Ashes and Diamonds; Foe and Friend
A breath.
Another breath.
I'm not supposed to be alive.
And yet...
A sliver of moonlight bleeds through the refuse. It is uncharacteristically bright: a persistent, pulsing blue.
And that's how I know.
I don't want to move... but I have to. There's a mountain of dead weight on top of me. I push against it, struggling and fussing with all four hooves.
Limp limbs slide down either side of my wriggling body. Slabs of armor rattle—both golden and dark. Glossy skin shines between each blink. Coats? Crystal? I don't know which bodies belong to my side or theirs. Rotting flesh smells all the same.
At last, with a grunt, I thrust forward. The layers of bodies and bucklers split apart. I emerge, catching my first breath of fresh air in hours.
I look around. Gone is the snow that once blanketed this valley. There is a perfectly round circle of melted frost, exposing the arid stone beneath sheets upon sheets of dead soldiers. The slick ground glints with ethereal blue light between scattered staves, swords, and lances. In the center of a circle is a charred splotch of darkened earth, still brimming with magic.
Tilting my head up to the sky, I have to squint. The moon is so bright. And the Mare...
The Mare in the Moon is back.
“She did it.”
It is hardly a cry of exhilaration. There is still twilight beyond the glow. It won't be long now. Hours? Minutes?
“She actually did it.”
The Mare in the Moon stares back at me... at all of us. Bodies upon bodies—flesh and crystalline—all fallen before her gaze. She does not cry; she doesn't even blink.
A dull shudder rolls through my body. My nostrils are too full of death to register anything but nausea. There are many places I've imagined myself being for this. I'd rather it not be here. Not any longer.
The first thing I do is rummage through the wreckage beside me. I fish through the remnants of the war wagon that carried me here. All I find are corpses—some of them bearing muzzles of ponies I almost knew the names of... with manes bearing colors I could almost count. I've spent the last few months of this campaign with my head hung low. Now—with so much death—I don't regret my choices one bit.
I only regret not making them sooner. There are names... too many names that belong to these bodies. Names that I've been forced to document. Personally and officially.
At last, turning over a mana-singed chunk of torso, I find what I'm looking for. It's a vial—cylindrical and glass. It's filled with a bright purple powder inside, like an hourglass. I'm amazed the thing is still in one piece after being yanked from my body countless hours ago. I feel a twitch in my heart while gazing at it. Perhaps it's the last thing I'll ever feel.
With a silk thread, I hang the item around my neck. I pick up a spear and lean against it—which is a good thing. I feel a stiffness in my rear right fetlock. No doubt a fractured hoof. Walking won't be easy, even with this makeshift cane. But where do I have to go? Where do we all have to go? The moon is already ablaze.
Everywhere I look, the bodies stretch across dead stone and into the snow beyond. A fresh sheet of wintry blight hangs loosely overhead, dotting the charred rock with a new layer of frost.
I have to go.
So I pick a direction and I trot towards it, limping, leaning on the spear for support. I pass chunks of stone rising up out of the earth in jagged obelisks. Either Sombra was here, or one of his high commanding officers. For all I know, maybe he died in the last battle. Wouldn't that be ironic?
Only after an hour of labored walking burns by do I realize just how widespread the battle was. I see the remnants of bodies and blades being scattered in a wide arc just south of where I trot. Did the battle pass over me? It was dusk when the first catapulted crystals landed. I can still hear the shrieks of soldiers as the enchanted shards ripped their legs out from under them. I did nothing to help them. Of course I did nothing. You can't be a coward if you're given nothing to be heroic with.
Another hour passes. The moon is ever bright overhead. The Mare in the Moon appears darker, somehow. As if she's gathering steam: a horribly dark smog that will somehow—hopefully—wipe out all the sins that it took to get us this far... and all the regrets that it will take to carry us even further.
To carry them.
A third hour. Each trot sends a ripple through my body. I feel like laughing... scoffing at each step I'm afforded to take... each thought I'm blessed with to contemplate the matter. Why am I even walking to begin with? Perhaps I'm searching for something... even if I know there's nothing to find. Isn't that what makes us special?
That's when I see it. Rising over the rocks and boulders that make up the nearest horizon. It's a town—or at least a tiny, half-flanked excuse for one. A threadbare trickle of a dirt road runs through the outpost. Two tiny shacks rest parallel to a military supply station and a two-story saloon. Hanging from a crooked pole at the southeast corner of the roadside junction is a remarkably bright banner featuring the royal solar crest. That's how I know it's still our land. I can't imagine the supply station holds much. Our brigade likely stripped the armory of supplies for the final push downhill.
The closer I approach the saloon, I see that a light shines from the bottom floor. There's life here—something that eats, breathes, and most likely sighs. A lot like me.
And just like that, I'm thirsty. It's a good enough excuse.
On limping hooves, I approach the front steps of the saloon. I push my way through the door, entering the musky domain. Even this late at night—with the wickedly bright moonlight pouring in through dusty windows—there are patrons sitting in random chairs. They're stallions, or at least most of them are. Aged. Weathered. Too old for joining the war effort and too miserable to do anything but drink over it.
They see me, my fatigues, the staff I'm using to limp on. They don't even move. Maybe they think I'm a deserter. For all intents and purposes, I am one.
But what's to desert?
I sit down in a slump, gazing into the dim yellow glow of a kerosene lamp. It almost drowns out the blue haze of the full moon outside, but not quite. A cold shudder pierces my shoulders. Constantly. The entire lonesome trek, I was strong enough to trot straight. Now I'm overcome with shivers. More than anything, it frustrates me. I can think of a million better ways to go.
And that's when she trots in from around the front bar, and I don't have to think of anything anymore.
“Bright night for a stroll,” she says. The first words out of her muzzle don't involve questioning me about “my unit.” For that, I instantly adore her. “What'll it be, ma'am?”
“Mmmm...” I'm surprised at how steady my voice is. Have I stopped shivering? “Do you have any apple cider?”
She hums. I can tell it's bitter sweet amusement. “Only if you don't mind squeezing it out of the can.”
“That'll do.” I hum back. “Two tall glasses, please.”
“You expecting someone?” she asks.
“No,” I lie.
She leaves with a shrug. I catch a soft pink flicker in my peripheral, and then it's back to blue moonlight and shivers.
When she comes back, there are two tall glasses of barely-brown liquid floating in front of her. She sets them down onto the varnished tabletop with a breath befitting a song.
“Four bits, please.”
I give her five. The golden coins rattle melodically. I think about how I will miss music.
“Thanks,” she says, beating me to it. For all I know, that's that. Her face dissolves into shadow, and I'm alone with the two glasses.
I don't drink. I sit here. Dry. For minutes on end. Or maybe it's an hour.
I think about how I'm still breathing. Each breath brings with it a memory. Each memory brings with it a fresh tumorous addition to the lump forming in my throat. Cider—even factory processed stuff—would relieve my parched mouth, which is precisely why I don't indulge in it. I want to feel every ounce of this. I want to carry it with me to wherever I'm going... so that the weight of it might make an impression. An imprint. A sign that I was once here, for better or for worse.
But I know better. I know.
And before I realize it, the saloon around me has emptied. The stallions have all shuffled upstairs to their rooms, separated by continents of wasted years and opportunities. They shadow over me, loom above me, enveloping and submerging—until all that keeps me afloat is the sheen of moonlight on my back, and the glare of the kerosene lamp... fading... growing dimmer and dimmer in my eyes.
Eventually, the barkeeper returns, if only to pretend to fuel the lamp some more. It is only now that I see the shiny indigo of her eyes, the highlights in her hair, like fireworks. I remember foalhood and it hurts.
Her voice, squeaky and clean, is even more torturous. She's seen nothing of war—only smelled its second hand hell. “Are you feeling quite alright, Miss?”
I think about being honest. And then I think about the Mare in the Moon.
“For now,” I say. And indeed it is enough... for now.
“Then... then perhaps you wouldn't mind me asking...”
And it's here that I come to a realization... as she stands on the opposite side of the table from me... her ocean eyes imploring... that this is how everything ends. I'm orbiting faerie light with a stranger, and there is no climbing back out.
“Are you with that army that just marched by?”
I inhale. “Maybe.” I exhale.
It's enough for her to persist. “Are you a soldier?”
I shake my head. “No.” Another breath. “More like a clerk.”
“A record-keeper?”
“I suppose you could say that,” I remark. “I keep things organized. Or at least... I-I used to.”
She hears me... and yet she doesn't. Next, she probes a little bit deeper. “I guess you were chosen because you were very observant.”
I only nod.
“Then... maybe you'd be able to tell me if... if you saw...” She gulps. She points outside. Now she shares the shivers with me. “...if you saw the moon change just now?”
I shouldn't indulge her. There's no need to indulge her. Then again, there's nothing left to protect. They've done it. She's done it, and there's no going back.
“It's back to the way it was over two years ago,” she continues. “For the last twelve hours, I've heard stallions left and right give one possible explanation after another... that maybe Princess Luna is considering a new aerial offensive against Sombra. After all, it's been night for... well... weeks now. So naturally everyone thinks the Royal Sisters and their Armies are up to something.” Her lips curve... crookedly... a desperate pull for levity. “Old war stallions, am I right?”
They are. She is.
We were wrong. But she needn't learn it that way.
She needn't learn anything at all. But I know that—if I was her—I would want to know... as I already do know. There's a comfort to this. An ease in embracing finality with finality.
But the flesh is weak. The lump in my throat finally falls. I plummet with it, sinking, dragging myself through the veil of all yesterday's sighs until I'm somewhere else, another place and time.
“You know... I never thought I'd be dragged into this stupid war,” I say.
She leans back, as if stunned to hear that from another thing with a brain. “Why... whatever makes you say that?”
“My brother,” I say. “His last words... trying to comfort me... to console me... while his muzzle was still stained with the blood of his best friends.” My nostrils flare as I reach into my vest and pull loose the glass vial. I turn it around, watching as the tiny purple fragments shift and settle. “You know, if things had gone differently, I wouldn't have followed in his hoofsteps at all. Not to spite him. It's just that I had a far different calling. A scholarly... scientific calling.”
“What happened?”
“What else?” I sigh, and I slip the glass back into my vest. “I failed. And now I find myself here instead of... instead of...” I tilt my head to the right. Blue moonlight pulses, illuminating the world outside in haunting, pale blinks. “Mmmm... yes, well...” I look forward once more. “If I had joined the Canterlot Science Bureau, I would have found better solutions, for sure. Peaceful solutions.”
She squints at me. “Peaceful solutions to what?”
“The war. What else?” I exhale. “But, I suppose even that would have been too optimistic. What would Equestria have ever done with my intellect? The only thing that solves war is more war. That's what Celestia's chosen scientists discovered... the ones who came up with the solution we needed... not that we desired.”
“I... I don't understand...” Now she's sitting down. Her lips are pursed. She's drawn in, and there's no letting go. “How could we not desire an end to this war with Sombra?”
I shake my head. “You can't be blamed.”
“For what?”
“Ignorance,” I say. “It's only bliss for those whom Celestia chooses. Or... perhaps... for the ones she and Luna haven't.” I look firmly at her. “We haven't been winning this war. We haven't even come close. Sombra's magic... his dark magic permeates all of Equestria. It's dug deep into the roots of the Harmony Tree... infested the Everfree Forest... turned all dragon mountains into crystalline snares. Soon, the corruption will convert all the eggs in those draconian roosts, and once the winged beasts take to the midnight sky, there will be no force that can outmatch them. Sombra would have won this war without contest.”
“I... I didn't know it was that bad,” she stammers. “But... Miss? What do you mean by 'he would have won this war?' If his dark magic has corrupted all of Equestria, then...”
“That's where Celestia comes in,” I say. “She and her sister Luna have had to deal with an unfathomable choice. Do they continue to fight an endless battle against a superior foe? Or do they accept the fact that this land of ours—Equestria—is lost, and that the only way to preserve what we have is to do away with what we used to have... in hopes of rebuilding anew?”
“But... but how is that even possible?”
“Through the Ever Ash Project,” I say.
“I... I've never heard of that.”
“And you were never meant to hear of it... just as I was never meant to speak of it.” I gulp. “But now... now it makes no difference.”
“Why is that?”
“The Ever Ash Project was something dreamed up by Celestia's most gifted scientist, Sunset Shimmer. As the war effort grew more and more intense, the top scientists were charged with coming up with a way to... weaponize the Elements of Harmony. It was Sunset Shimmer who discovered that if they found a way to harness the energy of a Sonic Rainboom, then they could use it to essentially carpet bomb a given landscape, eliminating any and all threats in the targeted vicinity.”
“But how is that even possible?” she asks. “The Sonic Rainboom is just an old mare's tale.”
“And it was,” I say, nodding. “Until one of the top ranking Wonderbolts performed it out of thin air while avenging her fallen commander. Sunset ordered her to report to Canterlot Headquarters so that they could perform experiments on the phenomenon. In so doing, they uncovered the essence of the Rainboom, then worked on a way to magnify its area of effect.”
“And it's powered by harmonic energies?”
“In essence, yes. But on the surface—it has the potential for far-reaching physical effects.” I exhale. “Damaging effects. For a field test, a rainboom spell was implemented on the crystal-wrought ruins of Appleloosa. After the resulting explosion, nothing was left—living or inert. When pegasus scouts returned to ground zero to investigate, all they saw was ashen wastes for miles and miles on end.”
“You... but... that...” The barkeep grimaces, shaking her pink head. “It was King Sombra who destroyed Appleloosa! Everypony knows that!”
I simply stare at her.
She gulps. “It was a lie...” She grimaces. “Celestia lied to us? But... why?”
“To protect the most important lie of all,” I say. “A lie of omission.”
Her ears fold. “The Ever Ash Project.”
I nod. “I was assigned to Princess Luna's Royal Detachment. With three armies as our escort, we made for Dream Valley, just southeast of here. It was there that we would perform the first leg of this war's final engagement. Just as expected, Sombra's forces intervened. We fought them bravely, buying time for both Luna and Celestia.”
“T-time for them to do what?”
“Princess Luna would use the Elements of Harmony to banish herself to the moon. In the meantime, Princess Celestia would fly towards Canterlot Mountain—the highest point in all of Equestria—where she would execute the Sonic Rainboom Spell... a spell with one hundred times the magnitude of the energy released at Appleloosa.”
“But... but from the sound of it...” She bites her bottom lip. She tries to avoid my gaze. She fails. “...a blast like that would... would...”
“Destroy all of Equestria,” I say. “As well as every last remaining bit of Sombra.” My eyes narrow. “A world without an enemy... is a world without a war.”
“But... but what point is there if there's nothing left living?”
“That's where Princess Luna comes in,” I say. “You remember how I mentioned that she would banish herself to the moon with the Elements of Harmony?”
The barkeep nods.
“Well, she's done just that.” I point limply at the blue light out the window. “Out there's your proof.”
She stares out the window, muzzle agape.
“And she's not alone.” I shake my head. “Gone with her—protected by Luna's magic—are a chosen group of ponies, griffons, mules, horses, even diamond dogs.” I twirl my cider glass around, shrugging. “There really wasn't any time to pick or choose. Luna grabbed as many ponies and animals as the spell could handle, a chosen elite of the best and most diverse this landscape has to offer. Together, they'll repopulate the lost city inside the moon—Ponymonium—and dwell there for a thousand years.” A gulp. “And then—once the spell has ended—the stars will aid in their escape. They'll return to Equestria—what's left of the ashes, that is—and rebuild a world free from Sombra. And hopefully... free from war and strife.”
The mare shakes. She stammers, “And... and just what d-did it take to become one of these chosen few?”
“I'll give you a hint.” I take my first and last sip of delicious cider. Appropriately bitter. “It's not us.”
She freezes in place. The blue light cascades over her like a shroud. I would expect no less. Same with the next few words limping out of her muzzle. “And Celestia.” A swallow. “How long until... until she...?”
“Anytime now,” I breathe. “I'm actually surprised the explosion hasn't gone off yet.” Another sip of cider. “But, then again, it does take a while for artificial rainbooms to be conjured, and—considering the scale—I suppose that would explain why this place is still here. As for me? Well... no mortal outside the protective barrier of Princess Luna's banishment spell is expected to survive its execution. Same thing goes with the whole unit that escorted her. It was considered to be an act of mercy for our partaking so heavily in the confidential protection of the Ever Ash Project and the future denizens of Ponymonium. I guess I'm just... unlucky to be this lucky. So I came here to have a drink. And I am. So... thank you.” Another sip. I don't taste much this time. “In the meantime, you have no obligation to thank me.”
She doesn't.
She doesn't say anything.
Instead, with unabashed selfishness, the barkeep grabs the other glass of cider on the table. She chugs it down, drinking all of the lukewarm “juicy” contents in three gulps. Maybe four. When all is said and done... she gets it. I can tell from the way her face melts... how she tries to sustain it by resting her pink cheek against the leftover coolness of the moist glass. She sniffles once... twice...
She knows.
As I know.
And once the realization has set in, her voice shakes from a chuckle more so than from a sob.
“You know...” She gulps, shakes, then continues. “There was a time when I was angry... at how unfair everything was. I spent years and years studying magic... trying to understand how we all fit into the grand scheme of things. And just when I thought I had it all figured out, this... this stupid war began. And... and I had to move away from home. There was no family left... no friends to share my sob stories with. So I settled upon a life here... out in the middle of nowhere. It was far enough away from the fighting that I wouldn't have to be afraid for my life, and yet it was close enough to the front that I could learn so many incredible, awe-inspiring things from military ponies like you. But now? Now... having learned what I've learned... with the Mare in the Moon back to throw us all into shadow... I realize that I'm back to where it all started. Back to the unfairness Only... now it all makes sense. It's like it was never meant to be, y'know?”
Her eyes open. They are moist... but solid. She's too lucid to cry.
“This... everything about this is wrong. It was always wrong. And now you're telling me that everything's about to be wiped off the map?” Her nostrils flare. “I dunno about you, but it sounds like an improvement to me. A brand new start. A reboot. So what if I die?” A tear runs down her face, but that's all she's going to give this moment. “You would have to live to die first. Have you ever felt that way? Like... you've only ever been half-alive?” She gulps again. “That you had your chance, and something happened... something strange happened and everything that's taken place since then has been wrong? It's all been too crazy... too wild and too fantastical to be the lives we were meant to live. Don't you feel the same?”
I see something in the glint of her eyes. A spark that I once had. It trailed away from me for years, dancing, taunting, lingering around the corner of every shadow. One day, I thought I had discovered it. Sombra's artillery had found its way to the bastions of Canterlot Castle. I was among the first volunteers sent to clean up the wreckage. Between the limbs and rubble cast all around, I stumbled upon the remnants of Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. There was something there in the Roost Wing... something that I had once obsessed with as a foal. It had shattered to pieces, an opportunity wasted, a failure in fragments. When I held them in my hooves, I felt something stir within me, and I sobbed. I sobbed as if for a friend I never had... an empty space that had always followed close behind me, much like my brother's shadow when he died, only smaller, more precious, indefinable.
That was the last time I ever remembered crying over anything. Ever since, I thought I had it easy. But I know better. I feel the same fragments dangling in the vial around my neck. It defines nothing, and yet it defines me.
“I don't feel,” I say. “Or at least... I've forgotten how to.”
She sniffles. She looks up at me. “What is your name?”
I look up at her. “Sergeant Sparkle. Twilight Sparkle.” A twitch. An instinct. “Might I ask yours?”
She smiles into the blueness. “Starlight Glimmer.” And next comes the heaviest breath of all. “I... I-I might not know you, Miss Sparkle, and I might not agree with what you and the Royal Sisters' armies have done. And yet... right now... more than anything in the world... I would be proud to consider you my friend.” She smiles harder. It's the very edge of a grimace, which is what makes it real. “If only for the sake of a choice... a choice I can make and be happy with it.”
I look at her. Maybe I don't feel. Maybe I don't want to. But for once... after months... years of working my way towards oblivion, I need to stop being selfish.
I stand up, trot around the table, and hug her. I hold her. And she holds me. And there's a shudder between us, something like a heartbeat, and her words bleed in between.
“Is... is it right, though?” she squeaks. I feel every shiver through her forelimbs. I hold her tighter... protecting her. Maybe I'm a soldier after all. “Is it right for us to greet it like this? While so many other ponies won't even know?”
I nuzzle her close. “It's too late for it to be wrong.”
She doesn't argue with this, even as the blue melts away, and seven hellish shades roast their way through the windows like a billion light bulbs.
“I don't know why I was so angry...” There are tears... or there once were. They gasp between us, along with her smiling face. A pale photograph. “...we're all equal in the end.”
Now that's a curious thing to say. I try to think of a reply—
Author's Note
