickly. There is so much I can help you with, so much I can teach you.”

Another silence. Twilight seems to have given up.

“Do you know why you were able to defeat me, Princess?”

He returns and stands in front of her. There he waits, but not for Twilight to answer. Once he knows he has her attention, he speaks.

“It is because we are more alike than you know.”

“We are nothing alike!” she spat—anger giving her strength in her agony, strength that is short lived. The crystal growth now encases most of her body and is making its way up her wings and neck. Her armor is beginning to give under the pressure, and her breaths are reduced to short, rapid gasps that cannot satisfy the burning in her lungs.

Her vision is fading, the light dying now. Or perhaps it is she.

“You think yourself so different from me, but were you to overcome your pointless reluctance towards dark magic, as you have before, you would find your current predicament to be a trivial task,” Sombra’s horn begins to glow crimson, then boils with green and purple magic, and he extends his head forward, intending to touch Twilight’s horn with his own. “All you need is a little push, and you will remember.”

For all the pain it causes her, Twilight pulls against her jagged restraints. She can feel the menacing energy radiating for Sombra’s horn. She can smell his breath: damp and metallic. All she can see now is the wretched glow of his eyes, their poison green reflecting in her own eyes—eyes wide opened and terrified, with pupils like pinpricks.

NO. NO. NO. STAY AWAY. STAY AWAY.

Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to form any rational thought for all the pain, all the fear, all the anger clouding her mind. She reaches out desperately for her magic, for any magic. Her horn glows, and the crystals crackle around her, their malicious energy buzzing like angry bees. Black and indigo arcs dance across her coat, up her neck, towards her horn. She is drawing them to herself now, not fighting them. Through sheer will, she coalesces their power with her own.

“Stay Away From Me!” she roars. Dark violet coils of energy surge outwards. The fear and anger that consumed her mind is made manifest. Sombra reacts quickly; his body disappears into a shadowy mist that reforms a short distance away. From this new position, he watches Twilight’s magic consume the crystals imprisoning her, cutting off his control of them, rending and absorbing the power they possessed. The black crystals begin to glow with a violent lavender light, shatter, then dissolve.

Sombra’s teeth are white and pointed, and every one of them reflects the lavender light as he grins.

Twilight stands panting through clenched teeth, a familiar green light emanating from her eyes. In her mind, she grapples with her emotions as she had done in the past after using dark magic. But never has she been so fatigued; never has she used so much. Her body trembles as she tries to contain her fear, her disgust, her anger.

“Well, Princess?” comes a mocking voice.

A snarl is her answer.

Before Sombra can react, a burst of malicious energy shoots forth—an undulating mass of dark magic that strikes like a whip across his head and neck. Pain erupts over the right side of his face as he is lifted off his hooves and topples over. For a moment, he does not move.

Twilight's surge of emotions dies down soon after her anger flared, and she is able to think clearly again. Clearly enough to realize what she has done.

With trepidation, she watches Sombra slowly rise to his hooves—rising without a sound. Then, with horror, she sees what she has done to his face.

On the right side, an angry red gash extends from the center of his cheek, across his eye, and up past his brow ending where the crown rests on his forehead—upon which a groove has been cut, a spike now missing.

Sombra hisses at the stinging pain as he attempts to open his eye, or what is left of it. There is no longer a red slitted iris, or glowing green sclera, only an empty socket weeping purple miasma.

Sombra turns to look at Twilight. A sneer has formed across the uninjured side of his face, and he speaks in a cold, mocking laugh.

“Well done, Princess.”

He was all too pleased.

Introductions - The Silent Cinder

You would think a day such as this would tremble to begin.

Sunlight streams through the open windows of Twilight’s chamber—pink hues radiating through a yellow glow. The light is warming to the touch and is accompanied by a cool breeze that smells of morning dew.

There comes a sound, the clip-clop of hooves up the stairs, and the creak of hinges as the door to Twilight's tower opens. Hoof-falls click across the marble tiles of the library, approaching the bedroom door.

There is a pause, and then the door to the room opens soundlessly. A pegasus mare, with a snow-white mane and fur the color of wood-ash, sticks her head in. Spotting the princes, the she notes the Twilight is still asleep. She makes her way across the room, trotting on the rugs when she can, taking care not to wake the sleeping princess. She is laden with a tray of off-white pearl and golden embroidered edges, sitting snug between her wings. On the tray are smaller dishes, with slices of orange cut in perfect sixths, a bowl of oatmeal lightly steaming, toast spread with strawberry jam, and a teapot and cup that match the tray: Twilight’s breakfast.

Cinder Hooves had been assigned as Princess Twilight’s personal attendant shortly after her coronation. An unusual choice, to have a pegasus as an attendant, as the a position is normally more suited for unicorns.

Cinder liked working in Canterlot Palace, with its white marble columns, vast ballrooms, and high gold ceilings—its architecture reminiscent of a more gilded age. Most of all, Cinder liked working in close proximity to the Princesses. Cinder had wanted to be a member of the royal guard, but that turned out to be a disaster—problems with authority. Luckily, being a pegasus, Cinder had access to areas well beyond the reach of an earth pony, so she easily found employment among the cleaning staff.

So then how did she end up as the attendant of Princess Twilight? Simple. She had asked Twilight personally.

Princess Twilight had had one condition: Cinder could not address her as Princess. She had been quite adamant about that. Cinder agreed, and as it was a princess’ right to choose her attendant, she got the position—much to the resentment of the more experienced staff. She would still refer to Twilight as Princess, but only on occasion and never when the young princess was present. Cinder readily embraced her new position with Princess Twilight, and undertook her new duties with great zeal and diligence.

True to her form, as Cinder enters the room, it is no more than fifteen minutes after sunrise.

Cinder’s on a roll, Cinder’s got control. With firm hooves and skillful wings, Cinder crosses the chamber to the sitting table beside the bed where the young princess sleeps and, with just her wings, she guides the tray of food onto the table with only the slightest clink of cutlery as she sets it down.

Such a feat is worthy of recognition, yet went unnoticed by most. Few ponies ever appreciate the difficulty for pegasi to carry a tray of food up the spiral staircase of Canterlot’s third highest spire, or any stairs for that matter. While it was true that Cinder could use her wings to hold the tray as she climbed the stairs, she, like many pegasi, was rather clumsy on her hooves. All too often she would slip on a poorly positioned hoof and lose her precious cargo when she flared her wings for balance. By comparison, dusting was easy as she spent most of her time aloft and off her hooves. But now she spends most of her time with her hooves planted and she quickly learned why unicorns were more suited for her position: magic made everything easier. But she was undeterred—she’d show them. Whoever they were.

Within the first week, she mastered the art of carrying trays of assorted food up vast spiral staircases. Now she could even ascend all 157 steps to Princess Twilight’s tower at a brisk canter—211 if you included the steps between the tower and the royal kitchens.
Twilight told her this—Twilight liked how all the steps in Canterlot Palace could be grouped into prime numbers. Cinder just liked that the princess had taken notice.

Cinder turns to look at the sleeping princess—Twilight laying curled, catlike, in the center of her bed, atop the covers. It was common for the princess to sleep like this. Often she would arrive to bed after a taxing evening attending to her duties, or a late night of reading, so tired that she wouldn’t bother herself with the blankets, just fall across the bed and sleep how she lay. It was nights like these that Cinder would slip in quietly, and tuck her in. But last night she hadn’t the opportunity. Twilight had stayed up far later than usual. Nor had she remembered to take off her dress before getting into bed this time. Must have been something important, Cinder decided.

To the sides of the bed, Cinder spies Twilight's ornate horseshoes strewn about, their placement lacking the princess' usual organized touch. Cinder eyes them fondly.

Once, as a modest prank, she had placed a small lizard from the Canterlot Gardens in one of the shoes, and it had dashed up Twilight’s leg as soon as she put it on. On that day, Cinder learned that Princess Twilight had an irrational fear of reptiles.

Once, when Twilight had left without them, Cinder had given into temptation and proceeded to prance about the room with them on, enjoying the tinny sound they made against the marble floors—chim-chime, chim-chime. Her fun was short lived when Twilight returned for them and caught her red-hoofed—gold-hoofed to be more accurate. Twilight had been amused; Cinder had been mortified.

Looking up, Cinder spots Twilight's crown resting on the table in front of the vanity mirror. She centers it gently so that the star-shaped gem faced forwards. Cinder looks at the crown, at the dress, at the star-shaped lamp, the rose-tinted mirror, and wonders—why so much pink?

Cinder's eyes were not pink, but pale magenta—she was quite adamant about that.

She looked into the mirror. A lightning-like crack transected its face, warping its surface such that Cinder saw two of herself. Both stared back at her with a perplexed expression—three Cinders, their heads at a slight tilt and their eyebrows raised.

The mirror of pink glass bears a crack, look into it and two look back. Cinder shook her head at the accidental rhyme. Keep that up and you will be a poet before you know it. She facehoofed—should have seen that last one coming. It she wasn’t careful she’d soon have a limerick.

Cinder turned back to examine Princess Twilight, her pale magenta eyes reflecting concern and various shades of lavender. The princess’ coat glowed in the warm light of sunrise, and her mane swayed gently in the cool breeze from the open windows. For a moment, Cinder could imagine Princess Twilight was radiating the same ethereal magic as Celestia and Luna. Seeing nothing to worry about, she saw no reason to worry herself.

Cinder approaches the side of the bed where she crouches at the edge and tentatively extends her wing and pokes the sleeping princess gently on the nose. Boop.

“Wakey, wakey, Twilight.” Careful not to say princess, “It is time to get up. You got a big day ahead of you”. She pokes her again.

While some would see this treatment of the princess as undignified, it was not. Cinder is being cautious. While Princess Twilight was usually quite affable and often encouraged Cinder to be friendly and informal with her, she tended to be cranky when she awoke, and could become rather terrifying. Cinder didn’t want to be turned into a potted plant—once had been enough.

Cinder pokes the princess once more—her wing the kitten’s curious paw, probing the larger sleeping cat, ready to flee should it stir. Should she incur the princess’ wrath, Cinder knows she can hide under the bed—experience has taught her this.

The princess doesn’t stir—not even a twitch.

At least Cinder tried.

If Celestia’s Royal Scheduling Advisor, Kibitz, disapproved of her less than valiant effort, then he could wake Twilight himself. See how he liked being a fern.

Not that being a fern was all that unpleasant, Cinder reflected. Twilight had made sure to give her sufficient water, and plenty of sun while looking up the proper counterspell. In fact it had been too pleasant, and that frightened Cinder in a strangely abstract and existential way. Nor did it help that Twilight ended up botching the counterspell. Now Cinder found that, were she inclined towards the leafy disposition, she would revert into a fern. The reverse process also held true, but was far more difficult: ferns don’t readily desire to become ponies. Needless to say, trotting through Canterlot Gardens had become a trialsome ordeal. How the plants taunted and tempted her—roses in particular.

Better to coax the beast from its sleep, thought Cinder, retracting her wings, and remaining firmly in her furred and feathered disposition.

Cinder got up for the edge of the bed and moved towards the sitting table. There, she takes the teapot and pours out of cup of tea, its trail of steam bearing the floral scent of mint and chrysanthemum. Moving behind the table, she gently flaps her wings, wafting the alluring aroma over to the sleeping princess. She needn’t close the windows. It is one of the perks of being a pegasus: the breeze would listen to the magic in her wings and aid in her endeavors. She knows she has succeeded when the princess' nose begins to twitch.

Satisfied, she made to leave. She turns to look at the sleeping Twilight once more.

“If you don’t get up soon, your breakfast will get cold,” she says in a sandy voice across the room. As Cinder exits, she caught Twilight stirring, and believes Twilight has heard her.

While it is true Princess Twilight had heard somepony speak to her, it was not Cinder.

It is time for you to wake up, Princess.

Twilight stirs, but does not yet wake. Her mind stands on the bridge of waking dreams. She is aware that her body is bathed in warmth and of a cool touch moving through her mane. In the air there is a playful scent she cannot yet identify. Beneath her, she is embraced by something soft.

She believes she rests atop a cloud. She has come here to hide from the thing that had chased her in her dream. Below her is a vast and green sea of dark leaves and deep canopies: the Everfree. It was in there that the thing had pursued her. Through the trees and foliage, over roots and underbrush, Twilight running, running as fast as her little filly legs could carry her. Little Twilight running through beams of light that broke free of the dark canopy, like stars raining down from the night sky. Not knowing where she was nor where she was going, all she knew was something was following her. Heavy crashes sounded behind her as the trees were torn away for the soil and tossed aside like weeds plucked by a gardener’s hoof. She, a helpless little filly, knew she must run.

Then, when the vegetation had become a thick wall of thorns and shadows, when the earth heaved upwards as the tree behind her was sent skywards, when she could run no longer, she looks up, and sees the sun. Then, and only then, does she remember that she isn’t helpless, isn’t powerless. She remembers she can fly, and upwards she flew to the safety of the bright sky and soft clouds, beyond the forest, to where the thing could not follow. As she alighted upon the cloud, she looked back down at the forest, into the dark depth, and she saw the thing. It looked back up at her with glowing green eyes and lavender wings.

But she needn’t fear it now. Now she is safe atop her cloud, in the warm sun and cool breeze. It can’t get her now.

Open your eyes.

Her eyes are open and she is fully awake. Her dream, as vivid and as real to her as the wakened hours, slips from her memory like water in a wicker basket. Soon she remembers none of it. Nor does she remember the night before. Not yet anyway.

The warm smell of mint and tealeaf reached her nose—chrysanthemum, if she wasn't mistaken—and she turned her head towards the source. Resting on a small sitting table near the entrance to her room was an embroidered tray of pearl-white .

That put the time no more than half an hour past sunrise. Cinder Hooves, her chosen attendant, arrived every morning, with meticulous punctuality, and breakfast in hoof—wings technically. The steam still rising from the cup told Twilight that Cinder had been by quite recently. Cinder did not deviate in her morning routine more than one iota. Twilight, who had been used to sleeping in late when she lived in Ponyville, found that she had to start getting up much earlier if she didn’t want her breakfast to be cold—it always tasted off when she had to reheat. Twilight suspected that this had been intentional, that Cinder’s timeliness had been encouraged as a subtle means of getting her up on time. Probably Kibitz’ doing.

Twilight slid out of bed—not rolling out, wings made that difficult—and made her way to the sitting table. She winced, finding her legs to be surprisingly sore, and her head heavy. Had she been able to sleep at all last night?

Last night… something about this thought clings peculiarly to her mind. But whatever it is, right now she is too groggy, and too hungry, to consider it.

Twilight sat by the table with her breakfast. Her eyes are closed, her head dropping slightly, and, for a moment, she does nothing. Then the teacup gingerly floats up to her mouth, and she takes a sip. Other assortments, a piece of toast, a spoon of oatmeal, a slice of orange, follow in a similar fashion as Twilight used her magic to methodically eat her breakfast. Half asleep all the while. She made sure to keep her head over the table; it wouldn’t do to get crumbs on her dress. It was bad enough that she occasionally slept in her clothes, but luckily she found that the ruffles readily disguised the wrinkles—one of their more redeeming qualities.

Once she finished her breakfast, Twilight felt sufficiently awake. Refilling her teacup, she made her way to her mirror. Her mane probably looked horrendous.

Twilight looked into the mirror. The left side of her mane is modestly disheveled: a few individual hairs sticking out at odd angles. Her pink and gold dress is in better condition—a few sweeps of magic and no pony would notice where it had wrinkled. Her coat is slightly matted around her collar, but it is nothing a good brushing couldn’t fix.

This is the mare Twilight sees in the rightmost section of the mirror. But this is not the mare she sees in the leftmost.

This mare looks back at Twilight, meeting her eyes with ones the glow with anger, eyes that glow green. She wears a dark violet circlet, and is draped in the colors of dusk. Her wings spread wide.

We are more alike than you know.

Now Twilight’s wings are flared. Her teacup shatters on the floor, its content splashing over her hooves and the sleeve of her dress, staining it. She takes no notice of this.

Standing there, her silver and purple dress in tatters, pieces of her crushed armor falling away, landing without a sound as they dissipate back into the darkness beneath her hooves, Twilight can see Sombra’s marred face mocking her from across the black void, its red gash still glowing from the magic that had inflicted it, its gleeful eyes, one whole, one sightless, staring at her, and lingering for a time as the rest of Sombra’s body fades back into the shadows, leaving her in silence and solitude. Her circlet still proudly adorning her brow.

She can see herself now, her head held high in triumph, her wings flared wide in anticipation, her battered body standing firm, oblivious to the pain. Her eyes wide, full of fury.

The mirror shatters.

Twilight’s horn hums, and her body shakes. She can remember the fear she felt when she first encountered King Sombra. The unease she felt, staring at her altered images, at their grandeur, at their appeal. Convincing herself that there was nothing to fear from a mere shadow, finding the courage to stand up to the King Sombra, and to denounce him and his offer.

She could remember how the crystals had crushed her. How it had hurt.

Why? Why had she been so powerless to stop him? She could have stopped Sombra without resorting to dark magic. She was Twilight Sparkle, previously one of the most gifted unicorns in all of Equestria, and now an Alicorn Princess with Alicorn Magic! She could have thwarted Sombra without a second thought, with a quick spell, all she had had to do was focus for just a moment and the shadow of a king would have been no more.

But she hadn’t.

Instead she had given into weakness, she had let her fear take control of her. She knew how Sombra’s magic could manipulate a pony’s fear and use it against them, as it had done to her back in his castle. She knew this, and yet she had let Sombra toy with her fears until, finally, she snapped.

Then, in her panic, in her rage, as an act of desperation, and of spite, she had seized the very darkness engulfing her. She had brought it into herself, merging it with her will, and used it against the shadow that thought himself a king; and she had maimed him. It had been her intention. To hurt him, to humiliate him, to show the he was inferior to her, that she was greater than he. Yet, she had only proved him to be her equal.

We are more alike than you know.

Well, now she knew.

Hoof-falls click across the library—the sound of precious metal on marble tiles. There are two short taps at the door to Twilight’s chamber, preceded by a melodic voice.

“Are you awake, Twilight?” It was Celestia's voice.

The door held ajar and stands open between the two princesses, blocking their view of one another, but Twilight can see the slender white point of Celestia’s horn and the incandescent edges of her mane.

Startled, Twilight instinctively cast a spell to repair her mirror. The reflective shards coming together soundlessly, the cracks vanishing with a quiet, keening note.

“Oh! Princess Celestia, good morning.” Twilight handled the words awkwardly. She felt that peculiar feeling—that culmination of relief and guilt—when we successfully hide our mistakes, and then reprimand ourselves for having done so.

As Celestia steps into the room she gives no sign that she has noticed anything amiss. She smiles warmly at Twilight and there is jubilance in her voice.

“Good Morning, Twilight. I gather you slept well.” A playful note in the last words as she beholds Twilight disheveled appearance. Twilight wonders how to respond, but is saved the effort when Celestia continued to speak, “You know, you needn’t still call me Princess, Twilight. Of the many privileges you have as a fellow princess, I would hope you could embrace that one most readily.” The affability, with which Celestia spoke to her, made Twilight blush slightly—a light hue of fuchsia painting her face.

“Oh. Um… right. So what brings you here this morning, Celestia?”

“I would like to say I am here as just a cordial visit really, but there is something I wanted to ask you. As you know, the Summer Sun Celebration will be held in a few days time, so this is rather late of me to ask but, Luna and I were wondering if…” Celestia stops as she glances at something on the floor behind Twilight and her smile fades. When she turns back to Twilight, there is concern in her voice.

“Twilight, is there something wrong?”

“What do you m—” Following her mentor’s gaze she sees the broken remains of her teacup lying forgotten in a cold pool of amber liquid. “—…Oh.” The word slips out quietly.

What should she say? What could she say?

“I...” she grasped for the words, “was just being a little clumsy”.

A pregnant pause. Twilight felt that she should say something more.

“So what was this Luna and you were wondering?” said Twilight, redirecting the conversation.

“Right." Celestia's smile was back, "Luna and I were wondering if, for this year’s celebration, you would like join us in the sun raising ceremony”.

“You want me to be part of the ceremony?” Twilight's head tilts.

“I know this is a bit short notice, and you have already done more for organizing and preparing the event than anypony could ask for, but Luna and I would be honored if—”

“—Of course!” Twilight response was sudden and enthusiastic, her hooves clapping together. Need the princesses even ask?

“I appreciate your enthusiasm Twilight, but I daresay this task is not as simple as it may seem”.

“How difficult could it be? I’m certain I can handle it.” Twilight said confidently.

“Even if it involves a bit of flying?” A smug look from Celestia.

Twilight’s demeanor faltered, “Weeeeell...” To sum up Twilight’s skill at flying in a simple analogy: Twilight was to Fluttershy, as Fluttershy was to Rainbow Dash. Her maiden flight at her coronation had begun well, and ended disastrously when she crash head over hooves into the royal vineyards. Turns out grapejuice stains take more than magic to remove.

“Worry not Twilight, I have recruited the help of one Equestria’s finest fliers.”

Oh great, another famous pony she would have to entertain, probably a Wonderbolt, “And who might that be?”

“Rainbow Dash,” said Celestia, smiling as Twilight’s face lit up, “I have invited her, and the rest of your friends to come to Canterlot and help you with the preparations for the festivities”.

Celestia laughed softly as Twilight suddenly threw her hooves around her.

“Thank you, Thank you, thank you Pri—I mean—thank you Celestia". Twilight then managed to calm herself, "This means a lot to me.” More than you know—she thought ironically as she ended her embrace.

"I am glad to hear that," Celestia spoke warmly, "and so will Luna." With a graceful nod, Celestia turned towards the door.

So the cordial morning visit came to an end. The room had brightened as dawn had finally given way to day. Much the same could be said for Twilight.

“Twilight,” Celestia turned back to Twilight. By the tone in her voice, Twilight knew Celestia hadn't forgotten about the cup. The cup that, Twilight realized, she was trying to block from view, “I know it may be difficult to see me other than as a mentor and as your princess, but I hope you could see me as a friend as well. If there is anything troubling you, no matter how small, you can always go to your friends. Luna and I included.”

“I will, Celestia,” Twilight said with a nod. Celestia pressed the subject no further and made to leave.

It was now or never, thought Twilight. She made to speak and found, just as earlier, that she couldn't. Instead, she found herself doubting.

How did she know if any of this had actually happened? She had had nightmares before, and she had experienced Sombra’s magic back in the Crystal Empire. Both experiences had felt real, too real, yet they had all been in her mind.

What is there to say that this is any different? Her body is sore, but that could easily be psychosomatic.

Twilight looks into her mirror, its surface unmarred, and inspects her reflection. It too is normal—and rose tinted.
Could all this be urgency of her own manufacture?

It is now or never, Princess.

“Celestia, wait!” Twilight ran into the library after the princess.

From above and out of sight, in one of the library’s windowed alcoves, sat Cinder Hooves. Well… not so much sat as hid. She watched the two princesses converse below her. The topic seemed intensely personal, from what Cinder could hear—which was all of it.

“Luna made mention that you had a nightmare.” Celestia’s voice comes to Cinder, clear as ever. Cinder wishes that she had thought to leave when Celestia had first arrived, or that she was hard of hearing. She had been watering Twilight’s philodendron when she heard the mirror shatter. The alcove she was in contained an interior window, for decoration and lighting, and it looked into Twilight’s bedroom. From there, Cinder saw that Twilight had broken the mirror with her magic. She was hesitant to do anything at that moment—being twice shy of Twilight’s magic—opting for an observational role.

Twilight’s voice now, anxious and urgent.

“I don’t think it was a nightmare, it couldn’t have been.”

This is what you get for being curious, Cinder, you end up learning something you’re not supposed to. The princesses won’t be pleased to know you’ve been eavesdropping.

She found herself becoming inclined towards the leafy disposition, and had to stop herself. As long as Cinder didn’t make any sudden movements, or transformations, she would likely stay undetected. Better the marble disposition, she noted, looking at the white and gray marble that composed the alcove, and how closely it matched the colors of her own coat and mane—or lack there of. This was one of the few times she could appreciate her overly subtle complexion.

“If what you experienced was indeed not a nightmare, then you mustn’t think such thoughts Twilight. They are the only means by which he can harm you.” Celestia’s voice, firm and earnest, “You must not let him feed off the doubt in your heart. Most importantly you must not doubt yourself. There is no shame in using the dark powers as you did; they were the only means by which to free yourself from his control. And you were able to conquer the darkness he had set upon you. For that you should be proud.”

Twilight certainly didn’t look it, observed Cinder, from between the leaves of the philodendron.

Cinder liked Philo—her name for the plant—he didn’t taunt her, as did the rest of the vegetation in and about the palace. When Philo had still been a fledgeling sprout, resting on the windowsill in Twilight’s bedroom, the same window Twilight had placed Cinder when she first became a fern, they had had a moment of bonding—in a plant sort of way. Twilight had told Cinder that plants could communicate through chemical signals… or something. Chemistry aside, Philo had greeted her with what she would describe as a peppy Hi. Cinderfern had responded in kind, and thus began their rather usual friendship.

Cinder couldn’t communicate with Philo now, but judging how the glossy leaves seemed to reflect the light so happily, she guessed Philo was more than glad to help her hide.

Cinder looks back down at the two princesses. Celestia nuzzles Twilight gently before leaving the library. It is over, thank Celestia—literally. Cinder readies her escape.

But as soon as Celestia left, Cinder saw Twilight’s head and wings droop, looking defeated, and Cinder is struck by a different compulsion.

Spreading her wings, Cinder floats downwards, the flat and fringe tips of her feathers moving through the air soundlessly, not unlike the those of the barn owl. Her wings, too wide and large for high speeds and quick turning, found their forte in precision. Just before reaching the floor in front of the door to Twilight’s chamber, she gives a single flap, and moves backwards through the door, into the bedroom. Not a sound is heard, and only the slightest draft felt.

In the short time she spent in the guard, her stealth and complexion had earned her the callsign Ghost—an apt nickname even now.

Twilight hadn’t move throughout the duration of Cinder’s performance. Though, had Cinder the subtlety of Rainbow Dash, it was unlikely that she would have pull Twilight from her thoughts even then.

Why? Why couldn’t Celestia see the truth? Twilight hadn’t doubt in her heart nor had she been forced to use dark magic. She had given in, and she knew it. She hadn’t conquered the darkness, it had conquered her.

Celestia’s words, words spoken to comfort, but spoken in ignorance, for all their good intention, only added to the guilt in her heart.

Why couldn’t she see?

Then again, do you really want Celestia to see the truth? Wouldn’t her words of praise, even if undeserved, be better than her silent disappointment?

Mustn’t think such thoughts. Celestia’s words in Twilight’s voice this time. She had better things to dwell on than shadows and doubts. There were things she had to prepare for, the Summer Sun Celebration but one among them. Her friends would be arriving today and she was not going to let a bad dream—that was all it really was in the end—ruin it for her.

Twilight lifts her head and trots purposefully back into her bedroom. Heading towards her bed, it took a few moments to realize the room was not as she left it. The breakfast tray and dishes were gone, her shoes placed neatly at the hoof of her bed, the cup she had dropped removed, and somepony had cleaned away the spilt tea. On the sitting table, the teapot still remains and next to it was a saucer containing the broken cup. She went to the table, repairing the cup with a quick spell, and pours herself one last cup of tea. Twilight smiled, the scowl she had been wearing disappearing as she sipped the tea.

“Thank you, Cinder,” says Twilight. Though Twilight didn’t see any sign of the pale pegasus, or an out of place fern, that didn’t mean Cinder wasn’t around to hear.

Cinder had a way of reminding Twilight of her friends beyond her silent and caring touch. For one, Cinder also liked to pull the occasional prank—looking at her shoes by the bed, she knew it wise to check them. Cinder had discovered that Twilight was herpetophobic—which was odd considering that she was raising a baby dragon. Odd, and easily exploited. For Cinder it was the perfect way to reimburse Twilight for turning her into a fern. Cinder’s weapon of choice: the garden-variety gecko common to the Canterlot Gardens—and now, common to Twilight’s room.

Similar to their close relative, the golden-tailed gecko, Strophurus taenicauda, the Canterlot gecko was a striking arboreal lizard, having a light grey body, scattered with black leopard-like spots, an undulating golden-orange band that extended from spine to tail, and slitted eyes that were lidless and a vivid amber. Preferring to live in trees and tall places, when threatened, these geckos would instinctively climb upwards in a spiral fashion termed ‘squirreling’. Were a pony to be, say… about to step on one hiding in a shoe, the little gecko would shoot up their leg with lightning fast reflexes.

Quick, clingy, and constantly moving, Twilight found that they were rather difficult to catch with her magic and impossible to shake off—much to her significant distress. How Cinder was capable of catching the tiny heathens, was beyond her. Though, if she were patient enough, she may, on occasion, spot one sunbathing on one of the windowsills or scurrying across the floors of her chamber.

Glancing at her shoes—their contents unknown, at her dress—the sleeve lightly stained by dried tea, at her wings—thinking about the prospect of flying, at her mirror—at what it may show her, she decides to forego her attire, entirely.

Maybe if it possessed a bit a function, she might reconsider. In fact she had a few ideas that Rarity might find useful.

It is four days until the Summer Sun Celebration. Twilight finds that she is looking forward to these next few days.

Far away, in the heart of the Everfree, beneath the ruins where once stood the Castle of the Two Sisters, is a cavern wherein grows a sacred tree. A tree planted after the Crystal Empire ceased to exist, grown from a seed cut from the very stone whence the Crystal Heart was forged. It grew in secret until it was discovered by the Two Sisters, grown in hopes to recreate the magic that once protected the land. In hopes that it could bring an end to the Age of Chaos.

A hope that was realized when the Tree bore its fruit.

The magic that has resided it this tree has diminished over the ages. Soon, so very soon, in the next day perhaps, this magic will fail.

The Two Sisters knew that without its fruit, the tree could still possess the magic required to seal away the many chaoses upon which it grew. Were it necessary, this magic could be renewed by returning its fruit, the Two Sisters reasoned. But in the decades that came, when the younger sister gave into her own inner chaos, when the power of the fruit withered away in the hooves of the elder sister, the tree slowly, inevitably, withered too.

The tree stands atop the Heart of the Everfree, and its magic will soon be inadequate to stop it from beating once more. Soon seeds, the growth of which were stunted up to now by this magic, will begin to grow, seeking to fulfilled their purpose—a purpose more than a thousand years old. They will drain what magic remains in the tree, and then they will spread outwards, across all of Equestria, in search of more.

One more day until the seeds take root. Two days until their growth expands beyond the confines of the Everfree. And three days until Twilight, heiress to the fruits’ magic, will be forced to pay for the Two Sisters’ negligence.

Four days until the Summer Sun—one sun rising, another setting.

Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 1

What do you do when the price of salvation is what you cherish most? This is not some mere philosophical salvation, mind you, but the safety and well-being of the countless living today and in generations to come. What do you do?

The answer is quite obvious really: you pay that price—everypony would pay that price. Even if that pony possessed but half a heart, that beating half would compel them to make the sacrifice.

And everypony else would be saved—hurray.

But then what? Do you feel the joy of the triumphant hero? Do you feel the appreciation of those you saved by your selflessness?

The answer is no.

Despite your efforts, despite the price you have paid, they will never know the sacrifice you have made on their behalf. Nor will they love you for it. They may even come to hate you. Hate you because, for a time, their lives were in your hooves. That, for a time, you controlled their fate for them, to protect them, to save them. Yet because you are not Celestia, you are not worthy.

In the end, the only pony who pays, is you. And you are left with nothing. Nothing but the satisfaction that you are a good pony. And how does it feel? Is it satisfying?

… No, I thought not. There is no joy to be had from your feat of character, from your self-righteousness, because in the end you did not make this choice willingly. It was made for you. Despite the lives you have saved, you are rewarded with only regret and self-loathing because, with the exception of a select few, you care not for a single one of them. You would like to think you do, but you never have, and never will. And yet you are always doing what these other ponies want. Always doing what Celestia wants. But never what you want. And look where that has gotten you. What you wanted and what you cherished most have been taken away from you, and that is your mistake.

A mistake you have made quite often.

The Castle of the Two Sisters, a once majestic and awe-inspiring structure, now lies ruined and forgotten in the depths of the Everfree. Yet, even in such an advanced state of dereliction, it is no less impressive. Though sight of it no longer provokes the same warm reverence as it had so many centuries ago, it is certain to incite the tingling chill of trepidation. The arches and buttresses that once held up the grand sweeping ceilings of its great halls now lie bare and exposed, yawning outwards like the gaping maw of a predator—or perhaps, the opened ribcage of its prey. The two remaining spires—their weathered marble darkened and discolored by the mists and dampness of generations, their surfaces pockmarked by lichen and infringed by the forest's unruly vegetation—stand as towering and decrepit obelisks: proof that not all past follies can be erased with time.

Lying before the castle, a deep and jagged ravine—so angular and ragged are its peaks and contours that it seems less like a formation shaped by nature, but a great schism gouged into the earth by the claws of a titan. It is in this ravine, beneath the castle ruins, where the entrance to a cavern lays.

Where one would expect to become engulfed in a chilling blackness upon entering, they are instead met with a soft radiant warmth. Up the walls are exposed veils of amethyst that shine violet with the ambient magic that saturates the cavern, and scattered across its ceiling cling colonies of glowworms—their pulsating blue light glimmering surreally overhead. Rimstones cover much of the cavern floor and in their water-filled basins grow vibrant pink lotus flower forever in bloom—their rich fragrance mingling with the subtle odor of moist earth and cool air. Closing your eyes and relying on smell alone, you might fancy yourself standing in the newly flowered grove after the first spring rain following the Winter Wrap-Up. The quiet peace held within the cavern remains unbroken but for the occasional hollow echo of dripping stones. Such is the place the Tree of Harmony calls home.

At its base, seated before its phosphorescent roots, is Princess Twilight Sparkle. She has come before the Tree of Harmony to gather her thoughts, to free herself from frustration, to seek solace. Standing in the tree’s presence, in the cavern that is both a sanctuary and an oasis from the chaos of the forest and the chaos of one’s mind, Twilight is once again granted a sense of awareness and clarity that has so often eluded her in recent days.

She hopes to finds answers. Answers that will help her understand the enigma that presents itself before her: the box that has become her every obsession.

She scoured through every book in Ponyville in a mere fortnight, yet found not a single passage or line that shed light on her endeavor. She considered returning to Canterlot to search through its archives, yet was reluctant to do so. After so many months, she was back in Ponyville, back with her friends, and she was loath to leave again so soon. The Canterlot Archives were immense, and to continue her investigation there would undoubtedly require a lengthy duration.

But Twilight was saved from having to leave Ponyville at all by a letter, from Princess Celestia, suggesting that she might like to continue her search in a place much closer to Ponyville—in the Library of the Two Sisters.

When she first laid eyes on the vast, and vastly forgotten library, her hopes had been high. Here, before her, was a window into the past—knowledge long forgotten in the minds of the present. Knowledge preserved in yellowed pages bearing a sweet almond scent, written in old ink—black if made from charcoal and acacia gum, or red if made from rust and palm resin. Aged wisdom sealed in aged material.

Yet in the days and in the weeks that followed, through the countless scrolls and texts read, for as grand her efforts, she found nothing. At least not what she was looking for. She did find many a book that, under different circumstances, would have pleased her immensely: books of spells and incantations she had yet learnt, untold tales of heroic ponies and their adventures, original editions of classic works of literature, and historical accounts that predated the founding of Modern Equestria. But, as fantastic as these texts were, they did not aid her in her search. With each day that passed, her frustration grew.

Now, in the early morning as the sun begins to dawn, yet another night wasted in the library, after ruining a priceless tome in a regrettable fit of agitation—thrown against the weather masonry, its pages spilling out—Twilight decides it is time to get some fresh air. She is growing stir-crazy in the must and mildew of the old library.

Removing herself from the stone table that she has remained bent over for most of the night, she stretches and walks over to her saddlebag to inspect her remaining provisions. They are sufficient to last her for another day or so. Along with the generous supply of apples, Applejack also offered Twilight a spare nap-sack, saying, “If yah gonna be campin’ out at that there castle again, yah might as well be doin’ it right.” Twilight was reluctant to accept, out of modesty, and because she did not want to be tempted away from her reading when she began to tire. Now the prospect of unrolling the nap-sack greatly appeals to her.

From among the apples, Twilight levitates out a Granny Smith, and bites into it—the zing of the apple’s tart flavor leaving her mouth tingling, and loosening the weight that clung to her head and eyelids. She trots out of the library, all the while absently munching on her apple, and by the time she finishes it, she arrives at the castle’s entrance. Tossing the core into the bushes that line the steps, Twilight surveys the forest before her.

A thin fog rises up from the gorge, hanging knee high above the path leading away from the castle, and empurpled by the morning light. It rolls gently in the breeze that picks its way through the trees and through Twilight’s mane. It feels good to be outside and moving her legs.

But where to go? Back to Ponyville? That would be a far way to walk only to have to come back later. A stroll through Everfree perhaps—would that not be exciting? Foalish perhaps, even for a princess as powerful as you, but exciting nevertheless. Why not follow your thoughts? See where they take you.

Letting her hooves take her where they may, Twilight soon finds herself, yet again, before the Tree of Harmony. Her visits to this place became more and more frequent as her frustration continued to gnaw at her. But with each visit to the cavern, its calming effect began to wane.

Now, as she looks up at the tree with tired eyes, her frustration ebbing only in the slightest, her thoughts wander onto darker topics.

In its trunk, in each of its branches, lie the Elements of Harmony. Physical proof of the bonds that once tied her friends and her together: their friendship made manifest. It was the Elements that first united her with her friends. It was the Elements that helped them face the trials of Nightmare Moon, and Discord. It was because of the Elements that she first realized her potential, and, ever since, the Elements were a tangible and powerful source of affirmation.

Now they are gone.

Taken from her grasp. Taken in order to stop the encroachment of the Everfree, and save the Tree of Harmony. Yes, it was necessary. There is no question. But why did it have to come at the cost of something so precious? So precious to her. All she is left with now is a library full of moldy books, and a little box she cannot open.

She stands before the tree, trying to gather her thoughts, thoughts that defy her. The cavern’s humid air feels thick in her lungs and, the damp floors of her mind sprout doubts like toadstools. Dread gathers within her as the shadows gather around her. Twilight watches as the cavern dims, and as the darkness grows dense. Above her the flickering light of the glowworms peek through the enveloping blackness like stars in the night sky. It is as if dawn is becoming undone; as if the day is slipping back into night; as if it were a dream she once had. But Twilight knows this is not a dream, nor had it been before.

Twilight watches with neither surprise nor fright, but with the acceptance of the condemned: the expectation of the inevitable. Even before she relinquished the Elements, before the Everfree grew beyond its borders, before Celestia and Luna were taken and the land cast into perpetual twilight, she felt that nagging doubt—that she was deluding herself into foalishly believing she possessed something more than a spiraling lack of control. She has magic, she has books, she has her friends, so wouldn't she soon have her answers? Yet, instead of answers, all she found were more reasons to question herself, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she was once again paid a visit.

The shadows encircle her and the tree, the glow of the tree forming a barrier of teal light, wherein she stands, and where the shadows, no matter how emboldened by their master, will not venture. Twilight stands near the border where light meets dark, the shadow she casts in the light of the Tree of Harmony, falling short of crossing over. There she waits calmly—trying to compose herself—for King Sombra's arrival.

Shadows are his calling card, but he needn't them now, not when she herself sent the invitation.

Behind Princess Twilight, the Tree of Harmony rises from the earth, the Elements shining like beacons in the night. Before her, standing just outside the light’s impasse: King Sombra. He looks at Twilight with smug composure, his royal crimson cloak and wrought iron barding breathing power.

“Good morning, Princess.” His tone is level and cordial, as if greeting a friend, and he gives her a polite nod.

Twilight responds coldly, “I thought I made it clear that I wasn't interested in your offer.”

“Oh rest assured, Princess, you were quite clear.” He emphasizes the last words by fixing her with his sightless eye—the one that she had taken—now a pale orb that glows with the purple miasma it once wept. She averts her gaze, looking anywhere but at that eye. Its stare seems to touch her, causing her hair to raise—on the nape of her neck, across her barrel, down the length of her legs—as it traces her body. Twilight tucks her wings tighter, suddenly feeling exposed. She finds that she cannot stand to remain still.

She turns and begins to stroll along the perimeter of her lit enclosure. Counterclockwise, so that as Sombra mirrors her movements—like her shadow beyond the light—she is saved from having to look at his marred eye. She is careful not to let her own shadow cross beyond the light. Not that she believes it would be a grave mistake, but would rather err on the side of caution—lest it comes back to bite.

Then again, they are in the presence of the Tree of Harmony. Though she is encircled by shadows, she has the tree’s protection: they are on equal hoofing now. Perhaps things will be more civil this time. She will still tread carefully, but she need not be so on edge, nor fill her mind with pointless worry.

Twilight steals a glance at Sombra, examining him for something that would betray his intentions. She knows what he wants from her: her cooperation. He wants her to accept his offer—as a means to influence her, no doubt. This means that she has, to an extent, some control over him. Not much, but enough to make him predictable.

As she appraises King Sombra, she notes certain aspects about his bearing and appearance. He is tall, much like her brother, Shining Armor, perhaps taller, yet not as built. Through his cloak and barding, Twilight can tell his body is sleek, possessing a lean strength. He walks smoothly, with calculated steps such that, though his gait is notably longer than hers, it falls in perfect sync with her own. Inspecting his mane, she notices that it still possesses its ethereal quality—roiling and rippling out into the surrounding darkness. This makes Twilight begin to question his appearance: he is, despite his character, not unpleasant to look at, but, given his lack of a corporeal body, she wonders to what extent he can alter his appearance.

Then, when Twilight turns her attention to his face, she met his maroon eye looking back at her, and she promptly looks away—her face flushing with the humiliation of having been caught staring. To her side she hears a faint sound of amusement.

“Why are you still here?” she speaks harshly, not looking at him.

“I suppose,” he begins wearily, “that I owe you an apology. I daresay things got out of hoof when we first spoke.” Words come slow and airily.

“Out of hoof…” she repeats quietly, and stops.

“Out of hoof?!” She turns sharply to face Sombra. “You tried to kill me!” Though not shouting, her voice reverberates loud within the darkened cavern.

Sombra is neither stunned by Twilight’s outburst, nor by her abrupt hostility. In fact, he seems rather amused by it.

“What you saw was—oh, how did you put it—but the petty trickery of a mere shadow: a rather sophisticated illusion, but nothing more. You were never in any real danger. I simply wished to get your attention, to have you listen to, and take what I had to say seriously.” He pauses, looking over at her, Twilight glowering at him with a look of disdain.

Glowering, yet listening.

He continues, sounding almost apologetic. Almost. “I will admit my methods were a bit harsh. But you wounded me with your condescension. Such behavior is unbecoming of a pony of your stature.”

He is baiting her, and she bit.

“Oh that’s rich! Coming from you of all ponies! You dare lecture me? You, who are but the scum of Equestria!” she snaps back at him in a manner not so dignified.

“Come now, Princess. One would hope that you could be more gracious when presented with such a generous offer?”

Twilight has to bite back her response, keeping her anger from boiling over. He is toying with her. Just toying. That is all he is truly capable of, and words are his only weapon. He has no other means to get to her.

Yet he is getting under her skin with such ease.

Her words are calm when she next speaks. Calm and saturated with contempt. “Your offer was no more than lies. An act of deceit. You wish to trick me, to control me, to make a puppet out of me, and enslave me like you did with all of the ponies in the Crystal Empire.”

Once again, he seems all too entertained.

“That is where you are wrong, Princess,” he says, smiling, his pointed teeth showing. “I was not lying. And never once did I try to deceive you. I wish to make you a queen. My Queen. And I am offering to teach you magic that Celestia could never understand. Secrets that Celestia could never know. But you can. You have that potential. The potential to be greater than Celestia ever could. A potential I would help you realize. That is what I offer you.” He pauses, then, “And the offer. Still. Stands.”

Twilight doesn’t reply, caught off guard by the conviction with which he spoke. She struggles to come up with a response, to give a rebuttal. But no words come. Not wanting her silence to betray her, she opts to look upon the Tree of Harmony, and turns her back to Sombra.

A Twilight stands with her head held high, her regal demeanor speaking confidence. A Twilight stares into the distance, as if lost in thought, and bears and air of mystique.

A Twilight sits with her back to the dark king, her head held up to the light of the Elements, wings loosely furled at her sides, trying to command her thoughts. Hoping that, at the least, her inactions will be misjudged as indifference.

“No,” she finally says, shaking her head. “That is not what you offer.”

“Is that so?” he says mockingly.

“What you offer is a curse. You would have me forsake my friends, forsake Celestia, and forsake what I have worked so hard to achieve. And for what? Power? Prestige? What use would I have of them? What need?”

“What makes you think I would have you forsake anything of the sort?” he says—calm, yet stern.

“What?”

“You think that what I offer comes at a cost? A sacrifice?” His tone is condescending.

“Of course it does,” Twilight says, now agitated.

“The only sacrifice you need make, is the acknowledgment that there are aspects of this world that Celestia’s light does not reach. Cannot reach. Places that she fears to tread. Knowledge that she fears to pursue.”

“And I wonder why that would be,” says Twilight sarcastically.

“Care to find out?” He smiles wily.

“What? No. Never,” she stammers.

“Now that cannot be right. Twilight Sparkle—the Twilight Sparkle—would never turn her back on an unsolved mystery.” Again, he was mocking her.

Twilight chooses not to dignify a reply; instead, she walks towards the tree, ignoring King Sombra. For a moment, all is silent.

Then a voice from behind her: “I suppose it is understandable that you doubt my sincerity, it is only right that I first earn your faith.”

“As if that would ever happen.”

“I would not be so certain, Princess. You need not rely on trust alone to know what I tell you is the truth. There is proof. Proof that you have in fact been left in the dark by your dear Celestia.”

Twilight flinches at the last words, and she is certain Sombra has noticed. There is a certainty to his voice that fills her with unease. And curiosity.

“And what proof is this?” she says, trying not to seem eager.

“Why not look in front of you. Tell me what you see.”

This confuses Twilight, yet she does as she was asked.

“I see the Tree of Harmony.”

“What else?”

“I see the Elements in the branches and a locked box resting above the roots.”

“What about its surrounding?”

Where is he going with this? Twilight can sense that Sombra is leading her somewhere, and she dislikes following him. It reminds Twilight of her tutelage under Celestia, when the princess would use questions to lead her to her answer, and Twilight is not pleased with this comparison.

“It is in a cavern… I don’t see—“

Sombra cut her off.

“—And where is this cavern?”

Twilight, now further annoyed, delays in responding.

“…In the Everfree—”

“—In the very heart of the Everfree. Does anything about that strike you as odd?”

“… No, not really. The Everfree is home to countless abnormalities. In fact, everything about it is odd.”

“Rather chaotic, would you not say?”

“Where are you going with this, Sombra?”

“Do you not find it strange, that the Tree of Harmony is located in the center of the Everfree? In a forest that is by all means its antithesis.”

Twilight has no response. It is something she has not considered, and her curiosity now compels her to ask questions—though, if only to anypony but him.

“I suppose…” She says hesitantly.

“You would think that the tree’s presence would have brought order to the Everfree. But no, in has done nothing of the sort. In fact, it seems that the forest is growing from the Tree of Harmony. Tell me, Princess: what do you know of the tree’s origins?”

Again with the questions. But now Sombra is not merely leading her with questions, but asking her ones to test her knowledge. Well he is not going to get his answer from her, for she has none to give. At least not willingly.

“Very little,” she says finally, then a thought occurs to her, and she turns to face Sombra, “But it sounds like you know a good bit. So why don’t you tell me? And why don’t you show me this proof you spoke of?”

“Playing dense is unbecoming of you, Princess," he replies scornfully. "You know far more than you are willing to acknowledge. You have glimpsed into the past—that was how you rediscovered the Tree of Harmony. And you know that the Tree of Harmony is not the only thing that rests inside this cavern.”

This startles Twilight. It seemed Sombra knew about what she saw with Zecora’s potion. But how?

“The proof I spoke of I need not show you when you can see it for yourself. It rests beneath your very hooves.”

Twilight looks down at her hooves, then back up at Sombra. “I don’t understand…” she says at last, disappointed at her own ignorance.

“You have your own magic, Princess—why not use it? Probe amongst the roots. Tell me what you see.”

Reluctant to follow his advice, yet compelled by her curiosity and her desire to prove herself, she turns to the tree and closes her eyes. Her horn glows pink as she projects her consciousness forth into the roots of the Tree of Harmony: simple astral projection.

Light and warmth radiates from the roots, and she finds it easier to concentrate—her thoughts calming, allowing her mind greater clarity. Her astral form follows the roots as they spread outwards, weaving in and out of the interwoven network they created beneath the Everfree. The roots spread well beyond the cavern’s confinements, into the surrounding forest. But, whatever the proof Sombra spoke of, it is either not here, or not apparent.

“There’s nothing—”

“—Look deeper.” The words sounding both distant, and like a whisper in the ear.

The roots spread outwards, and downwards, growing deep into the earth. Curving and crossing, the roots spread out and down, like a dome, like a net. Like a cage.

Twilight changes her attention toward the area encompassed by the roots, directly below her. At first, Twilight could find nothing—just the cold earth and the trances of magic from the tree. She expands her awareness and swings her attention back and forth through the depths beneath the tree, again, finding it empty of…

Something brushes her consciousness.

Brushing, then seizing.

Twilight's body remains at the base of the Tree of Harmony, bent over in a posture of concentration, while her mind is dragged into the depths below. Coiling around her, its being blocking out the tree’s radiance, an immense and alien mind bears down on her. Its great serpentine form overwhelms her with its mere presence, filling her mind with a cacophony of sound and sensations—a choir of voices singing and screaming, the burning heat of fire and rage, the crushing weight of fear and the ocean depths. Suffocating and yet exhilarating. The leviathan fixes Twilight with a stare, its eyes a yellow and red inferno, and sees her whole. It speaks to her, its smile the subject of nightmares, its words a song that tears at her very sanity.

Prerequisites - Light and Ice

A soft blue light.

It consumes the heavens and earth. A sphere that becomes a wall, infinitely wide, infinitely tall. It is without contrast, obliterating every shadow. It is absolute, conquering all sight.

The Light is blinding.

It blinds, not as does the sun, but as does an object of true beauty. Staring into the light, all else dissolves away, fading into that soft blue.

He has failed. When hope had shown, it had shown brightly.

With the power of the Sun and Moon, the Two Sisters split the ice of the Arctic North to its greatest depth. All two and a half miles. And when the Two Sisters sealed King Sombra under the ice, they sealed him under all of it. No magic was needed to keep Sombra trapped, not with the entire ice shelf as his prison.

Yet with the end of Sombra’s tyranny, came the end of the Crystal Empire. Without the Empire’s protection, Chaos ruled the land. The Two Sisters played their gambit, only to lose more than they could ever image.

The Age of Crystal ends, and The Age of Chaos begins. The past is lost to the sands of time as the pages of history burn. But under the ice, in the absolute dark, the past is preserved.

For more than a thousand years Sombra remains in the darkness, sealed beneath the Arctic ice. For more than a thousand years, he stands on the threshold of oblivion and insanity.

But it does not claim him—cannot claim him.

He endures.

Under the ice, in the cold and the dark, he endures, fighting off madness, resisting death’s chilling touch. His physical body deteriorates, as the darkness and his being become one and the same.

Time has lost all meaning to him. With nothing to see, nothing to hear, to smell, to taste, and nothing to feel but the unrelenting cold, there is no means by which to judge the passage of time. Thus, time ceases to be. He lives in a single moment that lasts for an eternity, a single memory of cold and absolute darkness, a single thought sustaining him.

The darkness does not acknowledge the passage of time. A millennium passes in the dark as softly as the turning of a page.

Then the Crystal Empire returns, and the darkness ends.

Into a once lifeless expanse of snow and ice now exists lush meadows, quartz paved paths, and towering crystal edifices. A massive surge of mass and magic spreads far, wide, and deep. Deep enough to send a fissure—a hairline fracture, really—through the entire ice shelf, to the very bottom. Through this crack radiates the faintest trace of the Empire’s magic. Magic that provides the most minuscule warmth and light to where such things have not existed for more than a millennium.

For Sombra it is like watching the sun rise, and he remembers that he is still alive.

Blessed are the cracked, for they let the light in, and the darkness out.

Sombra, now a shadow—what remained of his original body, a frozen, forgotten, husk—seizes the opportunity that the light heralds. He syphons his essence through the labyrinth of cracks, slipping and forcing his way between the massive sheets of ice, moving upwards, always upwards, towards the surface. Away from the dark depths and towards the light. But not away from the darkness itself. As he rises to the surface, the darkness rises with him.

They are one and the same now.

He approaches the surface; he begins to regain his power. He begins to remember who he is and why he has been trapped. He sees the light above him grow brighter and the pulse of the Empire’s magic grow stronger; he remembers why he has endured.

A black geyser erupts from beneath the ice as King Sombra’s being surges forth.

He has returned.

Once more he will rule the Crystal Empire. This time as a far greater king than ever before. He will rule over the Empire as no mortal could, for King Sombra has transcended death. He is undying.

And the Two Sisters, if they are still alive, will not be able to imprison him as they had done before. Darkness will never hold him again, for it is now his domain. With the magic of the Crystal Empire once again under his control, his powers will not simply match that of the Two Sisters this time. He will surpass them.

He is the darkness that neither the Sun nor Moon could ever hope to light.

…

Then the Light shines.

A light of neither Sun nor Moon, but the united heart of an empire.

It does not merely defeat him.

No.

It takes everything from him: what power he possessed, what greatness he could achieve.

Gone.

What anger, frustration, what rage he should have felt, extinguishes. The Light of the Crystal Ponies’ combined will purges even that from him. All that he can feel now is what the Light leaves him with.

Feelings he would detest if only he still had the capacity to hate.

Something he had discarded so long ago because it was no use to him is returned: a heart.

It is the heart that makes one weak, that makes one susceptible, to guilt, to sorrow, to loss, to pain. It makes one vulnerable. And nothing makes one more vulnerable than loneliness. Yet, even a thousand years of solitude is bearable when one has no heart.

But he, he who has lived so long without a heart, could never bear its burden—a heavy heart weighs quite a lot. His heart, beating now with a light that is both joy and suffering, crushes him.

The Light is Love.

It spreads through him, warming his soul, setting it ablaze. A wildfire that cleanses his very essence. Burning away his hate, his rage, his fear. Destroying his very nature, his very identity.

Spiderwebs of light spread across his body as his very being begins to fracture.

The Light is Agony.

It is pain that only Love can wrought.

Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 2

It is midday, the sun directly overhead. A little filly laden with a book-filled saddlebag makes her way through the Canterlot Gardens, heading for the hedge maze. The gardens are the little filly’s favorite place in all of Canterlot and, for all she knew, all of Equestria. She follows the paths as they meander through corridors of roses, by ponds of giant goldfish that shimmer brilliantly under the water’s surface. Flowered fountains split the sunlight into a prismatic array with their sprays of water, and statued memorials honor those lost in battles once fought and now long past—forgotten by all save one.

Commissioned by the nobleponies of Canterlot in celebration of the bicentennial of the Celestial Reign, the Canterlot Gardens was, from the beginning, a work of art. Over the centuries that followed, by the efforts of countless gardeners and artisans alike, it was made into a marvel. A marvel that Princess Celestia herself proudly had no hoof in creating beyond being a source of inspiration.

However, this is not entirely true—as the gardener Silver Shears once told the little filly, in conspiratory manner so forced and obvious that it elicited a giggle from her—Princess Celestia did, in fact, help create part of the garden: The Garden Labyrinth. As he had told her, making the maze the filly’s most visited location in the garden, the labyrinth was designed and partly crafted by the Princess herself, and it was, in every sense of the word, enchanted.

The labyrinth is the largest part of the Canterlot Gardens, expanding well into the mountainside surrounding the Canterhorn, and designed with geometries and spells that make it impossible to truly know where you are going, but always ending up where you want to be. Some spells will make you turn right when you thought you had turned left. Some will send you in circles until you performed a task: crossing the path only by the stepping stones, tossing a bit into a fountain and making a wish, or facing the Green Pony, the spirit of the garden—thought to be a dryad or woodsprite—in a game of wit, usually a riddle. Yet, were you looking for an exit, it is always right around the corner.

The maze is perhaps evidence of Princess Celestia’s more capricious side.

There is one enchantment, rumored to exist but never proven, said to trap two ponies who enter the maze together. These ponies, these two unknowing lovers, would wander the labyrinth side by side, unable to find their way out until, either prompted by some insight, a moment of courage, or the same statue of two lovers embracing that these two keep seeming to pass—they admit their feelings for one another. Then, with a kiss, the way out is revealed and the two ponies that entered separate, now leave together. So goes the rumor.

Whether such an enchantment exists within the labyrinth, by Princess Celestia’s hoof—or more likely, her niece’s—is up for debate. Were you to ask Silver Shears what he thinks, the old stallion will likely tell you to visit the maze, on Hearts and Hooves Day, and find out—wink wink.

However, our filly is not looking for a special somepony, but for a special place. A quiet place. One to read her books away from the hustle and bustle of the castle and the noise of the city. She passes between the statues of Victory and Knowledge, flag and scroll in respective hoof, and enters the maze, never slowing from her brisk trot. She knows her way through the maze, even if she does not know her actual destination.

Following along the right side of the maze, tracing her hoof along the hedges lest the maze try to deceive her, she arrives at a lakelet. Instead of trotting along the banks, she leaps across the small body of water, from lilypad to lilypad, careful to land only on the ones with an odd number of blossoms. The lilypads are massive, almost as large as the goldfish swimming beneath, and can hold a full grown mare. But the pads with an even number of blossoms would sink under the weight of even a filly as small as herself. Yet it is essential to cross via the lilypads rather than go around—you would find yourself back where you entered otherwise. In the past, it took the filly some time to figure this out, and several attempts to cross the pond—fortunately the goldfish were skilled lifeguards.

She successfully crosses the pond—the goldfish would applaud her had they the hooves to stomp—and continues on her quest. A northward wind blows, cool not cold, and channels through the twists and turns of the labyrinth, carrying the garden’s fragrance in its wake. Save for the rustle of the leaves and the wind’s murmur, no sound reaches the ear.

She passes by many a fountain bench and shaded pavilion suitable for reading, but not quite to her standards: she has an important test coming up, the most important in her life, and she refuses to settle for anything less than the best. At each of these locations, she would stop a stare around—at the bench, the fountain, the pavilion, then the hedges, as if it were a single entity—with a knowing look that said: you can do better.

She knew it, and the gardens knew it. But these are not gardens, and it is not the Green Pony that watches her with amusement.

She trots down a winding path that forks, taking the left—or perhaps it is the right—and enters into a clearing overgrown with grass as high as her head. Wildflowers of every color poke out from between the blades of tall grass, and thistles loom in abundance—their thorny pink flowers towering above the surrounding vegetation, seeming as though in their rightful place. A short distance into the clearing, the thistles grow into a dense thicket that connects the hedges to either side of the clearing, forming a solid wall of prickly greenery. The sight is unlike anything the filly has ever seen before, especially not in Canterlot. It is unusual, strange… otherworldly—both frightening and enthralling her.

She crosses the clearing with tentative steps, making her way through the tall grass to the thistled wall. At its base she finds a smooth slab of stone; in the polished tilt of its surface reflects the sky and the inverted flowered tops of the thistles. Inscribed beneath the flowers, in lettering that the filly first thought to be written in the sky, is a riddle. The Green Pony wants to play it seems.

Keeper of the Sun

I’m the sea above the Sea

Speak my name to me

The filly had to admit; the Green Pony was getting good—she might have to stop and think about this one.

Let’s see: keeper of the sun—that’s Princess Celestia, no doubt. Sea above the sea, sea above the sea…hmmm. What do you see above the sea?… Of course! The keeper doesn’t mean the princess, it means—

“The sky. You’re the sky,” she addresses the riddle stone, its polished face bearing the sky’s image. Yet when the stone remains unchanged, she wonders if she was wrong.

Speak my name to me… Ahhh. Well played Green Pony. Well played.

The filly looks up to the Sky, pointing for emphasis, and names it, “You are the sky.”

The words on the riddle stone shimmer, then fade. The thistles sink into the ground until only their flowers are visible above the grass, and the ones in front of her disappear entirely—the wall of looming thistles becoming a corridor of flowers. The path before her is opened to what lies beyond.

It is a meadow, or at least that’s the best she can describe it.

Meadow was not the first word she used to describe what she saw. The first words were actually spatial distortion. Words a bit advanced for such a young pony, yes, but she is a learned filly for her age. She knows what they mean, and spatial distortion seemed a pretty accurate description. The meadow, if you could even call it that, is far larger than the entirety of Canterlot and the Canterhorn.

The rippling sea of pale-green grass that lies before her stretches onto a horizon of towering clouds. Wildflowers grow in abundance and there are thistles here too, along with other weeds. Yet their presence in no way mars the field’s beauty but adds to its lushness. The air carries the playful scent of sun-dried petals, daisies, and a hint of river water. Over the wind’s murmur she hears the gurgling of a small brook hidden amongst the tall grass.

She stares with perplexed awe; she knew the labyrinth was large, massive in fact, but to hide a meadow this size would have to be the work of an advanced and powerful enchantment—one that nopony could pull off. Except, perhaps, for Princess Celestia herself. Was it possible the little filly by chance or by intention, stumbled upon the princess’ secret spot? Her hidden sanctuary?

At this the filly hesitates—if this is a secret spot for the princess, then she might not take kindly to somepony just trotting in. But then, why did the labyrinth lead her here? Further, what if Princess Celestia often visited this place? And, what if Princess Celestia found the little filly diligently studying for her test, the very one to get into the princess’ own school? Might this help her get accepted? Or, might the princess even talk to her? What if the princess even helped her discover her cutie mark?

With the adventurous wonder and curiosity that so easily fills the young mind, and so easily forgotten by the old, the little filly leaps into the meadow, venturing out of her memory and into another’s. She disappears amongst the tall grass and wildflowers, as if swallowed by the rippling garden, as if shepherded by the thistles into its wild heart.

Perhaps she was.

In the middle of the meadow, atop a small hill, a little filly rests in the shade of the apple tree, its curved trunk and low hanging branches a shroud of pink-white blossoms and alternating leaves. Her legs are tucked under her, and in the grass before her, a book soon to be read. It is quiet here, with only the sound of the wind. Soft and fragrant with wildflowers, the breeze brings the sun’s warmth into the shade where the grass is cooling to the touch.

For a time, she continued through the grass, now twice her height, clueless of her bearing, and looking for something to judge her location by. She paused once to grasp the oily leaves of an herb she recognized before moving on—the pleasant smell of rosemary now on her hooves. She spotted what at first looked to be a flowered shrub. As she drew near, the ground sloped upwards, the grass beginning to thin, and she saw that the shrub was a low hanging tree—an apple tree in full bloom. She hopped through the grass towards the tree, the grass parting into a clearing atop a small hill. At its center was the apple tree. Once at its base, she scrambled up the slanted trunk to the tree’s top, and looked around. From her perch, for miles all around, she saw an endless flowered sea.

Overhead, the sky is a clear blue, save for the crisscrossing veils of teal magic that, from afar, resemble a dome of cracked glass. Spatial distortion, the filly thinks once more. Clouds tower on the horizon—every horizon, and the sun above swims warm and free.

From the shade beneath the tree, the filly looks out into the meadow with its rippling grass and many flowers and colorful weeds painting the rolling fields in a spotted pastel. She imagines Princess Celestia walking across this green sea of color. She imagines the princess gliding towards her through the meadow’s tall grass with the ease afforded to by her long legs, and the grace of a swan through water. To see the princess would be a dream.

The field ripples in green waves, the breeze slipping under the tree as she opens her book. Blades of grass tickle her legs and light flickers through the leaves. The wind rustles the pages of the book, flipping them in a whimsical manner, until they are held still by a pink glow. She fusses over her book. The sun laughs in a lyric melody.

The laugh, soft and lifting, lingers on the wind like the sound of rain and fills the meadow like the hymn of a choir. The filly stops searching for her lost page—they were all blank anyway—and looks up to the sky, enraptured by the sound.

Sunlight fills the meadow, flowing from the sky in a radiant stream. It encompasses the tree-adorned hill and covers the meadow in a sea of light. She stares into the light, mesmerized by its beauty, yet her eyes are unharmed by its intensity. All around the sun ripples and roils, sings and swims.

Then the sun speaks to her, and the dream is complete.

Greetings little one,
Welcome to this, our garden.
Is it not lovely?

The sun speaks, its words sweeter than honey as it flows in and out of the meadow in a ribbon of light.

“Yes, it’s very lovely,” says the smiling filly to the sun, and without thinking she adds, “and so are you.” The filly’s face reddens. No, no, no—did she just say that aloud?

A musical peal of laughter plays on the wind, sharing in the sun’s mirth.

Such a joy to hear.
What is your name, little one?
How have you come here?

“I’m Twilight Sparkle,” says Twilight, her blush forgotten. “I was… looking for a place to read my book and I…” she taps her chin, “sort of… wandered in.” That sounds about right, thought Twilight, but she said it like a question. She was sure she had been wandering the gardens. That was what she recalled.

Welcome, young Twilight.
Such a feat to wander here.
You are quite gifted.

Delighted by the sun’s praise, Twilight giggles and taps her hooves together. The sun, her princess, had complimented her.

Rare such company.
Your presence is most welcome.
Will you stay awhile?

Twilight stares at the sun for several moments while her thoughts tick and click, comprehension processing like slow clockwork. “You want me to stay?” she says at last.

Yes, little Twilight.
So few have visited us.
None since Selene.

Twilight’s eyes widen, sparkling with sunlight as her face lit up. The princess invited her to stay. No way would she refuse such an offer.

“I’d love to st—” stay as long as you’d like, she was going to say, and, unbeknownst to her, it was fortunate that she did not. What cut her words short was a small red spark that bolted down her horn: a quick burst of magic recoil that sent a sharp sting through her head, and then spoke in a reprimanding voice.

Make no promises while there, Princess. Lest you become trapped in this creature’s fantasy.

“—I… can stay for a little while.” She finishes and rubs the sides of her head, bewildered. Her magic had backfired before, and, even with extensive practice, it would still on occasion. This time had surprised her though, more than the others. It had been different. She had not been using magic, none that she knew of, and she had heard a voice—but perhaps that was her imagination. But whatever the reason, she soon does not care. The sun is speaking to her again, and it is a voice she would much rather listen to.

Care for a story?
They are many that we know.
Ones found in no book.

Twilight's ears perk up at the word book, and she looks over at her own book laying in the grass to her side, its white pages open and without text. But it is just a glance before she is looking back to the sun, excited and curious. “I’d love to hear a story,” she says.

Then one you shall hear.
Oh, but there are so many.
Which one should we tell?

The sun ceases its flowing, becoming still and calm, as if in contemplation.

“How about your favorite?” says Twilight, and the sun ripples and laughs its melody—a sound that always left her feeling elated.

A wonderful choice.
You wish to hear our favorite?
It’s about apples.

“Apples?” says Twilight, a bit bemused, but the sun ignores her. It settles into the tall grass, circling around the tree-adorned hill. The grass and flowered thistle rise about the pooled sun, as if a marsh of music and light.

Four daughters there were—

—the sun begins, as four figures rise from the light, and the story comes to life.

Four daughters there were

Beautiful and powerful

Nature’s heiresses

The eldest of white

Wings of iridescent dawn

Crown of stars adorn

She, the far-shining

Gold was honored in her name

It lusters her light

Second, the wisest

She saw through lies many truths

With shining grey eyes

Bright and effulgent

Memories were her blessing

Words were her domain

Third, fiercest of heart

Her love made the land grow lush

And the young grow strong

She of many names

Farmers and Shepherds praised her

And many still do

The Fourth was youngest

Her heart the wild storm and sea

She voiced their music

In wind-swept pastures

She first painted the Night’s sky

And sung woeful songs

The Three spurned the Fourth

Who sent their labors awry

Reshaping their work

Born of Sea not Sky

The Fourth shared not their sire

Nor The Three’s desire

She took the Day’s crown

To paint the Night in her light

Light he so adored

The Fourth created

Gibberish and Poetry,

Twisting Wisdom’s words

The Third fear her most

For the Fourth bore a wild heart

She was Love’s refute

Too lively is she

Sending our labors awry

Thought the elder three

Quiet she must be

To calm her heart’s storm and sea

Thought the elder three

So they took her voice

So she’d be calm and quiet

But left her laughter

And calm The Fourth was

With no voice to stir trouble

But how the storms brewed

“Disgrace them I will,”

The Fourth thought so angrily

And laughed like thunder

With this she sought out

The meadows of evening fruit

The silver apples

Picked for a purpose

The apples would grant a wish

But if as a gift

So The Fourth picked one

‘As a gift for the fairest’

She thought while laughing

This apple’s power

Could make even goddesses

Jealous and petty

She presented it

To the three elder daughters

But said not for who

She could only laugh

As they read the apple’s script

‘To the fairest one’

Each was beautiful

As were all of Nature’s young

But who was most fair?

And so they were cursed

Each with petty vanity

As was The Fourth’s wish

Long did they argue

Until even Father Time

Too grew impatient

“Enough!” He proclaimed

"This matter shall be settled

By the Prince of Lore"

Time sent for the prince

Who had aided him before

And had earned his trust

Wisest in the land

Shrewd of mind, strong of body

The Proud Prince of Lore

Summoned to Time’s court

Came the wise prince of mention

As Time’s chosen judge

Given the apple

Time bid him choose as seen fit

And left him to be

So the wise prince stood

Before the elder daughters

And said to The Three

‘Prove you’re the most fair

In beauty and of virtue

And the apple’s thine’

The eldest spoke first

‘I will grant thy great power

If thy chooses me’

The second spoke next

‘Endless knowledge will be thine

If thy chooses me’

The third spoke final

‘Or a bride of thine choosing

If thy chooses me’

The Fourth said nothing

But sat watching and laughing

Beside the daughters

Power the Prince had

All princes had great power

Of mind and magic

Wisdom he cared not

For he was the wisest prince

Learned already

Yet loved he pondered

As it tempted him greatly

For loved, he was not

The Fourth laughed again

Now at the Prince’s turmoil

If only she knew

Wise prince was proud too

And wanted not The Third’s help

For courage he had

Holding the apple

He said, “To the fairest one”

And chose the youngest

Silent was the fourth

Silent were all the daughters

Pleased was Father Time

Given as a gift

The apple’s curse was undone

By the Prince of Lore

The Fourth left smitten

With apple and silent sea

By the Prince of Lore

One by one the figures sink back into the meadow, the youngest with her apple lingering the longest. Twilight waits for the sun to continue, but when the sun begins to rise out of the tall grass, she realizes that the story has concluded.

“Wait! What about the prince? Did she love him?” asks Twilight. To her, the story wasn’t finished, and she wants to know how it is supposed to end.

Loved and hated Him.
He who had captured her heart,
Who had calmed the Sea.

“So she did love him?”

Their love was legend,
And made even goddesses,
Jealous and petty.

These words the sun sings with a somber note, hinting at things unsaid.

“Were they happy in the end?” Twilight inquires once more.

For but a short time.
But that is another story,
For another time.

“Awww.” She pouts and looks to the sun, with pleading eyes. But she knew it was no use—the princess hath spoken.

Time for us to part.
But before you go, Twilight,
We’ve a gift for you.

A small strand of light traces its way to the tree’s enclosure and stops at its edge. Twilight looks up, following the path of the light, and spots a large golden orb in the branches above.

“An apple?” Twilight says, puzzled and slightly disappointed, and the air is again filled with singsong laughter. The branch, whereon the apple grew, is more slender than the other branches, and it bends under the weight of the apple, bringing it within Twilight’s reach. Standing on her back hooves, Twilight grasps the branch and uses her weight to pull it down further. Sitting on her haunches, holding onto the branch with one hoof, she reaches for the apple with the other. But she pauses before touching the apple. Had this been any other fruit, an orange for example, she would likely not have hesitated. But this is an apple, and the sun’s story has made her wary of apples. Perhaps her princess is testing her.

“Is this like the apple for your story?” questions Twilight.

No, if not picked so.
If it is picked and then shared,
A blessing it grants.

That’s right, the youngest daughter had picked her apple to make the others ‘jealous and petty’, and it had done just that. So if she picked the apple to be shared with a friend, and shared with the princess, then wouldn’t that make them friends? A blessing it grants.

Twilight grasps the apple.

Then another thought occurs to her: what if she picked it for something more?

Snap. She lets go of the branch and it detaches from the apple. It pops up into its original position, rustles for a moment, and then is still.

She looks at the apple in her hooves and sees it is not golden like she first thought. It is yellow with an odd and beautiful luster that glitters and glows, reflecting the light of the sun, and a light from within. It is a large apple, not the largest she has seen, yet it possesses a ripe weight. The aroma from the apple is faint and only hints at what it tastes like. Yet it makes her mouth water.

There is a flicker of light, and Twilight’s attention is drawn away from the apple to the strand of light at the tree’s edge. It loops in a beckoning motion, and Twilight approaches the edge of the enclosure to meet it. There, she sits on her haunches, studying apple in her hooves, and begins to puzzle over how exactly she is supposed to share it.

“Should we just cut it in—” she begins.

The stand of light moves with such speed that to Twilight it looks like a flash. With a quick loop and flick it cuts the apple in half. Then, hooking the stem of the apple, the light carries off the top half, leaving Twilight with the bottom. In the center of the apple’s cross-section, is a star.

A star… she remembers a star: The Star. But from when, from where, she can’t recall. Yet does remember something—a riddle:

What is a little red house,

Too small for even a mouse.

No window, nor doors, for none reside

But the little star that hides inside.

Her father had once stumped her with this riddle. The best she had been able to come up with was a jewelry box, like the mahogany one her mother owned. When her father had finally told her the answer, Twilight had proclaimed, “What star?” believing herself deceived. At this, her father had taken an apple from their fruit bowl and had cut it in half. Not with a lateral cut, like her mother would, but with longitudinal one. True to the riddle, there was indeed a star, made by the seeds in the apple’s core.

The apple Twilight now holds has been cut the very same way, revealing the star in its cross-section. But this star is not made by any seeds—at least none she would recognize. But she pays little thought to the star as her attention is drawn away by the apple’s smell.

It smells like many things—foremost, of course, being an apple. Yet so too can she smell cinnamon… and roses. In fact, she can smell every fruit, spice, and flower that she has ever tasted and enjoyed: grapes and strawberries, a hint of mint and rosemary, daisies and clovers. She can even smell crystal berries, but Twilight cannot recall ever having tasted crystal berries, or hearing of them. Yet the apple still bears their scent.

Twilight stares at the apple that smells of more than an apple, at the star that is not a star, unaware she is beginning to drool, and wonders what a fruit, of such exquisite aroma, must taste like. She proceeds to take a bite and—

Foal! Open your eyes! It is not just the apple but the act of eating that holds power! Everything in that world holds power! Every object! Every act! Every word! Look around, Princess!

—and she tries to scream. Instead she chokes and drops the apple in a fit of coughing.

Crystal berries, she thinks, crystal berries grow in the Crystal Empire. She has eaten them before, once when she had gone there to visit Princess Cadence. They were perhaps the most delicious berries she has ever tasted, and she had brought some back for Pinkie Pie to use in a recipe. It had been only a month or so ago, and she can still remember the taste of the berries so clearly.

But that wasn’t right, that had never happened. There was no place she knew of called the Crystal Empire, and the only Cadence she knew was her foalsitter, who was not a princess. Nor does she knows of anypony called Pinkie Pie. Yet, somehow… she does.

She looks around and spies her book left forgotten in the grass. Its pages are blank. She could recall the pages once being full, when she had pulled the book from its shelf. Yet now these pages are all empty save for the ones she saw when she flipped through it, which are now illegible. But why? Had she pulled a bad book from the shelf?

No, she realizes, it is because there is no memory of that book here, and a strange certainty grips her. One she does not understand.

She knew that there were holes in her memory, parts of her memory she could not access. She could only recall everything that happened before entering the garden maze and up to this point. Because that was when she had entered the meadow.

She knows this, but does not know why.

It is like a veil has been placed over parts of her mind, like the kind placed over paintings or statues in museums that are not up for display. Through these veils you could make out the shapes of whatever is underneath and could guess as to what is hidden, but you could not actually see what they are. Several of these veils have been thrown over Twilights memories; she can tell that they are there and guess as to what they contain, but she cannot actually see them. Cannot remember them.

Remember? But remember what? Had she not just been walking through the Canterlot Gardens? That had felt normal, perfectly normal. Even stumbling upon the overgrown parts of the maze did not strike her as odd. She remembers that happened to her quite often when she was a filly—

Yes, when she was a filly, but she is not a filly now. At least she is not supposed to be.

The Star… What about the star? She looks at the apple on the ground, a small bite missing, and at the star in its center. It is not a star, but a flower, a five-petaled flower of shining white light. A flower with five undulating petals that only resembles a star.

No, not that star. The star she had recalled had been a six-pointed star. One surrounded by five lesser stars: five sparks. The Star of Magic—her star.

Twilight stares at her flank, at the very star that has just appeared, in a brief burst of light, uncomprehending. For a moment, she is the filly again, overwhelmed and overjoyed by the appearance of her cutie mark. She is the filly in the garden with her princess, and she has earned her cutie mark—and what a splendid mark it is.

Then she is the filly who is not a filly, and she realizes that she has not earned her cutie mark. She has remembered it. She remembers her test and its chaotic conclusion. She remembers Celestia holding her, telling her what a gift she had and making her most fanciful dream come true. She remembers the morning, days later, before she left to live in the castle, when her father had told her a riddle about apples and showed her a star.

Thunder breaks over the meadow, and Twilight becomes aware that the clouds on the horizon have gathered nearer. They have become black with rain, and lightning dances within them. Their rumble of thunder is proceeded by a deeper rumble, one from the earth beneath the meadow. The air has become cold, the sunlight carrying warmth on longer, and Twilight shivers. But it is a quiet voice on the wind that chills her most.

The mark that your bear,
We have seen it once before,
From our undoing

Wind whispers no melody, and the Sun has ceased to sing and swim. It rises up from the meadow, and Twilight now sees this river of sun for the truth that it is: the flowing coils of a great serpent cloaked in light—a serpent circling her tree adorned hill like a ship lost at sea.

The Sky. Now she knows. The sky wasn’t cracked at all. The teal lines she saw were not the cracks of some magical glass dome, but a network of roots. Tree roots.

From the coiling light arises a massive head and arching neck. It rears up, reaching a height well above the approaching stormclouds, then lowers till it is in front and level with Twilight. Through the radiance, Twilight can make out the contours of its angular face, a face as large as an Ursa Major, and in its face, blazing with greater intensity than the sun, are two burning red-yellow eyes.

You have deceived us.
You’ve kept things secret from us.
You’re not as you are.

Twilight screams and backpedals into the apple tree hard enough for the bark to dig into her coat. The head stops before the tree’s enclosure, as had the strand of light before. Perhaps this tree is protecting her, Twilight desperately hopes just as a long forked tongue shoots out and traces across her body. She shrieks as the tongue makes several quick light touches that sting with cold spasmodic pain. The tongue withdraws and Twilight staggers, her body weak and numb.

The wind hisses.

Yes, we can smell it.
You bear the scent of the Tree.
Its magic’s in you.

Twilight stares into its eyes, transfixed by the power held within them. She recalls the eyes of others: sapphire eyes, bright and piercing; maroon eyes, cold and calculating; slitted azul eyes, hateful and jealous; eyes pink with dawn, loving and sorrowful. Her own eyes, full of fury, full of fear. All embodied in the eyes of this leviathan. Eyes that saw and reflected her own inner turmoil.

Lightning flashes again as the stormclouds begin to tower above Twilight and the serpent of light, forming a great circling column.

You, little Twilight,
Have memories in shadows.
What have they hidden?

Twilight does not respond. She does not know how, nor could she if she did. She has lost the voice to speak, lost the voice to scream. Her legs give out from under her, and she lies prostrate before the great radiant leviathan, never looking away from its burning eyes—cannot look away. Here in the garden of the hurricane’s eye, she stares into these molten depths from which raw emotion pours.

In her mind’s eye, she sees the eyes of five others: green eyes, opened and honest; laughing eyes of sky-blue; teal eyes, timid yet kind; deep blue eyes, soft and benevolent; magenta eyes, faithful and willful. Eyes of ponies Twilight knows but cannot remember. Ponies from memories kept hidden from the creature, and kept hidden from her. Memories veiled in shadows.

Veiled, perhaps, in order to protect her.

Then her thoughts disappear like stars in the morning sun as the creature’s mind invades her own. Twilight’s consciousness becomes an empty stage of burning light with curtains drawn. What is left of her awareness watches on, captive and captivated, like an audience of one, as fire burns through the theatre of her mind.

Then, with one clawed strokes, the curtains are torn asunder, the veils of shadows burned away, and the filly is no more, lost in a torrent of more than a decade of memories.

The filly’s eyes close for the last time.

When they reopen, she is a princess.