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                  Land of the Unconscious                  
                       -by Manaphy-                        
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                    Spitfire's Struggle                    
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Spitfire's Struggle
Spitfire opened her eyes, her vision a blur of green and blue as she awoke from her slumber. The muscles in her legs were tight, though her head felt somewhat light. Lying on the dew-covered grass, Spitfire sprawled her body out as a slight moan escaped her cold lips. She couldn't help but wonder if somepony knocked her out, the disorienting sensations suggesting this.
"Urgh, w-where am I?" Spitfire muttered, her vision becoming clear once more. "What is this place?"
Spitfire, still lying on her chest, studied the environment around her. A rolling field of grass, all colored a dark green, covered almost every square inch of the landscape, though a narrow, winding river bisected the area. A rock or boulder seldom stuck out of the earth and pointed toward the sky, as did the occasional plateau. A few flowers also sprouted from the soil, most of them daisies or roses, and all of which were the only company Spitfire had.
Even the noise in the air was barren, with Spitfire's breathing and the accompanying flow of the river nearby the only things her ears could catch. Given that she could pick up the slightest of noises, some quieter than a timid mouse, such an observation tightened her heart into a knot and forced her face to become taut.
Wait, how did I get here? Spitfire's muzzle scrunched, her mind calculating every possible scenario. The last thing I remember was competing in the Equestria Games and returning to the Wonderbolt Headquarters. She clenched her teeth, her forehead aching as she dug deeper into her mind. That doesn't explain why I ended up here unconscious. None of this makes any sense.
Gritting her teeth, Spitfire lifted her legs up, which wiggled about as she tried to stand upright. Her muscles cried out as they tried to lift her up once more, but a minute later, she managed to accomplish the ordeal. However, her legs felt as though they had been constricted by a python and her lungs burned like a furnace as she panted. At least she was upright once more.
Lifting her leg up toward her, Spitfire's eyes widened at noticing she was wearing her Wonderbolt uniform. It was a somewhat darker shade of blue instead of the bright, hopeful blue associated with it. She blinked, soon realizing that she was also donning her goggles. Despite this, she could forgive herself for missing that, as the goggles may as well have been invisible with how clear and comfortable they were. Their presence along with her uniform could only cause her eyes to widen.
Why am I wearing these? I wasn't on a mission recently, right? Spitfire rubbed the top of her head, her hoof glancing across her mane. It's clean as well, so if I was knocked unconscious, how could the assailant have done it so cleanly? She sighed. I mean, I would have noticed him or her and tried to put up a fight.
Spitfire flapped her wings, but remained grounded as she felt a weight pushing down on her. It was like carrying a bunch of cinder blocks on her back. She twitched her golden wings, glancing back at them to study their movements. Nothing twinged or turned in an odd direction as she examined her moving wings. Is there some sort of gravity spell? Spitfire sighed, shifting her attention back to the world before her.
Lifting one leg up, Spitfire began her directionless march. Her head twisted about as she continued her trek over the grassy hills, hoping to find just one being to talk to and ask directions to Cloudsdale, Canterlot, or wherever he or she might know of. Minutes passed, and Spitfire had already covered at least a mile. Those minutes became an hour, the distance covered even larger. Spitfire's hooves ached, but with gritted teeth, she pressed on.
Maybe I am alone. Spitfire's shoulders sagged. She froze in place, then sat down to catch her breath. Maybe this is some dream, but why does it feel so real?
The slightest of breezes flowed past Spitfire.
Someone's here.
"Good guess, Spitfire," a muffled voice echoed in the air. "As you now know, you aren't alone. I've been waiting to meet you."
Spitfire turned to her left, expecting to see a body standing there. All she saw as emptiness. "Wait, how do you know my name? Also, where are you?"
"Where am I? Well, I'm standing before you."
Another swirl of wind formed, a small part of the field's grass swaying like flailing arms. A flash of light erupted in front of Spitfire, her eyes closed shut. Opening them and squinting at a pony's silhouette, the light soon faded and she could see without trouble once more. Spitfire gazed at the pony-shaped figure with raised eyebrows. The figure wore a purple suit with a dark blue mask covering her face. Bandages, colored the same as the mask the figure wore, were wrapped around her hooves. A purple hat covered the top of her head, and light blue inserts on the mask served as her eyes.
"Wait a second," Spitfire declared. "You're wearing the Mare-Do-Well costume."
"That's right, and Mare-Do-Well is my name," she responded with a monotone voice. Mare-Do-Well trotted closer to Spitfire. "Now then, you're probably wondering what's going on."
Spitfire nodded. "I am. Can you tell me how you know my name and where this is, please?"
Mare-Do-Well chuckled. "Such politeness from the Captain of the Wonderbolts." The chuckling trailed off into nothingness. "And here I thought that you'd just be a vile witch."
Glaring into where Mare-Do-Well's eyes would be, Spitfire let out a groan. "Look, I know I've said some things in the past, but I'm learning."
"Well, did you know that there's something inside of that fragile heart of yours?"
Spitfire cocked her head to the left. "Fragile? What are you talking about?"
Snickering, Mare-Do-Well then pointed at Spitfire's chest. "You may not see it now, but there's a secret you have. It's one that you've managed to hide from yourself, so congratulations, Spitfire. I think you're the kind of mare I want to show something to."
"What are you talking about?"
"First, a little introduction." Mare-Do-Well spread her forelegs out. "Welcome to the Land of the Unconscious. It is here where the secrets of the soul are kept."
"Land of the Unconscious?" Spitfire's throat tightened, her body feeling light. "Wait a second, how did I get here?"
Shaking her head, Mare-Do-Well planted her hooves back on the ground. "I can't reveal that just yet. I don't want to kill the suspense right now, especially since I want to show you something."
Feeling a curious sensation tug at her heartstrings, Spitfire leaned closer to Mare-Do-Well. "What is it that you want to show me? It better not be something ridiculous."
"Always about taking things seriously, aren't you, Spitfire?"
Pursing her lips, not a single word left Spitfire's mouth.
"Thought so." Mare-Do-Well turned away from Spitfire and lifted her hoof up a little. "Anyway, you're well aware that you can't fly here, at least not at the moment. Gravity is being a little—well—fickle at the moment. If you can accomplish something, I'll do something to bring gravity to normal."
Trotting up to Mare-Do-Well, Spitfire continued focusing on her. "What do you want?"
"Climb the plateau to your right. This challenge is why flight is locked away."
Locking gazes with Mare-Do-Well, Spitfire's face formed a blank expression. "So if I climb this plateau, the gravity will be constant?"
"That's right." Mare-Do-Well nodded slowly, then pointing to her left. "See that plateau?"
Turning to where Mare-Do-Well was pointing, Spitfire noticed the plateau looming above, the elevated area a near vertical rise. She shuffled her hooves toward the towering landmass, raising her head to catch a glimpse of its top. Taking a few additional, heavy steps, Spitfire stopped inches away from where the plateau started. Gazing at the inanimate colossus, Spitfire placed her hoof on its surface, a chill coursing through her veins.
"Huh?" Spitfire blurted out. Blinking, she then ran her hoof across the bedrock. Its surface was coarse like sandpaper, but not to an extent where it scratched her or anything. The rock's texture also tightened her chest and made her heart beat faster. "That's odd, why do I feel this dread by touching it?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Mare-Do-Well replied. She leaped up in the air, landing next to Spitfire on all fours as a thin layer of dust kicked up in the air. Lifting her hat up, she procured some climbing gear and tossed them toward Spitfire. "Here, you'll need this."
Flinching, Spitfire stepped back as the climbing gear landed in her trembling forelegs. She fumbled the item around a bit, but it managed to stay with her upon regaining her composure. Her eyebrows furrowed as she scowled at Mare-Do-Well. "You could have told me you were going to toss it."
"But you caught it like a pro." A faint snicker left Mare-Do-Well's covered lips. "I didn't expect any less from a Wonderbolt."
Spitfire took a deep breath. "Look, can I climb the plateau now?"
"You certainly can." Mare-Do-Well hovered in the air, rising up as though she were in an elevator. "But remember, this plateau isn't what it seems. In the Land of the Unconscious, strange things can happen." Mare-Do-Well halted, standing in the air as though she were on an invisible platform. "In the Land of the Unconscious, you'll experience all sorts of emotions. Happiness, sadness, laughter, anger, joy, depression, or any combination of feelings is fair game. All sorts of things can happen."
"So climbing the plateau represents one of these, right?"
Mare-Do-Well nodded. "Wise as always, Spitfire, but be warned, the journey will be tough as it pulls from the darkest depths of your soul." She resumed her rise up the plateau. "I'll see you at the top."
Spitfire studied the climbing gear she held, which were sharp claws with leather straps to attach on her hoof. Putting the gear on, Spitfire took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she let her mind take over.
It's only a plateau. I've faced worse when I was training to join the Wonderbolts. Spitfire lifted her head up high, gazing at the landmass' top. Still, I can't help but wonder what I'll feel if what Mare-Do-Well said is anything to go by. Spitfire looked back down at the bedrock, a sigh escaping her lips. She jammed the claw into the rock, a clinking sound echoing in the air as the blade dug into the plateau's side. Whatever it is, I hope that it's a happy one.
Spitfire kicked her hind legs up, landing her hooves on the plateau's side. With both claws now wedged into the stone, she pulled one of them out. Stretching her left foreleg toward the heavens, Spitfire thrust the claw back into the rock, grunting and clenching her teeth as the claw pierced into the plateau's stony flesh like a knife through a sheet paper. She dislodged the claw attached to her right hoof, then performed the same stretch and jab as before.
The climbing pattern continued as Spitfire struggled up the plateau, her muscles tightening the further she climbed. Looking behind her, she studied the barren, sprawling landscape before her. She squinted for a moment, shifting her eyes around, but nothing of importance popped out or became visible. It was just green on the bottom half and light blue on the upper.
"You weakling!" a hostile voice sniped. "You can't do anything right! You'll never amount to anything!"
Spitfire's ears twitched, her breath turning cold. That voice wasn't from Mare-Do-Well, as she had a muffled, feminine voice. This was a deep, gruff, masculine one with a malicious edge. Twisting her head back and forth, Spitfire scanned the world around her once more, but nothing peculiar was there.
Maybe I'm just imagining things. Spitfire raised her head, lifting her foreleg to continue her climb. That has to be it. Only the chipping away of stone echoed into her ears as she continued traversing toward the sky. Reaching the halfway point of her vertical journey, her lungs burning, Spitfire then felt a warm, wet liquid trickle down her cheeks. Her goggles soon fogged up, her eyes itching as though a drop of soap landed on them.
I'm crying? Why? This isn't who I am.
"What a useless pony," another voice mocked. "Couldn't help make a tornado, am I right?"
"Shut up," Spitfire murmured. "I was assigned to make sure everything was safe and secure that day. I wasn't even supposed to be in the tornado, so stop accusing me without knowing the full picture. What do you know?"
Spitfire jabbed the rock with greater force, soon finding herself near the top. The thumping beat of her heart, its pace quickening, echoed into her ears. The tension in her muscles squeezed her legs. Sweat dripped from her mane and fell to the earth below like raindrops.
"She's totally useless," a third voice quipped. "Who gets knocked out like that? Heck, she's even a brat, so what can she do right?"
"Shut up!" Spitfire blurted out, her breathing audible. Her cheeks flushed a hot pink as her lips curled into a grim frown. Spitfire ground her teeth, smashing the claws into the plateau as the blades became fully wedged within the landmass. "I'm not useless! I'm Spitfire! I can't be useless if I'm a Wonderbolt! I'm going to solve this no matter what!"
A cacophonous series of laughs polluted the air. Spitfire's body froze in place, her head looking up at the sky. The images of two ponies appeared before her eyes, one a brown pegasus stallion and the other a tan one. The pair wore wide, twisted grins on their faces and their dark pupils were dilated to where they filled their eyes.
"I told you, I'm not a loser," Spitfire shrieked. An echo of her past self repeated her cry, sending a chill down her spine.
Spitfire took a deep breath, the two bullies vanishing in the blink of an eye. Her hind legs wiggled about, the internal tension attempting to push her back down. Spitfire glanced down to the grassland below, her breath turning cold upon noticing the seldom flowers from before now dots as large as atoms from where she was. Her aching legs and those venomous echoes attacking her didn't help matters. While tall heights were no problem for her, even finding some of the intricate and flowing scenery from the world below beautiful at times, something about having no flight while clinging onto something jagged and high up produced a dizzying sensation.
With widened eyes and a taut expression, she took a deep breath upon bringing her attention back to the task at hoof. Pressing the claws deeper into the plateau's face, Spitfire then took a deep breath. Glancing upward, she forced a faint smile, noticing the peak close by. Adjusting her body and legs to a comfortable, suitable climbing position, Spitfire licked her lips.
Here I go.
Spitfire's forelegs attacked the plateau at a quicker clip, her destination within her grasp to where she could taste it. She cleared inches upon inches of the height, making quick work of the wall. Soon enough, she made her way to the top, heaving herself over the edge and onto the rugged, flat surface. Panting, Spitfire straightened herself out, her legs wobbling like gelatin for a brief second. She detached the climbing claws from her hooves and tossed them to the side. Spitfire then brought her attention to Mare-Do-Well, scowling with furrowed eyebrows.
"What was that about?" Spitfire demanded. She lifted her goggles up, wiping some leftover tears from her eyes. "I'm climbing this plateau and I hear all of those voices mocking me." A sigh escaped Spitfire's lips as she put her goggles on. Stomping her hooves against the ground, she marched toward Mare-Do-Well. "I never felt that way before. I demand an explanation."
A chuckle escaped Mare-Do-Well's lips. "Well then, it looks like we have somepony who's actually fragile," she scoffed. "What are the odds?"
Spitfire's body drooped. "The odds are zero percent." Straightening her posture, she trotted toward Mare-Do-Well with a stern expression. "Look, it was probably the Land of the Unconscious teasing me to make that challenge tougher. You did say that all sorts of things could happen."
Mare-Do-Well nodded. "I did."
"Then what I experienced must have been an illusion of sorts."
Mare-Do-Well nodded a second time. "It was."
Spitfire's wings twitched, her face taut. "Then those insults were just there to distract me." She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them up again. "Maybe this place was making me act different. That had to be it."
A slight smirk formed on Mare-Do-Well's lips, visible from underneath her dark mask. "Perhaps, but you'll find out soon enough." She snickered. "I did promise that I'd make it possible for you to fly once more, and I am a mare of my word."
Mare-Do-Well procured an orange orb with a feather inside of it from behind her cape. The orb's luster was as bright as a star's. Spitfire could see her strained face on its reflection, her eyes gazing at the feather-like silhouette trapped within. Placing the orb on the ground, Mare-Do-Well then lifted her left foreleg up, aligning it with the orb. With a single, powerful stomp, her hoof shattered the orb. Thousands of amber shards flew into the air, joined by a thin cloud of dust.
Spitfire's wings twitched about. Flapping them, she hovered above the ground and flew around Mare-Do-Well, never taking her gaze off of her. Starting out slow, Spitfire weaved up and down, making certain that everything worked as it should. She glanced at her wings as they moved about to make her ascend, descend, speed up, and slow down.
Perfect. Spitfire cracked the slightest of smiles, though her stomach was still tied into a knot. No. I can fly, but I need to get back home.
Spitfire tucked her wings in, then landed on all four hooves in front of Mare-Do-Well. Gazing into where her eyes would be, she trotted forward with small, light steps.
"I told you I don't break promises," Mare-Do-Well said, lifting her hoof up. She pointed at Spitfire's wings. "How does it feel to be one with the sky again, Spitfire?"
"It feels nice," Spitfire answered. She placed her hoof on her chest, shoulders drooped. "I still feel like something is missing, however."
"Oh?" Mare-Do-Well tilted her head. "Your flying prowess should be back now."
"It is." Spitfire let out a cold sigh, her head lowered. "It's just that I can't shake this feeling." Sensing her throat tighten and become sorer, Spitfire cleared her throat. "There's just something about this place and I, but I don't know what it is yet."
Mare-Do-Well let out a laugh, only for it to die down seconds later. "You'll find out soon enough. The journey is not over yet."
"Journey?" Spitfire rubbed her muzzle. "Then does that mean—" her eyebrows rose up "—you know where Cloudsdale is from here? Maybe you know where Canterlot or Manehattan is."
A hearty laugh escaped Mare-Do-Well's mouth, which echoed in the air as though it were a yodel. "Spitfire, I cannot say where your home of Cloudsdale is. The same goes for the other places you mentioned as well." She nudged closer to Spitfire. "The truth is, in the Land of the Unconscious, you won't be able to return to your home in your current state."
Spitfire jumped backwards, her body quivering. "W-what?" Her body felt light as she waddled back and forth, almost toppling over. "D-did you just say I won't be able to return home?" She took a deep breath, straightening her posture. "But what is my current state?"
"You'll learn soon enough."
Spitfire rolled her eyes. "Everything has to come at the end, doesn't it?" A quiet groan escaped her lips. "Sometimes, I wish things could be a little easier for once."
Mare-Do-Well nodded. "Perhaps, but even when the going gets tough, you do perform brilliantly most of the time."
Spitfire continued focusing on Mare-Do-Well with a blank stare, not a single word leaving her mouth.
"Well then, I can tell you where to go next."
With a stern, unflinching posture, Spitfire leaned closer to Mare-Do-Well. "Go on."
"Of course, Spitfire." Mare-Do-Well pointed behind her. "If you fly forwards, you'll pass over a forest. Within that forest is a small area where there are no trees and a few cabins. Land there, and you'll meet someone special."
Spitfire cocked her head. "Someone special? Who would that be?"
"All I can say—" Mare-Do-Well stepped back "—is that she'll be quite familiar. Her fellow villagers will also remind you of some ponies you know. If you listen to their words, the key may be revealed."
"What does the 'may' part mean?" Spitfire's muzzle scrunched up. "Also, what key are you referring to?"
"The key to your heart, of course. As for the uncertainty, it's because of something happening in the other world."
"The other world?" Rubbing her hoof across her mane, Spitfire closed her eyes. "Hmm." She then opened them up once more. "Well, since this is the Land of the Unconscious, you must mean the real world. That's must be why I can't just fly to Cloudsdale."
"Smart as always, Spitfire. That wit of yours will come in handy."
"However, what about the event in the real world?" Spitfire ruffled her wings.
"It's frightening. It's why you're here, you know."
A chill coursed down Spitfire's spine, her breathing quickened. "Is everypony okay? Are my fellow Wonderbolts okay? Are my friends okay? Am I okay?"
Mare-Do-Well remained silent, her body as still as a statue.
Gulping, Spitfire's face became taut. "Oh no."
"Well then, I won't delay you any further, Spitfire." Mare-Do-Well vanished, leaving not a single trace of her former presence behind. A mild breeze swirled where she once stood. "I'll be watching. Remember, talk to the ponies you meet. However, there is a sinister presence lurking nearby." Mare-Do-Well paused for a second. "You best be on your guard, but you'll make it home eventually. However, whether you do so as you once were or as a lingering ghost caught in a breeze is up in the air."
Spitfire opened her golden wings and took off into the air, a gust blowing against her mane as she accelerated. "I hope I make it home."
Rising toward the heavens, Spitfire looked up at the sky before her, the clear blue skies metamorphosing into a blanket of gray clouds. She blinked a few times, the clouds above rushing in like actors late for their cue to go on stage. Lowering her head, Spitfire studied the forest below her, which was a cover of dark green leaves swaying about in the breeze.
A slight drop of water cascaded down from the sky, touching Spitfire's cheek. A few more raindrops crashed down onto her, a chilling sensation coursing through her veins and her wings tickled by the wet drops.
Glancing up ahead, Spitfire noticed a small clearing within the forest. It was a small circle with a flat, light green appearance and a faint smoke bellowing out of the center. Gliding toward the clearing, Spitfire noticed a modest cabin situated in the middle with multiple, smaller cabins surrounding it like satellites. The smoke from before was coming from the central cabin's chimney.
"Somepony's there," Spitfire whispered.
Descending, Spitfire slowed down and skidded across the grass. She stopped next to one of the smaller cabins, swiveling her head toward it as she studied the structure's frail, withered form. A few scratches and splinters stood out like a sore thumb on the cabin's exterior, though the other cabins were wounded by time's march as well. Placing her weight onto the wall, Spitfire let out a deep sigh.
Nopony else seems to be here.
Spitfire's ears twitched as the rustling of leaves echoed in the air. Shuffling her hooves toward the center, she peeked from behind the cabin, gazing at the back of a bluish opal-colored mare emerging from the forest. She had a curly, darker opal mane and tail and her wings were spread out. However, Spitfire's eyes couldn't help but widen at the sight of the Wonderbolt trainee uniform she wore.
"Sprinkle Medley?" Spitfire muttered. Approaching her with light hoofsteps, she continued watching Medley's every move. Spitfire took a deep breath, soon finding herself a couple of inches away from her.
Spitfire raised her voice. "Sprinkle Medley? Is that you?" She trotted even closer, the two now close together. "It's me, Spitfire."
"I know," Medley replied, her voice monotone. "I knew you would come."
Spitfire stepped back, her heart beating faster. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not."
Spitfire's lips curled into a taut frown. "What's wrong?"
"The real world." Medley turned around and gazed at Spitfire, but the former's eyes were just an empty, white void. Turning pale, Spitfire jumped into the air. "This is my face. Soon, it will be yours as well."
Spitfire felt her breath being taken away. Her teeth chattered like maracas as she shivered in place. "W-what are you talking about?"
"You don't know, do you?" A sigh escaped Medley's lips. "Such is the Land of the Unconscious. Regardless of whether you find out or not, know that your face will be similar to mine's if the cards fall in a certain way."
Stepping back, Spitfire then let out a gulp. "But is there anything I can do to save both of us?"
Medley shook her head. "No."
Lowering her head, Spitfire let out a sigh of her own, a white mist leaving her mouth. Gazing back to Medley, she then opened her golden wings up, eyebrows ruffled. "Impossible or not, I'm going to find a way to save us. I may not be the one to solve it all, but I'll do everything in my power to help. I'm a Wonderbolt, after all."
"Do you really believe that? A masked wanderer told me something about you."
"Mare-Do-Well?"
Medley nodded. "That was her name. Anyway, she told me that as intelligent as you are, the one thing you refuse to accept is your true feelings. You'll figure it out soon enough, but for now, feel free to lie to yourself about what's really inside your heart."
Blushing, Spitfire ground her teeth. "I'm not lying to myself." She felt the slightest of twinges in her chest. "I'm telling the truth."
Medley turned away from Spitfire. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to keep looking. I've played my part, so I guess this is goodbye. Feel free to chat with the others here. They all have something they want to say."
Spitfire blinked, but upon opening her eyes, Medley had vanished. Not a single trace of her was left behind as the world became silent once more.
"Medley, where are you?" Spitfire called out.
"She's left to attend to some—important business," a voice answered.
Spitfire flinched, her wings spread out. She shifted her eyes toward the voice's source, which appeared to be from the small cabin to her right. Shuffling her hooves toward the cabin, Spitfire took a deep breath. "Look, who are you? Do you know if I can get back home? I'm willing to do almost anything at this point." A sigh escaped her cold lips, her eyebrows then ruffled. "This is getting quite ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? Well, you'd be right in a way. Also, I think I know how this is all going to end?"
Spitfire cocked her head. "You do?" She took a few additional steps toward the cabin, her heart pounding as though it was attempting to burst out of her chest and escape. "Can you tell me, please?"
"Well, if you knock on the door to my cabin and have a little chat with me, I can make a few arrangements."
Nodding, Spitfire made her way to the cabin's front door. Lifting her hoof up, she tapped the pale, rotting frame thrice. Her throat tightened, unsure who, or what, would answer.
The door opened, a creak splitting the air and forcing Spitfire to shield her ears with her hooves. She then uncovered them, her eyes gazing at the figure before her. A familiar, light turquoise pegasus mare with a loud, amber mane stood still. Like Sprinkle Medley before her, the mare's eyes were a white void and her face lacking any emotion.
Spitfire gulped. "L-Lightning Dust?" she sputtered, focusing on her ghostly gaze. "What happened?"
"Simple," Lightning Dust replied. "I'm just a husk at this point. Happiness, sadness, excitement, and curiosity are gone from me. All I have left is an invisible fear."
Taking a step back, Spitfire's muzzle then scrunched up. "Lightning Dust?" She shook her head. "No, this can't be right. You were always the confident, cocky member of the trainees. Even after I punished you for your behavior, even after you learned a valuable lesson, you still had that attitude." She let out a long sigh, her head hung low. "But when I see you like this—" Spitfire felt a twinge her chest, her expression grim "—I just can't help but feel hurt. You, Sprinkle Medley, and anypony else don't deserve this."
"But there's nothing you can do." Lightning Dust approached Spitfire with short steps. "We're like this, and maybe you will too."
Spitfire's shoulders sagged, her eyes gazing into Lightning Dust's blank ones. "I know." She sighed once more. "I'll admit it depresses me."
"That's what I was waiting for."
"Huh?" Straightening her body out, Spitfire's ears perked up. "What are you talking about?"
"Think about it."
Spitfire lowered her head. "I think I know."
Tilting her head, Lightning Dust raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
"The secret that I've kept from myself is that I'm depressed. I'm depressed because I want to be a good pony, but because I screw up, I end up looking like a bad one."
"And that's what we've all been waiting for, Spitfire. Now it comes full circle."
"So that's why—"
"Indeed." Lightning Dust nodded. "Mare-Do-Well's test of strength was more than just a physical challenge. It was an emotional one as well. That plateau you climbed—"
"Hold on." Spitfire raised her hoof up. "How did you know I climbed the plateau?"
"This is the Land of the Unconscious. We know these things."
"Well, given where we are, I guess I can believe it."
Lightning Dust crept backwards into the cabin. "Well then, I've played my role. Just remember one last thing."
Trotting closer to Lightning Dust, Spitfire then gazed into her empty eyes. "What is it?"
"I think the failures that plague you so are grossly exaggerated."
Leaping up into the air, Spitfire blocked the door with her foreleg, the wood rubbing against her arm. "Wait, what are you on about? I couldn't save that one pony a while back and I behaved poorly at times. Tell me, please. I need to know."
"Think about it. You're usually successful in your missions. You can't be perfect."
"I know that."
The door wiggled, pushing Spitfire out of the way as though it could use magic, and then closed shut. "I know you do. It's that you're blowing this out of proportion. You'll soon learn this."
Spitfire turned around, trudging away from the cabin. "I don't know if I will."
"But I do," Mare-Do-Well's voice announced out of nowhere. "First, I need you to do me a favor. However, it will be dangerous."
In a flash, Spitfire turned around and caught Mare-Do-Well standing still. The two locked gazes. "I don't have much left. There's pretty much nothing for me to fight for." She ruffled her wings, biting her lip. "Okay, what do you need?"
"First—" Mare-Do-Well procured a sack, heaving it toward Spitfire "—I'll need you to take this."
The sack landed before Spitfire's hooves, a dull thud echoing in the air. Prying it open with her hooves, a bright glimmer shone from within the bag. She reached down, pulling out a bow with a texture similar to silver, a quiver, and a set of arrows. The bow's curved shape had a special, small latch designed specifically for ponies to hold and draw it with the hoof. The bow itself was light as well with it not pushing Spitfire's forelegs into the dirt and no searing pain coursed through them. It was a marvel of Equestrian engineering.
But why is she giving this to me? Spitfire raised her left eyebrow. "Why do I need a bow? Is something approaching?"
Mare-Do-Well nodded. "Correct. A deadly foe is approaching, his magical power exceeding that of even the greatest users of the arcane."
"So that's why I need this bow." Spitfire fiddled with the bow's string, the tension just where she wanted it. "It's so that I can attack from afar if needed."
"Two for two, Spitfire." Mare-Do-Well trotted toward Spitfire, the pair now inches apart. "You do know how to use a bow, right?"
Spitfire nodded. "Of course I do." She placed the quiver over her back. "Anyone who has gone through training knows how to use one."
"I know you're telling the truth this time."
"How?"
Chuckling, Mare-Do-Well took a step back. "The Land of the Unconscious tells me all sorts of things about you. I was just making sure that this was an appropriate gift, if one could call it that."
Cocking her head, Spitfire then blinked twice. "Okay, but who am I supposed to be looking out for? I get that he's powerful, but I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."
"If you insist." Mare-Do-Well cleared her throat, raising her hoof up. "Your foe is a cloaked figure with long, thin arms with wrinkled appendages on them for grasping things. He has a cunning sense and can learn from his opponents just by fighting them for a little. He has over three thousand years of combat experience."
"Hold on a second." Spitfire lifted her hoof toward where Mare-Do-Well's lips would be. "Did you just say three thousand years?"
Mare-Do-Well nodded again. "I did. He has been deceased for a long time, but his spirit still lingers."
Turning pale, Spitfire's throat tightened as though a pair of hooves were strangling her. "Dead? Does that mean I'm—"
"No. You're not dead."
Leaning toward Mare-Do-Well, Spitfire's eyes widened with dilated pupils. "Then why am I even here? How am I in a place where you can't get back home? None of this makes sense."
Freezing in place, not a word escaped Mare-Do-Well's mouth.
"Look, just point to where I can get back home and I'll let Princess Twilight Sparkle know about this mage."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Spitfire."
Spitfire gritted her teeth. "Okay, fine. I'll fight this mage and get stomped on. I deserve it at this point. Happy?"
"Turn around." Mare-Do-Well began to fade away, a slight breeze swirling around her. "Your foe awaits."
Taking a deep breath, her legs wobbling, Spitfire did as instructed. Before her was a cloaked figure with thin arms and a staff. A bright, emerald-like orb shimmered from within the staff's tip that illuminated a crooked, withered face. A bloodcurdling grin with sharp teeth that may as well have been fangs was painted across his face. His eyes were a dark green twinkle surrounded by a black abyss. Spitfire could feel the air around her become colder, her breath now visible and her teeth chattering.
And the worst part of all; he had an uncanny, familiar appearance.
"My, it looks like we have a lost filly," the figure said, his hoarse voice like claws grinding against a chalkboard. "Come here, youngster. Let me help you with your despair."
Spitfire's limbs were locked in place, her heart beating quicker as the figure approached.
I want to run away, but why can't I move?
Sweat trickled down Spitfire's mane and onto the grass below. Closing her eyes shut, Spitfire took a deep breath.
"Don't be afraid," the cloaked figure continued. Spitfire opened her eyes up, noticing the staff pointed toward her. "I just need to get something before I go. It will only take a painful minute, and I absolutely loathe having to wait."
A jolt coursed through Spitfire's veins, her wings now flapping a gust of wind around her. Without giving it a second thought, she dashed away from the figure. A light green bolt from the staff's emerald shot across the field, almost glancing Spitfire's tail. Weaving through a cluster of trees, she then took cover behind one of the thick, brown tree trunks. The rough, wooden surface kissed her back.
Who is that? Spitfire peeked from behind the tree, gazing at the figure as he stood beside the central cabin. Taking a quick breath, Spitfire took an arrow and drew it, the arrowhead pointing at the figure.
Spitfire observed the cloaked figure raise his staff up, lighting the central cabin ablaze in the blink of an eye. She adjusted her aim, the arrowhead now on the path to the figure's head. Spitfire's limbs became frozen once more. She then released the arrow, a whoosh shouting into her ears. The figure marched forward, the arrow racing past the back of his head and piercing a tree with a sickening thump.
Cringing, Spitfire lowered her bow and then leaped to the next tree. Another bolt shot toward her, the energy emitted by it tightening Spitfire's legs with its mere presence. Missing her wings and almost frying them, the bolt slammed into a nearby tree with a sickening thud.
This isn't good. The world became silent, the sole exception being Spitfire's thumping heart echoing into her ears. Attacking head on would be suicide. A harsh twinge formed within Spitfire's head, everything around her now feeling slower. What's going on? Seconds later, and the world froze. The leaves that fell from the struck tree now floated in the air.
Spitfire placed a hoof to her forehead, an intense sharpness like an ice pick wedged into her skull forming there. A flash of light appeared around her, then another.
The flashes stopped, now replaced by a black abyss. Inaudible murmurs filled Spitfire's ears, growing louder until they could be understood.
"You saved us, Spitfire!" a familiar squeak shouted.
"Captain Spitfire, the enemy is approaching Ponyville! A group of pegasi are in danger!" another voice declared.
"Can we get them to safety?" a voice identical to Spitfire's asked.
"That's the thing. See, if we go, there's a high chance of us getting caught by them."
"And if we're caught?"
"Remember what the Royal Guard ordered. We just attack the big guy head on first."
"That's stupid! Why can't we just avoid him while saving those in trouble?"
"Remember the order, Spitfire. We have to save anypony in danger. Sometimes, we need to fight, even if we'll probably lose."
The voices ceased. The forest reappeared around Spitfire, time flowing at its steady rate once more. Feeling a lightness fill her body, she reclined against the tree trunk, her limbs loosening. She glanced at her bow, which rested to her right, and picked it up.
"I get it now," Spitfire muttered. "I'm depressed. I think I'm a failure. However, those words of praise say otherwise." She took a deep breath. "I lied to myself. I have some hope, however small. I just need to figure out what to do from here." Spitfire poked her head from behind the tree branch, drawing her bow unconsciously. "I don't know what to do, but I have to accept what happens from here." Releasing the arrow, she closed her eyes, a ferocious scream filling the air.
Spitfire opened her eyes. Gazing at the collapsed body before her, she noticed the figure's hood uncovered her head. She crept closer to the figure and studied his withered face. The figure's eyes were empty, his yellow coat pale and her orange mane flowing against the breeze. A pair of frail, green arms rested on the grass below. Raising an eyebrow, Spitfire then rubbed her muzzle.
"That thing looks like me," Spitfire muttered. She shuffled her hooves closer to the figure. "Other than the eyes and the lack of eyelashes, it's a near perfect copy." A warm, soothing sensation coursed through her veins, painting the slightest of smiles on her face. "That's odd. Why do I feel so—relieved?"
Spitfire felt something as soft as a blanket glance her shoulder. Swiveling her body around, she noticed Mare-Do-Well gazing toward her, reclining against a tree trunk with a smirk visible under her mask.
"I'm back. You've learned the lesson, Spitfire," Mare-Do-Well said, straightening herself out. "Congratulations."
"I know," Spitfire whispered. "I shouldn't have lied to myself like I did, but what will happen when everypony finds out the truth?"
"I know they'll accept it for who you are."
Spitfire nodded. "Okay, but who was that?"
"He's a mage who can change his face to represent his foe's greatest fear." Mare-Do-Well glanced over to the mage, then back to Spitfire. "The mage took the form of a mental fear."
Spitfire lowered her head, then raised it back up. "My depression?"
"Precisely." Mare-Do-Well nodded.
"I see." Spitfire paused, rubbing her hoof across her mane. "Also, why did I feel so—well—relieved?"
"He's a mage of melancholy. Your victory reveals something about who you are, you know. That's why you passed my test." Mare-Do-Well took her hat off, flinging it like a discus. "Anyway, it's time for you to go home."
Spitfire lifted her goggles up, her eyes sparkling like stars. "I can?"
"Yes."
Spitfire looked at her foreleg, noticing her Wonderbolt uniform now a lighter shade of blue. "Huh?" She looked back toward Mare-Do-Well with a raised brow. "So how do I get there?"
"Simple. You wake up."
Spitfire blinked, the world around her then vanishing into a rainbow-colored light. She closed her eyes, the slightest of smirks forming across her face.
I finally met myself.
Her muscles loosened, a relieved sigh escaping her mouth.
I know that things can work out. It won't be easy, but I can do it.
Spitfire woke up.