Night Terrors

The magic sphere Misty had conjured disappeared in a sprinkle of stardust, unused. Her magic faded with it. It had all happened so fast; she still could not believe her eyes. Misty had never seen Princess Luna battle such a nightmare in the Never. She had watched the Princess unravel the nightmares of dreamers, true, but this was different. Out here, where dreams winked in and out of existence in utter silence, if a nightmare of any strength manifested, it posed as grave a threat as it would in the waking world. And Princess Luna had just burned possibly the most powerful manifestation Misty had ever witnessed to a cinder.

Princess Luna’s magic took longer to dissipate. The white veil evaporated from her eyes first, and then her aura began to dwindle. She returned to all four hooves, wings sagging at her heaving sides. A visible tremor shook her legs for a few seconds. As the last spark of magic on her horn finally flickered out, Princess Luna straightened. Composure settled upon her like a mantle, smoothing the strain from her body and the emotion from her face. Folding her wings, Princess Luna turned to Misty, for all the world as if the lesson had not been interrupted.

“That was a fair first attempt,” she said. “However, ’tis not enough. Again.”

How could Princess Luna be so calm? “How did you do that?” Misty asked.

“Time and experience are better teachers than any scholar or mentor.”

“But… how? I’ve never seen you use that kind of magic before, Princess.”

Princess Luna sighed, but she was smiling now. No masks of royalty or mystery. “That is a lesson for another night, Misty Moonrise. You are not yet ready for such advanced magic.”

“But what if the Never conjures another nightmare like that one?” Misty pressed. “What if I don’t sense the dark magic in time, and the nightmare gets too strong? I didn’t sense that one at all! What if—?”

Sweeping a wing around Misty, Princess Luna drew her close and said, “We failed to sense this nightmare’s dark magic because you were yourself summoning dark magic. The presence of one overwhelms the presence of another. And should you ever encounter such a nightmare within the bounds of this realm, I will be there. I swear it.”

The embrace was short-lived, but the somewhat rare gesture from her teacher allayed most of Misty’s worries. Most. “Why did the Never conjure it in the first place?” she asked as Princess Luna withdrew.

Princess Luna regarded Misty quietly for a time, faint creases lining her forehead. Then she averted her gaze and turned away, stepping up to the edge of the outcrop. A breeze whispered around the mountain. It ruffled Misty’s mane and tail, though it was hard to tell whether the breeze touched Princess Luna’s ever-flowing hair. “’Twas a nightmare,” she said at last, not looking at Misty. “The Never creates what it will; it hardly requires a reason.”

“But the Never doesn’t create nightmares just ‘because.’ There must be a reason…” There was always a reason, even if it was not immediately apparent. Misty frowned down at the granite, ears flicking back in thought. Could the Never have felt threatened by something? Had it been her meddling with dark magic? But dreamwalkers were so small compared to the Never. How could it feel threatened by something that was no danger to it? The breeze strengthened into a wind, tugging at Misty’s mane. She glanced skyward—watching the moon always helped her think—and froze.

There were no stars. The night was empty. Empty but for a blood-red moon.

Misty backed away, though there was nowhere she could hide from that sky. Her ears drooped, and her heart staggered into a flat-out gallop. She was supposed to be in the Never. How could her nightmare follow her here, out of her dreams? Or had she even left her dreams?

No, don’t fall apart, Misty, she told herself. This is the Never. Home. You’re in control. Still, Misty’s mouth had gone as dry as old parchment. She managed to keep the tremble out of her voice, though only just. “Princess Luna.”

Princess Luna finally turned. The wind had become a gale at some point, making even Princess Luna’s hair writhe and snap about her. She quirked an ear sideways when she saw Misty standing at the far edge of the outcrop. “What is it? Why do you—?”

“The sky…”

Looking up, Princess Luna’s eyes widened. She shook her head, as if the empty night might be some illusion or hallucination. “Impossible,” she breathed.

“Why is the moon red?” asked Misty. “What does it mean?”

“Something is gravely amiss. We must—”

Before Princess Luna could finish, razor claws ensnared Misty and dragged her from the outcrop. An unbidden scream was ripped from her as Misty scrambled to hold on to the ledge, but the stone crumbled under her flailing hooves. Princess Luna lunged to catch Misty’s hoof. A whiplash tail of iron swept around from the creature that had snagged Misty, clubbing Princess Luna hard in the ribs and casting her to the other side of the outcrop. She rolled over the edge and beyond Misty’s sight. A guttural roar sounded above Misty, and then the air howled past. The mountain seemed to shrink the farther Misty was carried. Even the great forest looked little more than a dark blanket swaddling the earth.

Stars above, the ground! It was so far away! She was too high up. She needed to be on the ground. What if she fell? What if her captor decided to drop her? Mind reeling, heart pounding painfully in her breast, Misty clung to the claws clutching her. The metal was cold against her skin, but it kept the world from spinning. Looking up, however, twisted Misty’s gut into a sickening knot all over again. The grotesque features of a gargoyle glared back at her, but not just any gargoyle—its face was the same as the door knocker from her nightmare. It was even made of the same black and weathered wrought iron! The rubies of the gargoyle’s eyes flared, and its hammered lips curled into a fearsome rictus. Venom dripped from its rusted fangs, foaming in the wind. When a fleck blew onto Misty’s cheek, it sliced through fur and flesh like acid.

As Misty rushed to rub the venom from the fresh cut on her face, she heard a voice through the blaring gales, coming from behind. Don’t look down, she thought. Just look back. Not down. Steeling herself, Misty glanced over her shoulder, toward the mountain.

Princess Luna streaked through the air after Misty and the gargoyle. Magic swirled and flashed around her horn, sparks flying. Her ears were pinned flat against the back of her head, her face distorted by some inner fire and darkness that no nightmare could have matched. Princess Luna was shouting something, but she was too far away, the rush of wind too loud for Misty to make anything out.

Misty looked up at the gargoyle again. Despite being all of metal, it was fast. Princess Luna might not be able to close the distance between them. Seizing her own magic, Misty once more wove a sphere of sapphire light and hurled it at the gargoyle’s face. The orb exploded upon impact, stardust spraying in dense clouds. The gargoyle hissed, but it did not slow down. Its claws clenched tighter around Misty, digging into her flesh, threatening to snap her ribs. Misty inhaled sharply, but she gritted her teeth against the pain and began to assemble a second magic sphere.

A shadow fell over the blood moon, deepening the already abysmal Never night. Misty whipped her head around just in time to glimpse an indistinct shape plummet out of the sky. It sailed through the darkness, straight for Princess Luna.

“Princess—!”

Too late. The figure crashed into Princess Luna. A cackle to make the skin crawl rose in the night. Princess Luna was falling, entangled with the nightmare, tumbling inexorably toward the ground. Within seconds, they were too far off for Misty to see. Even the light of Princess Luna’s magic vanished, swallowed by distance and darkness.

Fire such as Misty had never felt surged inside her. It flooded every inch of her, igniting her veins, boiling her blood. Ears pinned flat, a scowl shadowing her features, Misty rounded blazing eyes on the gargoyle. A sapphire inferno erupted from the tip of her horn, scorching the gargoyle’s hideous face and wrenching an even more hideous scream from its throat. Misty poured all her willpower into the cascade, making it burn brighter, hotter. The blue flames morphed to white, searing the wrought iron gargoyle from black to glowing red-orange. The gargoyle writhed, staggering midair, but it did not release Misty. It just squeezed her all the tighter. Gasping, Misty fought for breath as the crushing pressure strained her bones to the breaking point. But still she fed the magic. The nightmares could do what they wanted to Misty, but they would not hurt her Princess!

The fringes of Misty’s vision began to blur. Her strength was waning, not from the drain of the magic, but from the lack of air. She could feel her heartbeat begin to slow, her lungs aching and empty. But the fire was not hot enough yet. She tried to imagine the fire’s temperature growing, burning, searing. Her thoughts unraveled, distorted; a fog seemed to have settled over her mind. Misty was slipping. The torrent of white flame began to weaken, cooling back to blue. It was as if the river of magic inside her were drying up.

Then something within her bled out of the void. Its presence was a stench of decay and death, but it raged as strongly as it had before. Bile coating her throat, Misty latched on to the vile source and opened the floodgates. Dark magic roared through her, the black aura oozing from her horn alongside her natural magic. Her eyes burned. Smoky shadows curled from their corners. She smothered the rising urge to retch. A single jet of darkness shot through the center of the blue fire, and then the flames blazed whiter than a midwinter moon. A wave of heat rolled through the air, broiling. Sweat dampened Misty’s fur. The gargoyle’s strident shriek sounded faint in Misty’s ears, as from afar. Light exploded, blinding, radiant.

Blackness.

Misty inhaled, air rushing and howling all around her. The dark magic was gone, back in the shadows where it belonged. Her real magic had left as well. When had she released either of them? No matter. She could breathe now. The gargoyle’s claws were no longer crushing her. Misty could not even feel their grasp anymore. She pried her eyes open, though her eyelids felt heavier than lead.

Misshapen, steaming globules of yellow-white metal plummeted toward her from above. The wrought iron gargoyle was gone—melted. And Misty was falling.

She had no idea how close she was to the ground, but she knew what she needed to do. The fog had lifted from her mind; Misty focused her thoughts. She imagined herself floating, not falling, and willed it to be so. Her descent slowed, and then stopped completely. Just as the molten remains of the gargoyle drew near, Misty raised a shield of sapphire light above her. She sloped the natural curves of the shield instead into a wedge, and the fiery slag was sliced to either side. The shield flared with each impact, but the slag slid harmlessly past and onward to the earth below. Only when the last embers had gone did Misty release her magic. The shield evaporated.

Turning midair, Misty found that she was hovering a bare few yards above the treetops. If she had blacked out for just a few seconds longer, she would have broken more than those branches—waking up with shattered bones was far from desirable, if she woke up at all. Smoke rose from several holes in the canopy where the gargoyle’s remains had burned through the boughs. Misty suppressed a shudder at the thought of what might have happened if she had not conjured that shield.

Without warning, she started to fall again. Misty’s eyes widened, thoughts scrabbling to bring her back into a hover. It did not work. Before she could raise a second shield, she crashed through the canopy. Branches clawed at her body and hair, beating and whipping her as she tumbled downward. Eyes squeezed shut against the thrashing wood and splinters, Misty reached blindly into the tangle of boughs. Her foreleg caught on a stout limb, and she jerked to a halt. Panting, she wrapped her other foreleg around the branch and hauled herself up enough to hook her chin over it. Bits of twigs plopped onto her head for a few moments more. Then all was still.

Misty glanced down. The ground was only a span or two beneath her, though there was no sign of the gargoyle’s remains—the Never must have swallowed them. Gritting her teeth, Misty released her bough and dropped to the earth. Her legs threatened to buckle upon impact, but she managed to stay upright with only a small stumble. Her heart was still racing, but it was beginning to slow to a normal speed. The groan of straining wood, as trees in a storm, drew Misty’s gaze up again. The broken branches were mending themselves, some stretching and weaving together to close the gaps Misty and the slag had made. At least she would not have to look at that unnerving blood moon now.

Silence reigned. That was not uncommon in the Never, but, after all that commotion, it felt eerie. There were no dreams nearby to distort the scenery of forest and mountain that Princess Luna had created. The fact that the landscape had not changed was a comfort, though. If Princess Luna had been unconscious—or worse—this relatively small area upon which she had imposed her will would have shifted to the whims of the Never. And if Princess Luna was alive, all Misty needed to do was find her again, and they could straighten out whatever was unsettling the Never. Misty had not seen where Princess Luna had gone to ground, but she had to start somewhere. The mountain would be the best place to get her bearings, and the height would give her the best view of the Never. Closing her eyes, Misty fixed the solitary mount in her mind and willed herself to its location.

Nothing happened.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Misty tried again. Once more, she remained exactly where she was. Her pulse began to quicken, disordered thoughts threatening to overthrow her concentration. Misty shoved her fears aside, opened her eyes, and strained to change the trees, the undergrowth, the pine needles on the ground, the grass underhoof—but the Never retained its current shape. Pausing, Misty took a deep breath to steady herself and switched tactics. Instead of trying to change a part of her environment, she imagined something new, something small. In a flicker of light, a moth appeared out of thin air. It hovered before her muzzle, its fuzzy antennae brushing her fur, and then fluttered off into the trees.

This doesn’t make any sense. What’s happening? Misty wondered, raising her gaze to the canopy. It was as if the Never had suddenly decided to… ignore her, or perhaps refuse her. But why? Such a thing had never occurred before, as far as Misty knew.

Princess Luna had been right. Something was amiss in the Never, but what?

A wave of nausea abruptly assaulted Misty. It was so strong that she had to lean against a nearby tree to keep from collapsing and becoming sick. Once it passed, she felt as if she had been slicked in oil, soiled and dirtied beyond cleansing. At the back of her throat, she tasted bile. Dark magic. Was this how it would always be when Misty sensed it? At least the sickness did not last very long, though she could still feel the aura itself.

Lighting the tip of her horn to illuminate her path, Misty ventured, by hoof, in the direction from which the dark magic originated. Somewhere ahead, a nightmare was forming, and she did not intend to let this one sneak up on her like the gargoyle had. Though she had not paid the strengthening wind around the mountain much notice before, Misty thought back now and wondered whether the Never had conjured the gargoyle farther off, where neither she nor Princess Luna could sense its conception, and then used that wind to lend the gargoyle speed to help spring the ambush. Misty knew the Never was an intelligent being and very much alive, but the way it learned so quickly was enough to make anypony shiver.

Misty had not far to travel before two distinct voices reached her ears. The first was silken and soothing, but confusion tinged the second.

“… and I have come to take you away, if you are ready.”

“Take me… But where? What is this place?”

“Do you not know? Do you not remember?”

Misty stepped into a small clearing wreathed in fog. The blood moon bathed the silvery vapors and the two ponies ahead in its scarlet film. The white alicorn was especially painted by the ghoulish moonlight, lending her golden eyes a sinister gleam and streaking her flaxen hair with bands of crimson. Before the alicorn stood a creamy earth pony in a travel-worn cloak, with earthy eyes, forest-striped hair as green as meadow grass, and freckles flecking her face and legs.

Is this… a dream? Misty thought, frowning. If this scene did belong to a dreamer, there should have been a dome of dream magic, like all the other dreams. Misty had never seen somepony dream without that barrier to contain the dreamer’s imagination.

“I remember we were fighting,” the earth pony said to the alicorn. “Or rather, my friends were fighting…”

What if it was not a dreamer? Had another dreamwalker, one with less experience, stumbled out of her dreams into the Never without realizing it? That was easily just as dangerous as succumbing to a nightmare, if not more so. Misty glanced between the two ponies in the clearing. Which was the source of the dark magic? They stood so closely, it was difficult to discern which might be the nightmare. Unless this was a trap, and both ponies were part of the nightmare.

“No, no, I can’t be dead! I can’t!” exclaimed the earth pony suddenly. Her eyes grew round and wide, and she clapped her fore hooves over her ears as if to muffle her own words. “There’s still so much I have to do, that I want to do! How can I be…?”

The alicorn’s gaze grew cold, a scowl furrowing her beautiful brow. Shadows began to gather around her. “There is no place for one such as you among the living,” she sneered, flaring her wings. “You are a thief and a poor excuse for a comrade. I doubt anyone will even mourn your passing, much less remember such a worthless wordmonger as you.”

The earth pony cringed, backpedaling. “No, wait! This isn’t right! It can’t be!”

“Why, you could not even save your friends,” the alicorn continued. Black light seeped from her horn as she advanced. “Grayscale, Pan Handle, Bassbolt, Starchaser—they are all dead because of you.”

Trap or not, Misty could not abandon that earth pony, especially not out here in the Never. Magic shimmering to life, she assembled a sparkling sphere and sent it hurtling into the alicorn. The globe of starlight seared away the alicorn’s shadows, throwing her to the far side of the clearing. Misty darted into the open, swiftly placing herself between the earth pony and the alicorn. A second magic orb swirled together in the air beside Misty.

“What have you done?!” the earth pony gasped.

“She isn’t who you think she is,” Misty said, eyes still fixed on where the alicorn had disappeared into the fog. “None of this is what it seems—remember that.”

“Then… I am not dead? My friends yet live?”

Misty glanced back, her magic sphere winking out. If this earth pony was another dreamwalker, the only way she could still think all this was real would be if this was the first time she had set hoof in the Never. Unfortunately, dreamwalkers were few and far between, which meant this mare was more likely a dreamer, and most dreamers never even realized they were dreaming. But what was a dreamer doing out in the Never?

“Listen to me,” Misty said, locking eyes with the earth pony. “You need to wake up.”

The earth pony blinked. “Wake up? But I’m—”

Stars above, she can’t be a dreamer! Not here! “You’re asleep! This is a dream, and you need to wake up right n—!”

Solid shadows rocketed into Misty with the force of a stampeding bison, choking off her words and sending her careening through the air. Before she was crushed into the ground, she wove the teleportation spell and vanished in a burst of stardust. In the blink of an eye, Misty reappeared right back where she had stood beside the earth pony, though the leftover momentum threw her hard enough into the grass that she was winded. Gasping for breath, she struggled to pick herself up before the Never summoned a second attack.

The earth pony helped Misty to stand. “How can you know if this is a dream?” she demanded. “Who are you?”

“There isn’t… time… for this,” Misty wheezed, scanning the opaque fog. “Just… wake up!”

“I do not think I can.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think I can wake up,” the earth pony repeated. “I want to wake up, I’m trying to wake up, but I am still here—wherever ‘here’ is.”

Something rustled off to one side. This place was far from safe; they needed to leave now. “Do you trust me?” asked Misty.

The earth pony paused, gazing thoughtfully at Misty for a moment. “Yes.”

“Stay close,” Misty said. As the earth pony stepped nearer, flecks of starlight began to fly all around them, growing denser and denser, until there was not even a glimpse left of the outside world. A flash of sapphire light, an explosion of stardust—and both mares teleported from the clearing to an empty forest dell.

The earth pony reeled, eyes flashing every which way. “W-what just happened? Where are we now?”

Misty barely heard her, focused on their surroundings. The quiet was so absolute that the air itself seemed to hum. It was too dark to see anything beyond the nearest trees, and even those were more silhouette than substance. Another nightmare could be lurking ten spans away, and they would be none the wiser until it was too late. Misty would not be able to sense it either, not with the last nightmare’s aura lingering like the drudge of a cesspool on the edge of her consciousness.

“What is going on?” pressed the earth pony, stepping in front of Misty. “Why—?”

Misty raised a fore hoof to her lips, silencing the earth pony. Then she formed a few magical teardrops of soft blue light and floated them out into the gloom. The darkness evaporated beneath the illumination, revealing sparse forest undergrowth and seemingly endless successions of trees, but no nightmares. Satisfied that they were neither being watched nor in immediate danger, Misty stationed the glowing teardrops in fixed, hovering posts around them and faced the earth pony.

“I already told you,” she finally answered. “You’re asleep, in a dream. Or you’re supposed to be, at least.”

The earth pony shook her head. “This makes no sense! First, I was dead, and then I was dreaming, but now I’m not dreaming? Please don’t think me ungrateful for your help back there,” she added quickly, “but I just do not understand. If I am not dead and this is a dream, why are you here? If this isn’t a dream, where in Equestria are we?”

“I think you were in a dream, but you’ve somehow crossed out of your dreams into the Never, and I don’t know why. The Never shouldn’t be—”

“The Never?”

“The dream world,” clarified Misty. “When ponies sleep, their thoughts touch this place, the Never, and their imaginations manipulate a small portion of it, creating—”

“Creating dreams,” the earth pony finished with her, making Misty’s eyebrows shoot up. The earth pony smiled sheepishly and explained, “I read Star Swirl’s Compendium of Magical History when I was in Canterlot for the last literary festival. He wrote very little about the possible origins of dreaming, but I found his theories enthralling.”

“Star Swirl the Bearded was one of the first recorded dreamwalkers. Although he wasn’t especially skilled, he was able to determine how the Never works.”

“I do not recall Star Swirl ever calling the dream world ‘the Never,’ though,” said the earth pony, tapping her chin with a fore hoof. “If memory serves, he only described it as ‘dreaming’ or ‘the realm of dreams.’”

Misty nodded. “Princess Luna came up with the name a few years after Star Swirl’s work. It’s a living pocket universe—a world between worlds, if you will—but it never existed in our reality. It’s a place where what could never occur in the waking world could come to be, with a little imagination.”

“Really?” The earth pony’s eyes brightened, and a grin spread across her face. “How wonderful! I must remember to write all this down once I awaken,” she said. “Think of all the stories I could find, perhaps even a few I already know that may allude to this place!”

Stories? What in the world is she talking about? Misty thought, flicking an ear sideways. “What are you?” she asked, looking the earth pony up and down. “You’re not a nightmare. Have you ever stepped into someone else’s dreams before? Are you a dreamwalker?”

“Not likely,” said the earth pony. She nosed one corner of her cloak over her croup, revealing a lute cutie mark. “My name is Lyric. I’m a teller of tales—a traveling bard, to be more precise.”

Not a dreamwalker, thought Misty, which only complicates things. How does a dreamer become trapped in the Never? It just isn’t possible! Oh, Princess Luna would know… She was so consumed by her contemplations that it took her a moment to realize Lyric was watching her, waiting for an introduction. “Misty Moonrise,” she responded belatedly.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Misty Moonrise,” said Lyric, extending a fore hoof. When Misty hesitated to shake it, Lyric just smiled again, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. She withdrew the offer and proceeded to examine the closest glowing teardrop. “From how you handled yourself back there, I take it you are a dreamwalker, yes?”

“I was studying with Princess Luna, but the Never started acting… strange. We were separated.”

“A princess’s apprentice—you must have quite a few stories of your own, then.”

Misty shuffled her hooves in the dirt, gaze averted. “I… wouldn’t say that. It’s not as if I’m Princess Luna’s only student after all. There are plenty of others who probably have better stories than I.”

“Nevertheless, my supposition stands.” Lyric turned back to Misty. “Well, let’s not wait around for trouble to find us. Which road is ours?”

Her enthusiasm took Misty by surprise, but Misty was not about to refuse help so willingly given. Besides, until Princess Luna was found, it was probably best that Lyric stay with Misty. There was no telling what the Never would concoct for them next. Casting a spell that would allow the teardrop lanterns to follow in a wide circle around them, Misty began to walk. Then she paused, ears folding. How would they find Princess Luna when the Never refused to bend to their will?

“Is something the matter?” asked Lyric.

Should she tell Lyric? Dreamwalkers were supposed to be in control while in the Never; they were supposed to have the answers. Only, Misty had no answers to give. Raising her eyes to the canopy, Misty sighed quietly to herself. The branches were not so thick here, and shards of the blood moon gleamed through the wood and leaves. The empty night melded seamlessly with the rest of the shadows.

“Misty?”

This was no time for secrets and false hope. “I don’t know where Princess Luna is,” Misty admitted. “Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the Never isn’t acting as it normally does.”

Lyric tilted her head slightly. “Well, what does the Never do, normally?” She emphasized the last word with a small smile, and that knowing twinkle appeared in her eyes again.

“The Never is shaped by imagination—thoughts. On any other night, all we’d have to do is focus our thoughts, and the Never would rearrange according to them. But now it won’t do anything on a larger scale, though it doesn’t seem to care about little things being created.”

“Little things?”

With a thought, Misty made a blue-capped mushroom sprout from the earth before her. “Like this. If I had imagined the mushroom unnaturally large, nothing would have happened.”

“Fascinating…” Lyric paused, closing her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, a lute blinked into existence in the air before her. It was old and worn, with its varnish rubbed away and scratched in places, but Lyric beamed at the sight of it. She took it in her fore hooves and strummed a short, impromptu melody. “I’m rather starting to like this place,” she said. “Bogeymares and deceptively perilous magic aside, of course.”

“Are you sure you’re not a dreamwalker?” Misty asked, though it was more of a good-natured tease than a serious query.

Lyric chuckled. “Quite sure. I am just a simple storyteller and minstrel. Imagination is part and parcel for a wandering bard.” She slipped the lute’s strap over her head and settled the instrument on her back for travel. “Now, I believe the best way to begin any journey is to put your best hoof forward. Let’s be off!” And she strode into the trees.

“But we don’t know where we’re going,” Misty protested, hastening to catch up. “For all we know, we could be walking in the wrong direction entirely.”

Lyric grinned and winked. “Exactly! What fun is there in knowing where you’re going? Now that I think about it, all this rather reminds me of a story…”