The Spirit of Magic

by Ezn

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 8336

In the dark future of Equestria, one explorer finds a light.

In the dark future of Equestria, a ponykind on the brink of extinction is thrown a lifeline by a mysterious race of aliens armed with amazing technology. All they need to do to survive is give up their magic, and their world.

For many, this seems a fair trade. But in the midst of the great humanification, one brave explorer gets her hooves on a priceless artifact that may change everything.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-24 15:00:36 UTC

Chapter Two: The Predators Following Her Every Step

Heather the grey earth pony stood up, her new legs shaking beneath her. The long arms of her jersey rumpled at her hooves. Digging knelt down and swiftly rolled them up.

“How did you do that?” asked Heather, marvelling at Digging’s hoofwork and looking down forlornly at the ends of her own forelegs.

“Practice. I know we don’t have hands like you humans, but we’re not totally helpless.”

Heather raised her left forehoof to her eyes and gave it a puzzled glance.

“I’ll teach you all about that sort of thing later,” Digging said gruffly, “but right now we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

Heather nodded and she and Digging began scouring the room for anything that might help them escape. They were in a square stone cell with a tiny barred window set into the highest point of one of its walls, and a thick wooden door opposite that window. Digging flew up to the window, but found the bars too narrow for her to even get a hoof through. Defeated, she fluttered down to rejoin Heather.

Something above the two crackled, and a deep, masculine voice said, “There is only one way of getting out of your cell... and that’s by waiting for us to deal with you. Patience, my little ponies.”

Digging snarled. “Show yourself!”

“It’s a radio transmitter... probably stolen from the base. There’s no-one else here.” Heather sighed. “Ms Doo, a radio is like –”

“I know what a radio is!” Digging snapped. “We have them in Equestria as well, you know. There actually are things we can invent without needing humans to show us how.” Digging’s eyes glinted. “Like ponification spells!”

Heather gasped. “That’s –”

“Yeah, how does it feel, Heather?” asked Digging. “How does it feel to have your identity destroyed? To have your species changed?”

“Ms Doo, I’ll have you know that there’s a big difference between the voluntary service we offer ponies and forceful species –”

“Time! That’s the only difference. Or weren’t you around for the big ‘Equestria is dying and we all need to humanify and go live on Earth’ speech? You know, the one where you humans used your technology to resurrect and then coarsely force into humanification six legendary historical figures! At least whoever these cultists are didn’t play mind games with you before they zapped off your fingers!”

“Wait... cultists?”

“Duh.” Digging rolled her eyes. “Typical know-nothing human. Everypony knows that the only ones with the resources or the will to break into human outposts are the crazy countryside cults. It’s why I moved to the city – needed to stay out of the way of those idiots. Didn’t help in the end, of course.”

“Tell me more about these cults,” Heather asked softly, silently thankful for the situation’s defusal.

Digging put a hoof to her chin and cast a thoughtful eye to the ceiling, the last of the anger in her face disappearing. “Well, you see, a few hundred years ago, we had these two princesses who ruled over Equestria, and they were kind and benevolent and wise. But then war broke out and they got killed, which obviously upset everypony. Some were even upset enough to group around minor nobles and charismatic speakers in their desire for new rulers, and as Equestria became more dangerous and chaotic, their groups got bigger and started to move away from the rest of the country. They went to live in the mountains, on the plains, and in the forests, and a few of the bigger ones are still around today.”

Digging paused for a moment. “They didn’t used to mingle with the rest of us much, but ever since you humans arrived, well, at least one of the cults has been making a lot more of a nuisance of itself.”

“I guess they must feel threatened,” Heather said.

“Yeah, it’s a way folks tend to feel when their worlds get invaded by aliens.”

Heather huffed at this, looking for a moment like she was about to say something, but then apparently thinking the better of it and keeping her mouth shut.

“Don’t think I’m going to forget about that, Heather,” said Digging. “We’re going to need to co-operate with each other to get out of here, and you may make a cute little pony but –”

“Thanks!” Heather smiled with her muzzle for the first time.

Before Digging could continue her speech, the speaker on the ceiling crackled again. “We are ready to attend to you two now. Please step up to the door and wait for further instructions.”

Digging and Heather exchanged glances before obediently trotting towards the door – the latter wobbling on her legs a little as she did so.

“Open the door and step outside.” As the voice finished speaking, a clicking noise sounded from the door’s locking mechanism and it creaked open slightly.

Heather stared down the hallway before them with wide eyes, and Digging took a deep breath. The walls were lined with torches, but the first set wasn’t for a good number of metres, and the second set looked even further still. Wordlessly, the two ponies slowly walked down the passage, one of the two sets of hoofsteps growing steadier as they want.

***

“You’re getting better at that walking thing,” Digging observed. “You’re almost doing it naturally.”

Heather beamed for a second time. “Thanks!”

“You’d better be able to gallop as well. We’ll probably need to do some of that later.”

“Uh...”

The end of the passageway was in sight, much to Digging and Heather’s relief. They hadn’t been walking for long, but the torches had stopped before one of the hallway’s corners, and the utter darkness of the past few minutes made the twilight-accustomed Digging uneasy.

What made Digging even more uneasy was the sight of a large, fat unicorn stallion sitting on a throne, which slowly came into view as they reached the end of the dark passageway. Two loud voices on either side of Digging and Heather boomed an introduction: “Hail to His Majesty, The Great Emperor Soluna, he who is to create the moon-sun and shepherd us into a new dawn!”

Digging rolled her eyes and then let them land on the stallion in the throne, bitterly noting how unsuited such a filthy, fat creature was to such a grand title. He was a middle-aged stallion with a thinning orange mane and a yellow coat. A rusty crown sat lopsided on his head, and on his back were fastened a pair of metal wings. Digging almost pitied his pathetic attempt to appear royal.

“Salutations, Ms Digging Doo!” he boomed, voice dripping with mock respect. “It is an honour to finally meet you in the flesh!”

The room at the end of the hall was a large and well-lit, but its decorations were gaudy and badly co-ordinated. A long crimson rug clashed the with sickly yellow and cyan wall-hangings, and Soluna’s throne was a filthy, decaying couch that might once have been green.

“What do you want?” Digging asked bluntly. “Did you want the journal page? Because you’ve got that now, so I don’t know what you’re keeping me around for? And why did you turn this human into a pony? What was the point of that?”

Soluna smiled a slimy smile, full of yellow teeth and bits of his lunch. “So many questions...” he droned. “You’re a fiesty one, Ms Doo, but I suppose all bird ponies are – never obedient to anyone they feel they can escape... it’s no wonder nopony else ever wants to deal with you lot.”

Digging glared at him, saying nothing.

“Not that you don’t have a point, of course. I do need you for something, Ms Doo, and I’m certain your formerly human friend can help as well.”

“Hmph.” Digging scanned the room for exits. Guards were everywhere, and the only apparent opening was to the passage she and Heather had entered from.

“You see, Ms Doo,” Soluna continued, “that journal entry you found for us was the final piece of a puzzle we’ve been working on for quite some time. Thanks to the information recorded on the back – it was in invisible ink, bet you didn’t figure that out – we’ve been able to locate a place of great importance, where an artefact of great power lies.”

Digging sighed. “My services aren’t free, you know.”

“But of course not!” Soluna chuckled. “I’m perfectly prepared to pay you with the most precious thing I have to give – your life.”

Digging snarled and bared her teeth, expelling a puff of breath from her nostrils. As her hoof scrapped against the ground, she heard the sound of every unicorn in the room lighting up their horns.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Soluna warned.

Digging glanced at Heather, who was shaking and wordlessly imploring her to listen with wide, tearful eyes. She groaned and let her body relax.

“Why did you turn Heather into a pony?” Digging spat her question out vehemently.

Soluna grinned. “Mostly to show that I could – my scientists are very proud of their successful reversal of the humans’ formula. Besides, she looks much cuter as pony, don’t you think?”

Heather whimpered and her head receded into the neck of her large jersey.

“Uurgh, just looking at that bundle makes me feel sweaty,” Soluna said. “She must be burning up! Guards, cool the lady down!”

Heather squeaked in terror as two burly unicorn stallions approached her. She clung to the jersey with her legs as their magic grasped and tugged at it.

“Hey!” Digging shouted, jumping between the unicorns and Heather. “Leave her alone!”

“What’s the matter, Digging Doo?” asked Soluna. “You turning into a human sympathiser?”

Digging’s wings flared out and she stared menacingly at the guards. “No, I just don’t like bullies. You touch one thread on her jersey – or one hair on her head – and you’re not going to have a co-operative Digging Doo.”

The room was silent for a moment, and then Soluna sighed. “Guards, stand down. Let the silly mare die of heatstroke.”

The guards retreated and Digging turned to back to Soluna with a confident smile on her muzzle. “Now, Mr Soluna, what is that you would have me retrieve for you?”

“At last, she sees reason!” Soluna’s eyes glinted briefly, and he focused them in Digging’s direction. “I’ll keep this brief and to-the-point: there exists an object of great power in a well-hidden, even-better-guarded site at the summit of Mount Arcana, and I’d like it to exist in my possession instead.”

“That’s not an awful lot to go on.”

“It doesn’t need to be. In my immense kindness, I’ve arranged for my people to take you all the way to the site’s entrance. If my sources are correct, the celebrated Digging Doo should be more than capable of handling herself from there on in.”

Digging huffed. “Your slimy little spies are right about that one.”

“I look forward to seeing you back that up.” Soluna clapped his forehooves together. “Guards! I tire of my guests! Escort them back to their quarters at once!”

Digging and Heather were swiftly taken back down the dark passage and put back in their cell, with the door locked behind them. The guards’ hoofsteps had barely faded into the background when Heather forced her jersey up over her head and tossed it into a rumpled heap in the corner of the cell. Digging cocked an eyebrow at her.

“That king guy may be an unpleasant creep, but he was right – it’s far too hot around here for a jersey,” she said to Digging’s inquisitive look.

“That’s not what I was going to ask about...”

“Huh?”

“Heather, did you know you’re a pegasus?”

Heather gasped and looked back at the creased white shirt covering her trunk. Her eyes widened as she noticed two large holes in its back, and beneath each one a grey, feathery wing. She inhaled sharply as they flicked out to her sides, and then slowly retracted them. “N... no... I had no idea...”

“You know what this means, right?” Digging asked slyly.

“What?”

Digging flared her own wings. “Flying lessons.”

***

Heather’s wings wilted at her sides as she slipped off her hooves into an exhausted sitting position. “This is a lot harder than it looks.”

“So is anything worth doing,” Digging called from above, her wings beating exuberantly. “You’re doing well, don’t worry!”

Heather lifted her head just long enough to smile weakly.

“And I mean it, too! Young pegasi take years to learn this stuff, and you’re already hovering after only an hour of training. That really is very good.” Digging neglected to mention that Heather’s longest hover could easily have be mistaken for a jump.

The two ponies looked up at the ceiling as they heard a familiar crackling. Try as they might, they remained unable to locate the speaker it was coming from. “Playtime’s over, kids! It’s time for both of you to say goodbye to your luxury suite, pack up your luggage, and get ready for an all-expenses-paid, first-class trip to the exotic and lovely Mount Arcana!”

Having made no escape plan, Digging and Heather looked at each other, shrugged and non-verbally agreed to go along with it. Heather pulled her jersey back over her head – “It’s probably cold at the top of Mount Arcana,” she said – and the two ponies walked out of the now-open door and into the hallway.

They were greeted by two tight-lipped, solemn-face earth pony mares, who escorted them down a previously unseen corridor and out into an open air clearing, where an unmarked, khaki zeppelin sat, awaiting passengers.

“You guys have airships?!” Digging exclaimed, forgetting herself momentarily. “I didn’t know there were airships anymore! This is going to be just like in Daring Do and the – uh... whatever.”

One of the earth ponies smirked as she led Digging and Heather on board. The wooded interior of the zeppelin was lined with benches, the red fabric seats of which were torn and losing their stuffing. Digging nonetheless gazed at them with childlike wonder, a rare grin forming across her muzzle.

A crackling noise, similar to the one Digging and Heather had become accustomed to hearing in their cell, sounded from the roof. “Good afternoon, this is your captain speaking. We will be departing for Mount Arcana shortly, so please find your way to your seats.”

Digging and Heather sat down next to each other on one of the less-damaged benches. “It’s so weird sitting like... urgh,” Heather whined.

Digging snorted and rolled her eyes.

Gently, silently, the zeppelin lifted up, and Digging and Heather felt their stomachs lurch slightly. They look out the window at the grey sky and its dirty, drifting clouds, uncared for by pegasi and blown haphazardly around by the wind.

“I knew this world didn’t have a sun, but I’ve never...” Heather’s mouth hung slightly open as she stared at the bleak vista beyond the window.

Thunder cracked in Digging’s mind. “We had one once. I remember it. It was... bright.”

The room fell silent as the zeppelin continued its journey through the monochromatic heavens. Digging looked at her companion, the grey pony born to this grey Equestria in a grey, half-lit time. Even Heather’s green jersey was a subdued, greyish green – not light or pastel, nor dark or rich.

She herself was a pale pink. Although she’d often wished she could have been born with a tan coat like Daring Do’s, at least pink stood out a little more against the grey.

“This is your captain speaking,” came an urgent voice, piercing the contemplative silence. “We’ve sighted griffons. Prepare for turbulence.”

“Griffons?” asked Heather, her eyes widening more in fascination than shock. “They never told me there were griffons on this world!”

Digging’s blood ran cold, and she felt for a moment like clubbing Heather over the head with her forehoof. “Consider yourself blissfully ignorant. Maybe they’ll leave us alone and you won’t get an opportunity to study them.”

The loudspeaker crackled ominously. “We’ve been sighted.”

“Get out your microscope, lady,” Digging said between gritted teeth. “Make a gift of it, and maybe they’ll only kill me.”

Heather gasped, bringing her forehooves to her mouth. “Are they really that bad?”

“Stay calm, passengers. I’m going to try to outmanoeuvre them,” the loudspeaker said.

Digging had already left her seat and was looking for a way off the zeppelin. “Worse,” she called back. “I heard they used to be alright, but for all my life we ponies have known that if you see a griffon in the sky, you get outta there or you’re birdfood.”

Heather sprung up from her seat to follow Digging. “W-where are you going?”

“I’m getting off this floating graveyard, and you’d better follow me if you value that new flank of yours.”

“But the captain –”

“No slow, bulky zeppelin’s gonna outmanoeuvre a pack of bloodthirsty griffons. We stay here, we’re a stationary target. At least out in the open we may have a chance to outfly those griffons while they’re focused on the ship.”

“But I can’t –”

“Death by freefall’s better than death by griffon!” With that, Digging grabbed Heather roughly and started pulling her towards an exit door.

“What are you – ah, no, let me go!”

But Digging just pulled her forelegs tighter around Heather’s chest and neck. With a well-placed buck from her left hindleg, she kicked the door off its hinges and sent it spiralling out into the empty sky. Wind whipped fiercely at her mane and tail and roared in her ears.

Digging could feel Heather squirming and pounding on her, desperate to get away from the open door. With a mischievous grin and all the strength in her forehooves, she pushed Heather closer, until she was teetering with most of her body outside the ship.

“I can’t!” Heather cried.

“Sure you can!” Digging grabbed the bottom of Heather’s jersey in her teeth and hoisted it up to her neck so her wings could move freely. “Just remember those lessons!”

“But I’m not –”

She never finished her sentence, because at that moment, Digging shoved her out of the ship. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Digging waving at her, green jersey gripped in her mouth.

Heather was falling. Instincts she didn’t know she had flicked her wings out to the side, and her fall slowed. Slowly, she righted herself and fell into an awkward glide. She tried to flap, but fell further. She screamed.

Air whooshed around her, and she felt a steadying hoof on her shoulder for a moment. “Relax!” came Digging’s voice. “They’re going to hear us if you scream like that! Besides, you’re doing fine!”

Heather didn’t feel like she was doing fine. But she stopped screaming, and as she did so, she realised that she wasn’t in fact plummeting towards the ground as she had expected, but slowly gliding there, with a few stomach-lurching fits and starts as she tried to flap. Digging smiled at her, and she spread her wings wide and left them, content to slowly descend.

“The griffons haven’t noticed us,” Digging whispered to Heather, coming alongside her in the air. “They’re preoccupied with the airship, just as I predicted.”

“Th-that’s good,” Heather replied.

“Now just relax and keep doing what you’re doing,” Digging said. “We’re going to glide down to that valley over there” – Daring motioned with a hoof to the gap between two mountains, far below them – “and then we’ll be far from the griffons’ reach. Just keep your wings out and don’t panic. Don’t worry about steering – I’m going to stay beside you and guide you if you go off course.” To confirm this, Digging placed a comforting forehoof on Heather’s shoulder.

In this way, Digging and Heather made their slow descent to the valley. Though the wind was strong and loud, Digging fancied she could hear the screams and sounds of struggle from the airship above them. She tried to put this out of her mind. She didn’t like cultists any more than the next civilised pony, but nopony deserved death by griffon.

Eventually they reached the valley. Heather collapsed almost as soon as her hooves touched the ground, tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh, earth!” she cried, rubbing herself in the dirt in a completely undignified manner and biting mouthfuls of grass. “Oh, sweet grass!”

“I thought humans didn’t eat grass,” said Digging, watching the pitiful display with an air of disdain.

“Whem im Rofme,” Heather mumbled, not bothering to swallow first.

Digging turned away from her companion to survey the area. They were in a flat, grassy plain, a rare sight in modern Equestria. Most of the grass in the world had long since died away following the destruction of the sun, but some hardy strains remained in remote areas. These species were technically edible, but having tasted the real thing as a filly, Digging did not feel like grazing with Heather’s enthusiasm.

A wall of mountains surrounded them in all directions, and a light breeze was blowing through the area. Digging could not see any spots of dangerous magical infestation, which surprised her. The valley, although desolate and tinged by the same grey twilight as the rest of the world, reminded her just a little bit of the Equestria of her foalhood, and even in a small way of the grander, beautiful bygone Equestria of her storybooks.

The sound of hooffalls behind her shattered Digging’s reverie. She turned to see a trio of brown-coated ponies wearing large tribal masks over their faces.

“Heather,” she hissed. “Get behind me.”

Heather finally looked up from her dinner, and the grass she had been chewing fell from her open jaw. A flush came over her features, and she rushed to obey Digging.

“What do you want?” Digging growled, addressing the trio, conscious of the spears riding across each of their backs.

The ponies said nothing, and Digging could not gauge their intent.

“We are just passing through,” Digging continued firmly, dropping into a fighting stance. “We mean no trouble. Do not harm us, and I will not be forced to harm you.”

The middle masked pony took a step forward. “Step from behind the pink one,” he said to Heather in a low voice with an understandable but indiscernible accent.

Heather did as she was ordered before Digging could issue a contradictory command. She grinned sheepishly at the masked ponies, her muzzle flecked with yellowed grass. The long shirt draped over her small frame appeared now more brown than white.

“You will come to the village,” the middle pony said, once he had looked over the two ponies to his satisfaction. “There you will not find harm. You will be guests. You will learn your place.”

Heather glanced at Digging, who gave her a quick nod. Had she been alone, Digging may have chanced a fight with the masked ponies – she did not like being ordered around. But for Heather’s sake, she would have to avoid such risky behaviour. The masked ponies may have been telling the truth, though her experienced warned her otherwise.

“Lead us,” Digging said.

The three strange ponies bowed deeply, and turned to guide Digging and Heather away from the valley.

Chapter One: Another Day, Another Dungeon

Flickering light from a candle danced around the ancient, browned page that renowned adventurer-archaeologist Digging Doo stood hunched over. Her eyes squinted to make out what parts of the faint, hornwritten text remained legible.

I think I’ve made a real breakthrough here! For generations upon generations, the Princesses and their greatest scholars have studied magic and laboured to create a definitive set of rules for its workings, but with every new revision of the laws of magic, another spell would soon come along and make all of their hard work obsolete.

I think I know why.

An Argument for Magic as a Living Being

by Professor T Sparkle

Uurgh, no, that’s a terrible name for an essay! Note to self: come up with a better one later.

Anyway, my argument:

Since my birth, Equestrian technology has progressed in leaps and bounds. We now have machines to do all kinds of things that our parents had to do by hoof – machines to buck apples, machines to do mathematics, and even machines to move us around at great speeds. All of these machines are powered by a pure, unmanipulated form of magic that can be created by any unicorn. Rather than molding the magic to its purpose, ponykind has become more and more accustomed to just pouring some magic into a device and letting it do all the work.

While this does have its advantages, it means that the more complex forms of magic - levitating magic, growing magic and cutting magic, to name a few - are becoming less and less commonly used. Ponykind is coming to understand magic not by seeking out knowledge of all its forms, but by using only its simplest forms and rejecting all mutations. Ponykind is robbing magic of its soul.

And what a soul it is! When a pony teleports, she faces no danger of teleporting into a wall. When a pony lifts an object, she does not have to perform mental calculations regarding its weight to avoid lifting it too forcefully. These things just work. When a pony changes one object into another object, she needs only visualise both objects in her mind, without worrying about individual atoms becoming scrambled. When a pony shrinks or grows an object, she need not even know about the square-cube rule.

From this, I conclude that magic is not a rigid or mechanical force, nor is it a system governed by specific rules, as so many of our vaunted technomagicians would have you believe. Magic exhibits judgement. It will not harm its user without its user intending to harm herself. It will not interpret mental commands literally, but perform them in spirit. Magic can infer meanings and ignore details that are prudently ignored. Magic grows more powerful when bolstered by “friendship” – an intangible bond between beings. Magic is a thinking – and maybe feeling – entity.

[Too dramatic. Reword a lot.]

Digging Doo scoffed. Her experiences with magic had painted it as anything but thoughtful and benevolent. The uncomfortable way her wings were plastered to her sides by tight swaths of bandages served as a reminder of the most recent instance in which this was proven.

As if the universe had just then chosen to play a cruel prank on Ms Doo, the candle on her desk was blown out by a sharp gust of wind, plunging the room into darkness. The darkness lasted only a few moments, as three unicorn horns soon lit up their horns, bathing the room in an eerie multi-coloured glow. Digging struck a match on the table and relit her candle before turning to face her assailants – ponies who wore dark glasses and stony expressions.

“Well,” she greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlecolts? It was my understanding that we would only be completing this transaction in the morning.”

“Our bosses are not well practiced in patience,” replied the biggest unicorn, who was obviously the leader of the group. His friends growled menacingly to back him up.

“Wellll...” Digging said, slowly elongating her speech while she stealthily used her tail to hide the professor’s notes under her pith helmet – an invaluable skill she’d learnt at a Sun-worshiper monastery. “I’m afraid that... sometimes... good things come to those who wait!”

Punctuating the end of her sentence with a few more exclamation marks, she smacked the candle off her desk with a foreleg. It landed on a pile of newspaper, which caught fire instantly. Doo had to jump back to avoid singing her coat – and to mount the windowsill. “Better luck next time, Ahu – uh, unicorns!” she shouted into the smoke-filled room.

A crouch followed by a daring leap landed her on the windowsill of a neighbouring building. A few more swift hops found her on its roof, and soon she was hopping from rooftop to rooftop, speeding across the Manehattan skyline in a dirty pink blur. Once she felt she was far enough away, she looked back and sighed deeply at the trail of smoke she saw wafting into the grey sky above. It’s a shame about that hotel, she thought. Wherever am I going to find another one that still offers room-service?

THE HUMANIFICATION BUREAU:

Spirit of Magic

by Ezn

Set in the Humanification Bureau universe | Inspired by Blaze’s The Conversion Bureau

Chapter One: Another Day, Another Dungeon

Digging Doo looked at her reflection in a cracked mirror.

At birth, her coat had been a pastel pink colour, but her latest escapades, piled on top of years of rough and dirty living, made it look like a patchwork of mud, dust, soot and that original pink colour, but faded. Her mane and tail were black striped with two different shades of grey, but this had been an intentional dye job, carried out by the last hairdresser in Fillydelphia.

Her white pith helmet was scratched and dented, and her brown shirt had patches and stitches running all over its surface, but both were still in one piece. Considering Digging had found them in an abandoned Nightmare Night costume shop, it was pretty surprising.

A pile of dirty bandages lay at the bottom of Digging’s reflection. Tentatively, she stretched out her wings. Okay so far, she thought. I’ll try flying in the morning. Digging turned around a few times, checking her reflections for cuts and burn-marks. When she didn’t find any, she smiled confidently to her reflection and trotted away from the mirror.

The only other room of Digging’s secret headquarters contained a ratty old bed with tattered sheets and a crudely-constructed bookcase. Twelve brown-paged, dog-eared books were neatly arranged on the middle shelf. Digging’s eyes lit up as he pulled one out with a forehoof, not even needing to look at it to know that it was Daring Do and the Griffon Goblet – appropriate reading material for an adventurer-archaeologist with recently-healed wings.

Digging placed her helmet on the top shelf of the bookcase and folded her shirt carefully before placing it on the bottom one. She sighed happily as she lay down on her bed with the Griffon Goblet clutched between her hooves. Her head was already reciting the opening paragraph...

Digging stopped. A rolled-up piece of parchment lay on the floor between the bed and her bookcase. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten about the important document she’d been keeping under her hat. Scolding herself, she swiftly scooped it up with her mouth. She was about to put it back under her hat when she realised what a good bookmark it would make.

An hour later, Digging put her book back on its shelf, with Professor Sparkle’s notes sandwiched between page fifty-six and fifty-seven.

***

It had been a year since the opening of the first Humanification Bureaus. Those of ponykind who still remained had fled the open fields and small towns for urban ruins and secluded mountain hideouts. For the most part, the weak-willed and soft-minded had undergone the conversion process. None had the resources or the inclination to conduct a study of how many had been converted and how many remained as their birth-species, but anypony could see that their population was dwindling. Those who remained ponies where either too stubborn and proud to abandon their kind, too worldly to trust the humans’ stated good intentions, or savvy enough to squeeze some personal gain out of the new balance of society.

The Manehattan Central Park marketplace attracted this third type of pony in droves. From one dirty brick building to another, the city block was covered by hastily-set-up canvas awnings and ramshackle wooden display counters, adorned with all manner of goods and all manner of excited mouth-painted signs proclaiming their quality. An array of torches set up all around the marketplace made a valiant effort at simulating the light of the sun, but the flickering firelight ultimately failed to make the scene any less shadowy.

Annoyance written on her face, Digging Doo jostled her way past milling customers and eager vendors. Stupid wings, she thought. Two more days and I could have been flying over this... Digging ducked into an alley, exhaling in relief. She trotted over to a rusty old fire-escape and swiftly climbed its creaky stairs. At the top of the stairs was a worn door painted in a red that had mostly flaked off.

“Knock, knock!” announced Digging as she rapped a forehoof against it. “Anypony home?”

A rattling and three distinct crashes were poorly muffled by thin wood, and the door was yanked ajar. A pair of spectacled eyes peered out from above the door’s chain, suspiciously at first, but then calmed by a light of recognition. “Ah, Ms Doo, my favourite scavenger!” said the pony behind the door. “I didn’t expect you back so soon! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Got some more business to conduct with you, Hoard.”

The chain was released from its hook to allow Digging a swift admittance into the room before the door slammed shut. She blinked as stepped into the bright room from the dark alley. “Well, Ms Doo?” asked Hoard.

Hoard was a brown-and-white-coated paint pony with a darker brown mane. He claimed to be the last living member of a wealthy and powerful family from Trottingham. Digging wasn’t sure about any of that, but he certainly spoke like he was from Trottingham. He wore a small pair of spectacles on the end of his snout and a dusty old creme dress shirt with a black bowtie and waistcoat. Digging imagined he did so to look sophisticated. She didn’t know much about optometry, but felt that surely his glasses were too small to be of any real use to impaired vision.

It was with this thought in mind that Digging applied a swift right hook to Hoard’s snout, knocking his tiny spectacles across the room. Hoard was knocked onto his side with a bloody nose. “OW! What’d you do that for?” he demanded, stopping the bleeding with his left forehoof.

Digging looked down at him with hard eyes. “When I ask for a buyer, I want a buyer, not a murderous cult. Try to keep them straight.”

“Oh, that. Sorry. I didn’t know, honest!”

“Well maybe you should be more careful about who you associate yourself with!” spat Digging. “I managed to get out of it this time, but I may not always be so lucky! What would you do if your biggest supplier suddenly turned up dead, Hoard?”

Hoard sheepishly raised himself to his hooves and produced a spare pair of tiny spectacles from a waistcoat pocket, which he used to examine the carpet while muttering.

“Yeah, you’d be dead,” Digging said indignantly. “If I’m dead, you’re dead – keep that in mind. And while you’re keeping it in mind, find me another buyer!”

Wordlessly nodding, Hoard trotted across the room to a battered filing cabinet next to a scratched-up desk. He pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a few folders in his mouth before trotting to his desk and fanning them out in front of him. As he pored over his documents, Digging looked about the room idly. It was cluttered, she noted. Curios and bits of debris littered every available surface, including the floor. Books were piled haphazardly onto shelves and shared space with everything from wooden zebra sculptures to bits of jewellery (ones that Hoard would no doubt claim belonged to the bearers of the Elements of Harmony at some stage).

“Aha!” Hoard exclaimed, prompting Digging to turn to look at him. “I’ve found a buyer, Ms Doo. Not a buyer I think you’re going to like much, but a trustworthy one that pays well nonetheless.”

“I like anypony who can pay me for my services and isn’t out to kill me, Hoard,” Digging replied.

Hoard smiled nervously. “That’s just it, Ms Doo: this particular buyer isn’t anypony.”

“Not like I have a problem with griffons or zebras, Hoard.”

“It’s a human, Digging – well, a group of humans.”

Digging Doo’s mouth clamped shut and she stared blankly at Hoard.

“They call themselves the ‘Pony Appreciation Society’,” he continued, “or ‘PAS’ for short. Basically, they study our history and collect artefacts of significance with the hope of preserving the memory of ponykind for future generations. They’re good clients, Digging, especially in our line of work.”

“I’m sure you’d say the same of Nightmare Moon if she paid on time,” Digging hissed, eye narrowed.

Hoard glanced at the ceiling in momentary thought. “Well, yes, I probably would. These are hard times, Ms Doo, and we must place our survival above all other concerns. A customer who pays on time and in full is worth more than Princess Celestia resurrected at this point.”

Digging snarled, readying her hoof for another slap. “That’s blasphemy.”

“Does it matter?”

There was a tense silence in the room as Digging fought to stay her hoof. Fortunately for Hoard, a low rumbling from her stomach managed to cool her anger before her restraint could falter. Her mind involuntarily returned to the empty larder in her hideout. I’m hungry... damnit.

“I believe we both know what the most prudent course of action is right now, Ms Doo,” Hoard said, smiling as his ears perked up to take in the sound of her hunger. “The fastest way for you to make the money you need to survive is to sell that manuscript to the PAS. We both know that you don’t have the energy or the resources to mount another expedition right now, and that you need to get rid of that manuscript as soon as possible. I hope you don’t think that those crazy cultists are just going to let you hang onto their sacred parchment or whatever it is indefinitely...”

Digging frowned; he was right. Hating the necessary sincerity in each word, she said, “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. Just point me in the direction of these PAS guys and I’ll sell them a priceless artefact of pony history just so that I can feed myself.”

“Excellent!” Hoard said, grinning as he grabbed a map from one of the files in his mouth and offered it to Digging. “Jfhust fogglow ghis.”

Digging took the map from him and turned to leave with a curt nod.

***

Two days later, Digging’s wings were ready to fly and she set out on her journey.

Following Hoard’s map took her a good deal further from the city than she usually went. While her idol had spent her time raiding ancient tombs and traversing dense jungles, she had managed to conduct most of her expeditions inside the more dangerous areas of Manehattan. Navigating old, unstable buildings and maliciously enchanted streets was not the easiest or safest way to make a living, even in modern Equestria, but for an agile, quick-thinking daredevil like Digging Doo, it was a thrill and a healthy paycheck – most of the time.

Digging beat her wings against the cold air, looking down occasionally. The countryside that spread out below her was nothing like the lovingly preserved photos of rolling green hills and fluffy white clouds her mother had shown her as a child, and only similar to the grainy films of centuries past in their monotone colouring. The grass was dead, the trees were dead, and the whole expanse was coloured grey by the everpresent twilight in the sunless land.

Straight ahead of her, a tall ivory-white column cut through the middle of the grey horizon. That must be their outpost, she thought.

Before long, Digging touched down on the dusty ground in front of the column, and confirmed her assumption with a glance at the sign above its ground-level door, which read “Pony Appreciation Society Central Hub”. Digging cast her eyes around the area. No humans, she noted. Big surprise there. Guess even the ones who are supposed to like ponies are too scared to leave their disinfected little towers.

Grunting with disapproval, Digging trotted up to the ground-level door. She rapped her forehoof against it as hard as she could, trying not to wince in pain. “Open up!” A camera on a stalk extended out from a compartment above the door and swivelled around briefly before retracting back into the column. To her great surprise, Digging heard a lock disengage in the door.

“ACCESS GRANTED,” said a mechanical voice.

The heavy steel door slid open in front of Digging, revealing a clean white lobby with no furniture except for the smooth-surfaced desk in a corner at the back. She stepped inside, and the door closed quietly behind her. Digging bit her lip and trotted to the desk. As she stepped near it, she heard the tinny tinkle of a recording of a bell. Within moments, a mop of frizzy brown hair shot up behind the counter and reached out for her with a bony pink hand on a long, fuzzy green stalk.

“Hello, ma’am, how are you today?” asked the mouth beneath the frizzy brown mop. “My name’s Heather Watts, and I’m very happy to see you here!”

“Digging Doo,” said Digging, extending a tentative forehoof for the creature to wrap her bony pink fingers. “I used to know somepony named Heather.”

“Really? How interesting! Goes to show that we humans and ponies do have an awful lot more in common than you might think.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

Heather smiled and chuckled lightly. “Now, what can I do for you?” she asked.

“I need to talk to whoever’s in charge here, Ms Watts.” Digging patted her left saddlebag with a forehoof. “I have an item in my possession that sources tell me would be of value to your organisation.”

On her way there, Digging had worried about how well she would be received by the humans, should she have the misfortune of dealing with a gruff guard or a bureaucratic stickler to get what she wanted. Looking into Heather’s uncertain green eyes, pale beneath spectacles, she knew that this human was neither.

“Oh! Um, alright, let’s go then!” said Heather, bringing a small, sly smile to Digging’s face. “Just come around behind this desk and I’ll take you to see the boss.”

Digging was only too happy to comply, and swiftly trotted behind the desk, where Heather bade her to stand still and adopted a rigid, upright stance herself. “What now?” Digging asked.

The words had barely left her mouth when she heard a whooshing sound from above, and a wide glass cylinder descended from the ceiling, swiftly encasing her and Heather behind the desk. Then, before she could implore Heather to tell her what was going on, the floor lifted, and her stomach lurched towards it. “Ulp!”

Heather chuckled warmly. “Never been in an elevator before, I take it?”

The small lobby receded from sight below the ascending floor, and was replaced by a wide, open space that extended in a circle around Digging’s glass tube. Built into the walls were metal platforms surrounded by railings, on which Digging could see humans in long white coats scurrying around, pushing carts and carrying clipboards. Here and there, she’d catch sight of a tree, or a potplant, or – as she got higher – paintings, sculptures and pottery.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” asked Heather. “All of the artefacts you see around you have been scavenged from your world’s ruins. Your civilisation has a great and long legacy, and it is the hope of myself and this organisation that we can learn about and preserve it... even beyond its demise.”

“Demise?” asked Digging, narrowing her eyes at Heather.

“Well, err, uh, you see... Oh, here we are!”

Heather had ummed and ahhed at Digging’s questions just long enough for the elevator to finish its ascent and arrive in a small room similar in appearance to the lobby they had just left, but with a number of doors set into its circular walls. Digging noticed that each door had a nameplate, and assumed that this was the organisation’s administrative section.

“Welcome to the PAS organisational hub!” Heather proclaimed, getting a twinkle in her pale eyes. “It may not look as exciting as down below, but this is where the real groundbreaking work gets done!”

The glass tube lifted and disappeared into the ceiling, and Heather led Digging to the door immediately opposite them. Although it had the appearance of a normal painted wooden door that Digging might have expected to see in any Manehattan building, rather than needing to be opened, it slid into the wall as they stepped in front of it. Behind the door was a great big hairless ape in a black business suit, sitting behind a desk that Digging thought far too small for him. He smiled a great big toothy smile, which made his eyes squint a little. Digging gave a half-hearted grin back.

“Afternoon – or is it morning, so hard to tell – Mr Jameson,” Heather said. “This is Ms Digging Doo, and she’s here to speak with you about an artefact that she feels will be of value to the organisation.”

“Excellent!” the ape boomed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Doo.”

“Likewise,” Digging replied, already digging through her saddlebag.

“Please, sit down, and then we can discuss this... item of yours.”

Digging sat on the floor in front of the desk, ignoring the chairs on either side of her. She heard the door click closed behind her, and then the soft noise of Heather returning to the elevator. “I’ll cut right to the case,” Digging said. “I’ve got a page from the journal of Professor Twilight Sparkle, and reliable sources have informed me that that’s useful to you. Now, I don’t usually like to do business with humans, but a girl’s gotta eat, so if you can come up with the bits, I’m happy to sell this old scrap.”

Mr Jameson’s eyes widened and he smiled broadly. “The journal of Professor Sparkle, eh? That’s certainly something worth preserving. I’m hardly the foremost expert on your history – I handle the business side of things, really – but I know enough to see the value of that. How does –”

There was a loud noise from the hallway.

CRACK! Digging dived down just in time to avoid being impaled by a giant wooden splinter as the door burst open behind them. Digging panicked. This was a trap! An evil trap, perpetrated by evil humans!

Fuming with anger, Digging lifted herself up and spun around to face the remains of the wooden door. Her ears flattened against her head, and she blew a puff of breath out of her nostrils before charging into action, head down. No human was going to get the better of Digging Doo.

Digging galloped out of the office and into the hall, her head jerking from side to side. Her heart was pumping, and the unfamiliar feeling of the soft carpeting beneath her hooves put her on edge. Before she could catch sight of her attackers, Digging felt herself lift off the ground. Her wings flared out, but not quickly enough to stop her from being flung into the hallway’s hard metal wall. She slammed into it with a sickening crunch.

Digging slid down and landed in a slumping pile on the floor, her pith helmet falling over her eyes. As soon as she pushed it up to see what was going on, she wished she hadn’t.

The three unicorns from the Manehattan hotel room were there, grinning at her. Or, at least, it felt like they were grinning at her; they were wearing gas masks, so she couldn’t be sure. And beyond that, her vision was getting kinda fuzzy.

***

Not humans.

Digging Doo opened her eyes and stared up at a cracked stone ceiling crawling with ivy. Her head hurt and her saddlebags were missing. The sound of soft sobbing reached her twitching ears.

“Hello?” Her voice was cracked and her throat dry. “Is somepony there? Are you okay?”

The sobbing turned into a loud wail, and Digging sighed inwardly. Overcoming the pain in her aching legs and back, she swung herself over to the side and pulled herself up. She noticed a few fresh tears in her shirt and smiled weakly at the sight of her battered pith helmet, which she swiftly scooped up and placed on her head.

Digging stepped towards the sobbing, which was coming from a dark corner. Digging squinted to make out a fuzzy, balled-up lump of hair, convulsing as it sobbed.

“H-Hello?” she repeated. “What’s the matter? You can tell me... I won’t hurt you.”

The fuzzy lump sniffed a few times as its sobs dried up. Digging stepped closer, and a head slowly lifted out of the lump, staring at her with big, sad green eyes. The grey fur on the pony’s face was damp and matted, and her brown mane fell about it in frizzy disarray.

“Y-Yes,” she stammered, fighting back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Somepony’s here.”

Digging looked from the pony’s pale green eyes to her grey-coated frame, but instead of a grey coat, she saw a dark green jersey. It was loose on the pony’s frame, and its long arms dangled off the ends of her forelegs.

Digging gasped and put a forehoof to her mouth. “It’s not possible!”

Heather nodded sadly.