Synthetic Bottled Sunlight

Chapters

Sunshine Recorder (II)
Orange Aerial Light Pollution (III)
Accession Number Not Found (IV)
Subterranean Suicide (V)
Semipalatinsk (Pt. I) [VII]
Inostrantsewa (Pt. II) [VIII]
Incurably Optimistic! (IX)
Razlagayushchiysya (Pt. III) [X]
The Ghost Inside (XI)
Vozrozhdeniaya (Pt. IV) [XII]
The Apocalypse Queen (XIII)
From Ashes (XIV)
Déja Vu (XV)
Everything We Forget (XVI)
A Rot That Slowly Consumed Equestria (XVII)
This Old World (XVIII)
A Broken Dagger (XIX)
Where We Stand (XX)
Where We're Going (XXI)
Synthetic Bottled Sunrise (XXII)
Orange Aerial Sky Pollution (XXIII)
The Roots That Anchor the Trees (XXIV)
The Drift
Only Two Bits A Bottle
Wilting Whitecaps of Warbling Wavelengths (VI)

Sunshine Recorder (II)

Celestia landed.

She blinked rapidly to clear her watering eye, the last traces of pain still lingering on her shaking wings and legs. She felt like she was close to fainting, and she found it was hard to breathe not only because of her beating sides, but also from the very air itself. Even so far from the stacks, it seemed to have an odd taste to it.

Not everypony had been living the last ten years with the luxury of filtered breathing air, after all.

She ended up keeping the sun in the sky after all, but with the pollution in the air Celestia was unsure most ponies in central Equestria would notice. But when she looked up at the skies, she could still see blue, and the rays of her sun burning brightly. She had flown for hours to receive such a luxury, but it was most certainly worth it.

For the first time in eleven years, Celestia didn't feel like her life was about to end.

That, at least, was nice.

As she stood on shaking hooves, Celestia decided she was accomplishing nothing by standing there and she instead sat down on the soft grass.

She had seen the forest from the air, and instantly it had offered what she had dearly wanted: refuge from the assault of industry. It was an isolated haven of life not yet razed for other purposes. It would be a good place to rest, and consider the uncertain future ahead of her.

Would Flim and Flam’s petty corporation be honest? Would they admit their lies about her, and confess that she had escaped? To do so would be to admit that they had imprisoned her in the first place. If she remembered correctly, Equestria had been told that she had killed herself in a fit of sorrow and regret.

Whatever they chose to do, Equestria would find out soon, although Celestia herself was less than ecstatic to introduce herself as a catalyst of change for a world they were content with. They had played right into their own dystopian sentence, and they were enjoying every moment of its benefits. What could Celestia possibly say to change their minds?

Had she any right to do so anyways?

Part of her had wished she had just created the damn sunrise scroll and faced her own death as anything but the coward she had been. Fortunately, a larger part knew that dooming Equestria to a slow death was hardly the fate she wanted to leave it in. She had invested too much pain and effort and love into these ponies to give up to two arrogant business-ponies.

Discord, Tirek, Sombra… they had all been easy. Monsters bent on conquest or destruction. Obvious evil doing obviously evil things to her subjects. Stopping them had been simple. Conceptually so, at least.

But Flim and Flam? How could she overthrow two ponies that Equestria loved, without looking like a monster herself?

Equestria was dying. It was clear in the skies and in the desolate earth. Perhaps with more time and care, Equestria could have adapted to Flim and Flam’s industrial revolution, but such things were luxuries that impatient ponies had no mood to wait for.

Progress, progress, progress!

She shook her wings gingerly. Already, they felt better, if only marginally so. Painful, instead of excruciatingly unbearable. It was hardly a leap forwards, but Celestia wasn’t hypocritical enough to start chanting for swifter progress herself

Instead, she would wait. Allow herself to heal, allow her power to return. She would find somewhere quiet to do so… The Everfree had been considered, but she had quickly learned that it was as desolate as the friendly forests around Ponyville. Except her old castle. It had been turned into a tourist exhibit. Celestia imagined ponies being led by some boisterous curator down the halls she had refused to touch in order to respect Luna’s memory.

“If you look to your left, young fillies and gentlecolts, you’ll see the spot where Nightmare Moon used a rusty bit of rebar to gouge out her sister’s eye! Isn’t it simply fascinating?”

She sighed and stood back onto her hooves again. As much as the grass was comfortable and she felt quite like resting her head on it and falling into slumber, she knew that every moment she spent in the open was hardly a safe one. She could rest later.

With another bristle of her aching wings, Celestia left the grassy clearing behind and once more took to the midday skies.

Old Canterlot, it was called. Hardly a fitting name, Celestia thought, considering it had been the nation’s capital only twelve years prior, but then again the city was quite old indeed. Centuries old.

It had aged greatly in the decade she had been away. Many of the spires of her old castle had been torn down, smokestacks erected in their place, their filth billowing over the snow and ice of Canterlot Mountain and continuing its conquest above the rest of the sullen earth. The streets of Old Canterlot were grimy and unpleasant, the shops and cafes that had lined them were largely gone.

Or, rather, they were not gone, but instead they had moved away from the rapidly decomposing city, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

The former city on the mountain overlooked the greater lights of the newer city below, built around and sometimes above the largely drained Canterlot Lake. Celestia could see boardwalks and neon lights even from her vantage point far above.

Needing a proper cloak of darkness to travel by, she had dropped the sun again, finally putting an end to the thirty-six hour day she had brought about.

Celestia turned away from the depressing streets of Old Canterlot, and instead began making her way to the double door on the other side of the balcony she was standing upon.

With a deep breath, she brought a reluctant hoof to the door and knocked firmly.

Her heart was already beating rapidly. Was this even the place she was looking for? It seemed a little strange that after eleven years it would have remained unchanged, especially considering how much had transpired.

If it wasn’t the place she was looking for…

She was in no mood to flee rapidly on her aching wings, but she felt she could if she truly had to.

There came a shuffling from within, but when the door was opened it was clear that the stallion on the other side had been expecting her. She let her held breath out in a sigh of relief.

“Hello, Shining Armor,” she greeted, grinning sheepishly. “May I come in?”

“I knew it,” he breathed, as if out of exhaustion. “You’re unbelievable. I knew the second I heard about your ‘sunset scroll’ that you were playing us all for fools.”

“Sunrise scroll,” she casually corrected, although it hardly mattered, all things considered. “I admit I was fearful you would say something to give me away.”

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish now?”

“I aim to retake Equestria, ultimately,” Celestia replied, hardly aware of how harsh it sounded. “Amazing how it only took you mortals eleven years to destroy a society that I’ve worked a thousand to keep safe and just.”

Shining Armor was silent. Celestia stopped speaking, too, for she had only just then understood what she had said.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

A gust of cold wind blew from the mountain, sending a shiver through her exhausted limbs. It was a harsh reminder towards how vulnerable she was. She still did not have any idea what Equestria knew about her escape, but being spotted was hardly her preferred way of finding out.

“May I please come in?” she asked again. In response, Shining pushed the double doors open further and wordlessly led the way into his home.

Celestia gratefully followed him inside. She was surprised by how… humble his home was; it was a four-room apartment in a largely derelict building, decorated sparsely with photos of his family, his Royal Guard comrades, or an array of encased weaponry that had not seen use in several years. Celestia saw no traces of Cadance anywhere.

Shining Armor had continued on into another room that she assumed was a kitchen, for she could hear a whistling kettle promptly silence as he entered. Instead of following him, she stood in the main living area, analyzing a newspaper she found on a coffee table. Anything beyond the headlines were illegibly blurred, and she had left her glasses behind when she had left her underground home.

Still, she took a moment to look at the headlines and pictures, all about ponies she did not know or devices whose purposes escaped her. At most, it was a conventional newspaper, and she found herself more interested in the colourful, glossy little paper documents that fell out when she opened it.

Shining Armor returned, floating with him a pot of steaming coffee and two mugs. Celestia gratefully took one and muttered her thanks.

“Does Equestria know about my… ah… escape?” she asked after Shining Armor had sat down before her and poured his own coffee.

“No. I imagine they’re going to try and find you silently while they still can.”

“Can I count on you not to tell them?”

Shining Armor laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not going to go blabbing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It hadn’t been, but regardless she smiled and thanked him. He offered no vocal reply. Celestia took another sip of her coffee, listening to the sound of some clock in the kitchen calling out the midnight hour with a chorus of lively chimes.

“So, ‘reclaiming Equestria,’” Shining drawled when the chipper tune ended. “How exactly are you going to do that?”

“I earnestly do not know. I am not expecting ponies to leap before me to support my cause.”

“No,” Shining agreed. “To them, you’re an archaic, backwards-thinking relic.”

“That… isn’t what I am?” she replied, raising an eyebrow in an attempt at humour, although she did not feel very flattered when Shining Armor laughed in response. “No, I do have a better plan than that.”

“And it requires me?”

“Not exactly. I’m here for one simple reason, actually. You really shouldn’t have put on coffee for me.”

Shining Armor cracked a small grin and waved a hoof for her to elaborate. “Alright then, Lady Liberty. Now I’m curious.”

“I need to know where I can find your sister, Shining Armor.”

Not since she had proposed her sunrise scroll did Celestia see the tone of a conversation so quickly shift.

“I… I don’t know,” Shining Armor managed, his gaze falling. “Somewhere in Canterlot… but I don’t know where.”

He did not have to explain, and Celestia did not have to dig into his expression to uncover the truth lurking beneath. She knew it as much as she knew the moon followed the sun. Troubled siblings, during troubled times, must confront the terrible truth that their own relationships are not as rigid and unbreakable as they would seem.

And when siblings did fight… Celestia had yet to see anything quite so painful.

“I’m sorry, Shining Armor,” Celestia cooed softly. She did not expect her consolation to matter to a stallion who had very little regard for her, and so it was with great surprise to her when Shining Armor looked back up at her and smiled.

“Thank you, Celestia. I think she would like to speak with you. Although I’m sort of confused why you wish to speak to her.”

“Call it a hunch,” Celestia shrugged. “Or the intuition of a foolish old mare who knows potential when she sees it. Even if that potential has been lying in wait for twenty five years.”

Shining Armor nodded. His gaze was distant, and he turned to look to some point Celestia could never see, evidently deep in introspective thought.

“Did you see it in… in her?”

“Your wife?” Celestia caught herself before she said her niece's name.

“It’s… it’s Cadance to you, too,” Shining Armor sighed. “I’m sorry about what I said to you, Celestia. I imagine you were hurting enough, without me.”

“You had every right to feel what you did. I never thought any differently of you because of it,” Celestia’s voice had grown softer than the ticking clock in the far-off kitchen. “And to answer your question, yes, I did see it. It was a blessing to be able to teach her.”

Finishing her coffee, Celestia wordlessly rose to her hooves. She started back towards the double doors she had come from, but as she had been expecting, Shining Armor’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Please, Celestia…” Celestia heard him rise to his feet, but she did not turn. “Be… be careful. I don’t want to lose her like I lost Cadance.”

“I know,” Celestia said. “Thank you, Shining Armor.”

“Good luck, Princess Celestia. It’s good to see you back home.”

iii

Through a shattered skylight, Celestia entered the derelict ruins of the Canterlot Public Archives, descending in a spiral towards the sea of black bookshelves beneath her.

What had happened to the library was a mystery to Celestia. The dust of several year's of neglect had gathered on the faces of discarded books, but the building had been abandoned with its dignity largely intact.

Celestia touched down gently, taking care not to make too loud a noise out of fear of alerting some vagrant that had made the abandoned library their home. She crept forwards, her ears perched to catch even the faintest of sounds.

Her attentiveness rewarded her with the sound of a crackling fire some ways away. Her horn had been glowing warmly, but she extinguished its light and proceeded blindly down the lonely aisles of books coated with frost and dust.

Eventually Celestia reached the end of the aisle, arriving at a raised point which overlooked a large area of tables that served as the entrance and reading area of the library. She looked down at this point from the other side of a banister on the topmost floor of the three-storey library, scanning for any signs of life of whatever creature had created the fire she saw crackling in a barrel in the middle of the reading area.

“What do you want?” a feminine voice called from directly behind Celestia, who nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. She whipped around, but whoever had spoken could not be seen through the unbroken darkness. Thankfully, it meant that she herself had not been seen either, but instead heard, although she had been careful not to make a sound.

“You’re from the company?” the mare questioned, her voice ringing out from the darkness she was lurking within. In the shadows, Celestia could see her movement, but hardly a trace of her form. “Well, tell them I’m not leaving! They can demolish any castle they like, but I won’t let them touch this place!”

Celestia lit her horn at the same time as the mare, so that her yellow glow lit part of the distance down the corridor of bookshelves, and the mare’s purple magic lit the rest.

Celestia saw the mare’s bloodshot eyes widen in shock at the sight of Equestria’s lost princess.

She took a step forwards. The mare stepped back in response.

Her lavender coat was stained and charred, and her mane was largely unkempt. Celestia had only seen this mare once in her life, when she had been a little filly cowering behind her older brother, but she recognized her all the same.

“Hello, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said, and without thinking she gave the mare in front of her a polite bow.

She received no reply. Looking up, Celestia saw that Twilight’s stunned expression was largely unchanged. Eventually, Twilight composed herself enough to pose a whispered question.

“Princess Celestia?”

The answer Celestia gave was equally as brief.

“Yes.”

As if her confirmation of the obvious was an unveiling of some unspoken fact, Twilight slunk back into her shocked reverie. Celestia chuckled and took another step forwards, but Twilight instinctively took another step back.

“You’re dead,” Twilight muttered. Celestia saw defensive magic spring into her aura, and the tint of her light changed slightly.

“I assure you I only look it,” Celestia replied with an air of humour and a shiver from the cold. “Perhaps we should go down to the warmth of your fire, Twilight Sparkle. We have a lot to talk about.”

When the two had reached Twilight’s makeshift barrel fire, the unicorn refused to sit down as Celestia did, instead still standing attentive with her magic at the ready. Celestia was merely thankful for the heat; it felt marvelous against her feathers.

Noticing Twilight’s rigid stature and attentive gaze, Celestia gave her a kind smile. Then, unprompted, she explained everything. She told Twilight about Flim and Flam, and about her life underground, about the SunTrotter 2000 and Raven and her sunrise scroll.

Twilight had remained deathly quiet—aside from one quiet interruption where she breathed some awestruck exclamation and dug out a notepad and pen amongst her affairs, beginning to transcribe rapidly—right until the moment Celestia mentioned Shining Armor’s visit during Hearth’s Warming Eve. Then, she interjected with a low growl and pounded a hoof against the library floor. Her frantic writing grew furious, so that the scratching of her pen was loud enough to silence Celestia completely.

“That’s my brother, alright,” Twilight sighed, her head descending sheepishly as she composed herself from her outburst.

“Forgive me if I’m intruding on some personal matter… but what happened between the two of you?”

“It’s complicated,” Twilight sighed. “The short answer is, he doesn’t exactly approve of…”

Twilight trailed off, undoubtedly wondering how best she could explain. Suddenly, she perked up, rising abruptly, diving into a pile of newspapers that she had been feeding into the fire, and rifling through them for some time. Eventually, she found the one she was searching for, and thrust it towards Celestia.

Once more, it was merely blurred lines to Celestia at first, but the more she squinted and focused the more she could make out some of the larger words.

It was a Letters to the Editor section of the paper, mostly uninteresting, with the exception of one that actually began with a title, much like how a typical news article would begin.

“Armageddon Complacency,” Celestia read aloud. “By Twilight Sparkle.”

“It was my first letter,” she nodded. “Definitely not my last.”

Celestia rose an eyebrow, looked back to the paper, squinting in a pathetic attempt to read what Twilight had written. Seeing the princess struggle, Twilight elaborated further.

“It’s a propaganda paper. The most bias, pro-Flim-Flam thing I’ve ever seen. I called them out on it, and to my surprise they actually published my letter.”

Nodding, Celestia cast a careful glance over the paper in the direction of Twilight, who was staring absently at the crackling flame.

“News bias will always exist, my dear,” Celestia said, levitating the paper back towards Twilight with her magic.

“Yeah, but not like this,” Twilight shook her head, tossing the paper back to the pile. “They blatantly lied, and every Equestrian was just sitting there eating it up. Somepony had to tell the truth. I’m just surprised they published me at all.”

“Well, I suppose they did not want to look as though they were censoring the truth by silencing opposition. By giving their opposition a voice, they can thusly refute said opposition."

“Huh. Never thought of that,” Twilight said introspectively, leaning forwards. “Still, it backfired on them, cause ponies wanted to keep hearing about what I had to say. My opinions were profitable. Course, the majority of Equestria thinks I’m a joke. Some batty Arcane Traditionalist.”

Celestia rose an eyebrow at the unfamiliar phrase. From Twilight's tone, it seemed as though it was an insult.

“Unicorns who forcibly disregard anything that isn’t arcane,” Twilight elaborated, seeing the princess’s confusion. “They insist that anything that isn’t traditional magic is a sin, and we should go back to the way things were. Unprogressive relics of a dead era, basically.”

“Huh,” Celestia rose a hoof to her lip curiously. “I suppose that makes me some holy queen amongst them.”

Twilight was silent, awkwardly avoiding Celestia’s gaze.

Apparently not.

“And I suppose your brother didn’t quite like the less-than-warm reception Equestria was giving your ideals?” Celestia guessed. She remembered what he had said to her back at his apartment, about not wanting to lose Twilight in addition to Cadance.

“Yeah. I always saw him as paranoid, myself. If anything, he was the Arcane Traditionalist, with his wild claims of dangerous conspiracy—”

Twilight stopped suddenly, looking up at Celestia as if just now realizing she was present.

“He was right though,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “You’re alive. That proves that he was right. Does that make you some sort of fugitive?”

"I do not know," Celestia admitted. "I'm hardly in any state to defend myself if I'm discovered. That is why I have not made news of my return more vocal."

"Well, still. According to Flim-Flam Industry, you're dead, yet here you are as living proof that they're liars. They can hardly do anything to you now."

"You would be surprised," Celestia sighed, doing her best to dodge around admitting the obvious truth, that she was afraid of how Equestria would receive her now that she had been gone for eleven years and they seemed content with the world they'd been given during her absence.

"This is amazing," Twilight breathed, the sound of her scratching pen soon bleeding into awkward wordless silence. Eventually her frantic writing slowed and ceased. It seemed to Celestia as though she had successfully driven the conversation into a dead end. But there was still a great deal she needed to know from Twilight Sparkle, starting from when exactly Celestia had gone wrong in ignoring the young mare.

“Forgive me, Twilight, but can we move back a ways? What became of your magic training?”

“Magic training?” Twilight said, laughing rudely. “I ditched that after I failed my entrance exam.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Celestia replied. “You’re a gifted unicorn, Twilight Sparkle.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes.”

“And in those five minutes, you managed to sneak up on me… I presume with a silent teleportation spell?”

Twilight grumbled something unintelligible, but nodded.

“And you knew I was present without having to see or hear me… perhaps by warding the library’s entrances with a magic spell?”

Twilight nodded again.

“Both spells beyond the skills of an average unicorn,” Celestia said. Twilight looked away sheepishly from the princess’s praise. “And magic you’ve taught yourself, without any assistance, in a world that condemns such practices.”

“Well, whatever,” Twilight sighed. “Point is, to Equestria, I’m some nutcase conspiracy journalist living in a library. Looking at books about the Tree of Harmony and whispering about how much ‘I want to believe.’”

Celestia grinned and nodded. She shared a great number of characteristics with this unicorn. She was a forgotten relic, and Twilight Sparkle was a soapbox preacher screaming to strangers about forgotten relics.

Hardly the ideal heroes for Equestria.

Still, Twilight had what Celestia needed ever so dearly. A voice that Equestria would listen to, even if it was only to laugh scornfully at.

Against her common sense, Celestia repeated the thought out loud. Thankfully, Twilight was hardly offended by the “soapbox preacher” remark. Indeed, she found it quite hysterical.

“Right, that’s us,” she said, chuckling. “So, what’s your plan, Princess Celestia?”

“I would think that a public statement would be a good place to start,” Celestia replied. “You would be able to publish such a thing?”

“Oh, I would make a killing off of it. ‘Interview with a Princess’, I could call it.”

“Good. It will feel nice to finally address the princes of Equestria directly.”

Celestia had expected another agreeing chuckle or murmur from Twilight, but when she looked to the unicorn she instead saw a glance that bordered on horrified bewilderment, as though Celestia had just said something so abstractly stupid that it was almost unbelievable.

“What?” Celestia eventually said.

“Princes?” Twilight Sparkle rose an eyebrow.

“Flim and Flam?”

“Yeah, I know,” Twilight nodded. “But we don’t call them princes.”

“Do they not rule over Equestria?”

“Kind of. It’s a democracy.”

Celestia blinked.

“It means that the subjects vote on who rules."

“But…” Celestia was dumbfounded. “Why would the least qualified ponies decide who rules?”

Twilight shrugged. “I dunno. If it’s any consolation, I wrote Chancellor Puddinghead on the ballot paper.”

“I see that a great deal has changed during my absence,” Celestia said, positioning herself from a sitting position so that she was instead lying on her back, as if to sleep. “I’d be quite happy to start teaching you magic, Twilight Sparkle, but I fear it will be necessary for you to teach me about what other insanity has become the norm.”

Twilight nodded, but Celestia had already closed her good eye to sleep. It had been a long number of restless days, and Celestia was tired. A new day would come again, and thankfully it was not a day Celestia would have to face hopelessly alone. She enjoyed Twilight Sparkle’s company… part of her felt as though they had a connection that, if fate would have dictated differently, could have led them both on a very different and much better path.

It was no matter, for that path had not yet vanished. They had simply lost sight of it in the billowing smog.

“Wake me up for the sunrise, please,” Celestia requested, then she let her mind calm and carry her across the lonely gap of dreams towards a new day for Equestria.

Author's Note

Orange Aerial Light Pollution (III)

Celestia awoke.

Again.

Over the course of her slumber, her coat had become drenched by freshly fallen snow promptly melted by the nearby fire, and it felt as though she were wearing a soggy rag on her back. She rose with a mighty and prehistoric yawn, and then shook vigorously in a futile attempt to dry herself off.

The moment she was on her hooves, she instantly regretted it. A night on the cold marble floor of a library had hardly done wonders for her sore limbs, and while her mind felt refreshed, her exhaustion was greater than ever.

She blinked as she adapted to the light of the sunless and moonless sky looming above her from the skylight overhead. Oddly, the sky was a dimly glowing greyish yellow, and the constellations that were normally etched across the night sky were nowhere to be seen.

As her reality focused and her mind caught up with her surroundings, a smile creased across her lips as realization sunk in.

She was no longer waking to brick walls and harsh synthetic lights gazing down upon her. The air no longer tasted like the inside of a hospital. There were no blaring alarms telling her that she was neglecting her one sole purpose.

If there would have been a mirror in the library, Celestia would have smiled at the mare looking back at her. Because she truly felt happy. Not the faux-happiness she plastered on her face to try to convince herself that she was anymore than a pathetic and purposeless relic, but instead a genuine, sly, slightly playful smile.

It did not take long for Celestia to realize that she had awoken much earlier than the sun, and indeed she hadn’t woken on her own accord at all. Instead, it was the distant muttering of Twilight Sparkle that had grasped her unconscious attention.

Creeping on the tips of her hooves so as not to give away her presence, Celestia creeped towards the source of the unicorn’s voice. She sounded upset about something, or perhaps towards somepony.

For a brief moment a flutter of fear coursed through Celestia. Had she been wrong in blindly trusting a mare she had just met?

“…of course, of course!” Twilight was saying. “Oh, it’s so obvious! I knew something was up!”

The more Celestia listened, the more it became clear to her that Twilight did not know that she was speaking aloud. Clearly, she was not used to having company, instead automatically reverting to a sort of eternally-alone mentality.

Celestia found Twilight in an office that in another age must have belonged to the librarian. The entranceway wall was a large window, through which Celestia had a clear view of the torchlit room within. The office had since been converted into what looked like Twilight’s private study, with several broken typewriters in a corner—and one functional one atop a desk—and plenty of bookshelves lining the window-wall. The floor was an ocean of paper, and nearly every surface of all three walls were covered with cork boards, dozens of newspaper clippings and numerical calculations pinned to them.

It didn’t seem like ‘organization’ was amongst Twilight Sparkle’s extensive vocabulary.

“...thirteen…thirteen hundred?!” Twilight shrilled to some question she had posed in her mind, ripping a clipping off a nearby cork board, chuckling, and pinning it back on another. “I knew it, I knew—”

She stopped abruptly and whipped around in shock as Celestia announced her presence with a gentle knock on the open door. “Good morning, Twilight.”

“Oh! Your Majesty!” she said in a panic. Evidently, she had forgotten upon waking that Celestia had come to her, perhaps passing it off as an odd dream in her hazy waking mind.

“Just Celestia will suffice, please,” the princess said. She cast a gaze backwards at the moon framed in the skylight. “Are you up extremely early, or am I rising atrociously late?”

“It’s… ah… it’s 3:30 AM,” Twilight replied, blushing sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I must’ve woken you up.”

“No matter. Think nothing of it. Although I’m quite curious what has you so frazzled.”

“Sorry. Was I talking aloud?” Twilight’s blush had increased to a fiery crimson, and she had taken to playing with her shaggy mane and analyzing the paper floor. “I just thought of something that seemed strange about Ponyville’s Energy Plant and decided to look into it.”

“At 3:30 in the morning,” Celestia deadpanned.

“Heh. Well, I guess I got a little excited.”

“Just a little,” Celestia said with a chuckle.

Finally taking her gaze from the floor and back up to Celestia, Twilight cleared her throat and did her best to compose herself before the princess.

“So… how do you feel?” she stuttered out.

“Like an elephant’s welcome mat,” Celestia grumbled. “Although the fire was quite nice. Thank you for letting me stay, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Well, I can’t exactly turn down a princess, right?” Twilight replied. She attempted a laugh, although the sound came out as more of an awkward avian squawk.

“I’m not a princess anymore,” Celestia pointed out, motioning at her baren skull as if to prove it. She had left her crown and regalia behind when she had fled, knowing they would do nothing but weigh her down during the crucial moments of her escape. Now, she would not be surprised if she saw the things being auctioned off to some rich noble.

As if the pain from her limbs had decided a migration was in order, Celestia grimaced as a sudden painful throb shot through her chest as well, reminding her that it had been several days since she had last eaten.

“I do not wish to be a further bother to you,” Celestia said, hating herself for sounding like some prideless beggar, especially to a mare like Twilight Sparkle who was practically living in unprivileged squalor herself. “But do you have… ah… anything to eat?”

“Uh…” Twilight began hunting frantically around her study, whispering a quiet expletive whilst doing so. “I think I made myself a bowl of instant noodles if you want those.”

Celestia said she did, although she had half a mind to reverse her decision when she took one bite of the cold and sludgy food. Nevertheless, she forced the rest of the bowl into her stomach and thanked Twilight Sparkle for offering it to her. Then, she made her way back to the smoldering ashes of the fire and laid back down, closing her eye in a futile attempt to return to sleep.

Even after several more apologies and her assurance that she would keep her thoughts silent, Celestia could hear Twilight working fervently for many hours towards the coming dawn. Celestia lapsed in and out of sleep, until the time finally came to raise the sun and she rose to her hooves proper.

Celestia could see Twilight peeking from her study as magic sprung to life from Celestia’s horn. Finding the sun’s tug through Twilight’s enchantments and the glass ceiling overhead, Celestia raised the sun into the smoggy skies. Equestria would soon be flooded in her sun’s light as it struggled to creep through the unnatural clouds.

The moment the sun was sent on its way and her magic had vanished once more, Twilight began making her way from Celestia’s peripheral as she cautiously approached the alicorn standing in the middle of the freshly lit library, the skylight directly above surrounding her in a circle of morning light.

“You really are her,” Twilight breathed.

Celestia would have given the mare a playful chuckle in response, but one look at her expression told her that it would have been a disrespectful response. Instead, Celestia nodded solemnly, trading her mischevious smile for a patient one. There was nothing comedic about Twilight’s reaction, and the more Celestia thought of the implications of her doubt, the more she felt incredibly thankful she had caught the lingering details in Twilight’s expression.

To her surprise, Twilight suddenly descended in a dignified bow, blushing considerably the whole while. Celestia blinked at the abrupt action, slowly trodding up to her, and then using one of her bony, almost skeletal wings to gently lift the unicorn’s head so that their eyes met. The unicorn shuddered from the contact, but obeyed all the same.

“Twilight. There is no need to bow. I’d much prefer to be your friend than your superior.”

“Fr…friend?” Twilight looked away. “Why would a princess ever want to be friends with a lunatic like me?”

“I am sorry you feel that way about yourself,” Celestia said, once more using her wing to bring Twilight’s head up from its shameful bow. “It is not true.”

“Yes it is,” Twilight replied, surprising Celestia with her sudden sharpness. “Wait until you see what everybody thinks of me.”

“I do not care what everybody thinks of you. In the short time I have known you, you have been nothing but a helpful and intelligent mare.”

Twilight sighed, neither confirming nor denying Celestia’s judgement. Instead, she brought her gaze back down to her hooves, still somewhat bent in a bowing position before Celestia.

“Twilight,” Celestia said again, her voice an odd blend of stern and calm. “Look at me.”

The unicorn obeyed in an instant.

“I need help. I am… pathetically alone, against the same world you have been fighting to expose the truth behind—”

“I’d hardly call what I do fighting—” Twilight interjected, but was silenced by Celestia’s raised hoof.

“Please don’t undermine what you do, Twilight. You’re trying to speak the truth in a world that denies it. And you’re doing so no matter what reputation it gains you. You are brave and you are doing what is right.”

“I'm just a nutcase journalist.”

“Stop it,” Celestia's response was stern. Despite their good intentions, her words were firm and cold, providing no indication that they were to be contradicted. “Again. I need your help. Can I count on your providing it?”

“Yes, of course,” Twilight looked a little shell-shocked by Celestia's sudden irritation, and her answer came as a panicked blurt. Instantly, Celestia felt guilty for scaring the poor mare, doing her best to quell her fright with a weary smile.

Twilight swallowed, composed herself, and spoke again. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

This time, it was Celestia's turn for a panicked fit of uncertainty, although she did so internally and without breaking her serene smile. Her answer to Twilight's query was a safe question instead of a proper response.

“Did you have any plans of going into town, today?”

“Uh… I guess I need to pick up some food.”

If all you have here is instant noodles, I would certainly think so, Celestia came close to saying aloud. Instead, she nodded. “Then I must request that you purchase me a pair of glasses while you are out,” Celestia said, scratching an ear sheepishly.

It was a simple request, but Twilight's eyes shot open wide in terror and uncertainty all the same.

“G…Glasses?” she repeated in a wavering shrill. “Do you need a specific type? Or size? Or frame? Do you have a preference on colour? Are they—”

“Yes, no, no, no, and no,” Celestia replied. “Whatever you deem fit. You are the one doing a favour for me, and I am in no position to judge the means by which you do so. Truly, I would be happy to accompany you, but I am not quite ready to… ah…”

“Blow your cover?”

“Yes, indeed,” Celestia nodded. It wasn’t her first choice of words, but it suited the situation all the same.

“So… glasses. Alright. But what are you planning on doing about… uh, Equestria?”

“I think it would be better if we handled this one step at a time,” Celestia's reply was spoken with practiced calm, even if it was a foil for the truth that she wasn't ready to tell Twilight.

For Celestia truly did not know what she was going to do about Equestria.

Glasses.

It was a thought that needed repeating in Twilight’s mind as the situation fully stated its absurdity to her.

Glasses for Princess Celestia.

She cast a glance at the frames she had chosen as she tiptoed back into the marketplace. The oddity of the conversation was still echoing in the shaking unicorn’s mind as she exited the shop and returned to the cobblestone streets outside.

“Do you have an appointment?” The cheerful mare had asked.

“N…no. I need a pair of eyeglasses.”

“Ah. You’re picking up a prescription?”

“No,” she’d said again, starting to blush, scratching her mane awkwardly. “I just need glasses.”

The mare had simply stared, and Twilight felt her face reddening in an embarrassed blush.

“They’re not for me,” she’d offered pathetically. “They’re for a… a friend.”

Friend.

It was almost enough to bring a smile to Twilight’s face as she began putting as much distance between herself and the optometrist as she could—it was yet another place in Old Canterlot that she could never show her face in, not after embarrassing herself once already.

Friend. Not only was it an absurd phrase to escape the lips of a reclusive loner conspiracy journalist living in a condemned library, but it felt strange to use it as a lie to refer to the Princess of the Sun.

Although, the more Twilight connected those points together, the more it became clear that weirdness was more or less synonymous with the past few hours of her life.

The Princess of the Sun was living in her library.

For more than ten years, she and the rest of Equestria had assumed that Princess Celestia was dead. She even had a memorial in the Everfree to prove it, and it was treated largely as a tourist exhibition in which unresearched details of Celestia’s life were presented by boisterous couriers. Twilight herself had been kicked out of the exhibition for calling the courier a “brainwashed liar” and presenting blatantly contradictory information that proved him as such.

In only a decade, Princess Celestia had become somewhat of a notorious legend. Some admired her, others despised her autonomous rule and what surely must have been false kindness.

Twilight found herself somewhere between the two. She admired the princess ever since she had seen her as a filly at the Summer Sun Celebration, and yet she found herself frustrated by what Celestia had left behind her when she had passed; an Equestria doomed to a slow death, after being spared from so many other quick ends.

But now, Princess Celestia was back. And living in Twilight’s library.

And she had just purchased groceries and glasses for her.

Twilight came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the marketplace. She was aware of pony’s sideways glances in her direction, she could only imagine what remarks they were making amongst themselves about her. But for once, Twilight’s mind was elsewhere, and there was a different source for the fear fluttering wildly in her stomach.

Her eyes blinked wildly, darting between sights every time they opened again. She looked in the direction of the library, in the direction of her bursting saddlebags… and in the direction of the gates out of Old Canterlot.

Twilight was hardly content with herself. She looked to her hooves whenever confronted with a mirror, she knew better than to speak to any stranger without having to, for down that route only lay embarrassment. Yet as much as Twilight did not like the mare she was, the life she had built was at least something she was somewhat happy with. She enjoyed writing and reading, and her hatred towards Flim and Flam’s infernal corporation was at least somewhat quelled by the words her clacking typewriter violently transcribed.

At the very least, Twilight could rest her head at day’s end knowing that, despite whatever she and Equestria thought of her life, she was not complacent in Equestria’s gradual end. She was not a simple mare in the masses, although that hardly made her a hero.

But now, Celestia had come out of nowhere and asked her to be just that.

And she had said yes.

Every glance in the library’s direction intensified the fear in her stomach, and every glance in the direction of the gate out of Canterlot sent an itching into her hooves that were begging for action.

“She doesn’t need me,” Twilight breathed, uncaring of who heard her talking to herself. “She’ll be fine. And I didn’t ask for her to show up anyways. I don’t owe her anything.”

She took a step forwards. Then, with thoughts of the alicorn waiting for her back home, she took another, and another, until her walk had sped to a trot and then a canter, as she weaved her way in between the staring crowds and beggars with outstretched hooves, tearing her way towards whatever direction took her as far from Celestia as possible. She tripped once, picked up her fallen saddlebags, and kept on running, doing her best to disguise her sudden embarrassed blush.

Her fear had only just begun dripping into determination when she made the terrible mistake of glancing behind her.

The sight that greeted her had always been there, yet she skidded to her hooves all the same as she took in the towering smokestacks killing the skies above. She watched for all of a moment, and then just as some beggar made his way towards her warily, she turned tail and tore back up the path she had just come from, hating herself the whole while.

Hero? Not her. But Celestia, perhaps.

She had allowed too many hypothetical conversations with the Princess of the Sun to play out in her mind to turn her back to the real mare, especially when that mare had outstretched her hoof to Twilight for help.

iii

Twilight would have liked to take her time returning to the library, but the streets of Old Canterlot were hardly a place she felt comfortable wandering aimlessly about. As she usually did, Twilight hurried back to her refuge of solitude at a decently brisk pace.

Celestia was nowhere to be seen when she entered the library. For a brief moment, Twilight felt a flurry of relief—perhaps the princess had simply left on her own. While Twilight was slightly irritated that she had wasted her dwindling bits on a pair of eyeglasses for her, she would have been happy if it were the case anyways.

But her enchantments said otherwise; a subtle tickling sensation briefly flared in her horn to let her know that she was not alone in the library. Heaving a sigh, Twilight unclasped her saddlebags and let them hit the floor, and then started up the metal spiral staircase towards the second-floor of the three-story library.

She found Celestia humming to herself in some dark corner by a musty, uncleaned window, reading a plain looking hardcover book by the light of her horn. Twilight had hardly made an effort to keep her presence hidden, but the moment she stepped into Celestia’s line of sight the alicorn started a little all the same.

“Oh my.” Celestia let the book fall a bit in her magic. “Hello, Twilight. That was quick. Is everything alright?”

Twilight’s mind was reeling. Alright? Did Celestia know that she had tried to flee? It was likely, she was nothing if not an enigmatic and wise mare, able to extract entire truths through a glint of fear in a pony’s eyes.

Surely she would be furious.

Trapped in a corner, Twilight simply gulped and nodded.

“Are you quite sure?” Celestia rose an eyebrow. Her book dropped completely. She rose to her hooves and began advancing closer, her tall form looming above.

“You look troubled about something.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Twilight spurted out, shivering in Celestia’s shadow. “I found… I got your glasses.”

Celestia frowned a little, as if she were somewhat disappointed by something Twilight had said in her brief and stuttering speech. The frown was a mere fleeting flicker, one that she was quick to twist into a kind smile.

“I greatly appreciate it, Twilight Sparkle. I will pay you for them the moment I have bits in order to do so.”

For a moment, Twilight was confused by Celestia’s statement. Have bits? Why would Princess Celestia be short of bits?

An entire morning of frantic thought and considering her present circumstances, and Twilight still had not fully reconciled history’s renditions of Celestia with the alicorn before her. The truth was difficult to fully fathom; that there were three variations of the solar princess that she would have to sift through. There was the variation Flim and Flam preached about, there was the variation that the history books protested in response, and then there was the weak pony before her now. And oddly, the strangest and most unlikely one of all was the only one that was true to her now.

“Twilight?” Celestia’s voice jerked her back to attention.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Twilight shrilled, realizing she’d been staring rudely at Princess Celestia. "Sorry, Your Majesty!”

“It’s… quite alright,” Celestia said after a pregnant pause. The same disappointed frown from earlier had returned, but now Celestia was making no move to disguise it. Instead, she sadly brushed past Twilight and started back down the steps.

Twilight stood staring straight ahead for several moments, simply listening to the sound of Celestia’s hooves ringing against the metal staircase. The princess had left her stack of books on the floor, and Twilight warily crept forwards to examine them closer.

She found history books, both old and new, as though Celestia had been comparing them, as well as gleaning information that she had missed in her years cut off from Equestria. There were also accounts of the last years of her life, most of which were hardly flattering and hardly factual.

Also amongst the books was what looked like some sort of grimoire, the likes of which a pony would imagine seeing in some shady curio shop. What business Celestia had with a book like that, Twilight could only imagine.

When Twilight finally followed Celestia's path back to the first floor, she found the princess already rifling through her discarded saddlebags, her new horn-rimmed glasses already on her snout. To Twilight's horror, a small crack had formed on one of the lenses of the glasses, undoubtedly from when she had tripped and fallen to the cobblestone streets. And yet if Celestia had noticed, she did not so much as mention it nor telegraph her irritation.

She did, however, glance up when Twilight approached. Twilight tensed a little, but Celestia's gaze was merely enough to acknowledge her, and she quickly returned her attention to the groceries Twilight had purchased. Evidently, she was fascinated by some of the products, for she was taking time to analyze every single one.

“Memories of Butter,” Celestia read aloud, withdrawing a container from the saddlebag. “Now that’s just depressing.”

“It's margarine,” Twilight explained, drooping an ear and blushing. “Butter is expensive.”

“Interesting,” Celestia breathed as she withdrew a bundle of apples, apparently not hearing Twilight. “These are the most perfect looking apples that I believe I have ever seen. And yet it is the middle of January.”

Twilight flared a nostril smugly and nodded. “Yeah. They load them with all kinds of stuff so they grow better and don't go bad.”

“Interesting,” Celestia mused again, more to herself than to Twilight. “I would like to speak with an apple farmer, now. I wonder if Granny Smith still owns her plot by Ponyville.”

Twilight said nothing in response. Celestia might have well have been speaking a different language, with her abrupt mentions of places Twilight had never visited and ponies she had never met. At best, all she could do was stand back and offer her brief explanations that she was not even quite sure Celestia was listening to or cared about.

As if reading Twilight's demoralized thoughts, Celestia next spoke with an added level of volume and clear direction.

“What is this object?”

“That… is a film cartridge.”

“I… do not understand,” Celestia admitted.

“It's for my video camera,” Twilight explained. Her explanation earned only another blank stare from Celestia, so she elaborated further. “It's like a picture camera, but it takes video and sound instead of just still images.”

“Takes video…” Celestia repeated, the word sounding strange coming from her tongue. “And… does what with it?”

“…what?” Twilight blinked. “No, it doesn't take… I mean, it… records video—”

She broke off when Celestia started laughing.

“I understand that, Twilight. I'm asking for what purpose you use such a device. We had moving pictures a decade ago, you know.”

Twilight was blushing in an instant. Even if Celestia did not seem offended, Twilight had blatantly treated her like a fool, even if it had been an accident on her part.

“Sorry. It's… ah… helpful for journalism,” she explained sheepishly. “Gives me a sort of reference that I can come back to.”

“Interesting,” Celestia said for the third time. “I never would have imagined such a device would have become so universally owned.”

“They really aren't,” Twilight said. “I kinda spent a mini fortune on mine. But it's been useful.”

Celestia simply gave an enigmatic nod. It looked to Twilight as though she was in the middle of some elaborate scheme. It was an expression that looked foreign on the princess' face, but the look did not last for long, disappearing with a single blink as Celestia once more returned her focus to Twilight.

“Thank you for the glasses, Twilight Sparkle," she said, rising to her hooves once again. "I believe I will go continue my reading now that I can actually make out the words."

Twilight nodded, watching silently as Celestia began making her way back up the spiral staircase and disappearing from view.

Then, she let out a long exhale of relief now that she was once again alone.

Celestia stood vigilant as she watched over Equestria sprawled around her. A staircase on the third floor had led her to the roof of the library, and the feeling of cool air had been too beautiful to resist after spending an entire day surrounded by mouldy books. Most of Equestria had fallen asleep anyways, partly thanks to her lowering the sun a full three hours earlier than she should have.

She sat like a gargoyle on the roof of the library, both wings outstretched to catch the cool breeze. A light drizzling rain was falling, as it so often did in the city in the clouds, and she did her best not to consider how it was only late January.

The streets of Canterlot below her were familiar, but deserted, and so they did not keep her attention for very long.

What did grasp her attention was the other city that she could see poking out from beyond the mountain clouds. Tall buildings soared into the grey and brooding sky, and a small spiderweb network of lights that were not natural gleamed up at her like the starry sky had been inverted and sprawled across the earth.

Running through Celestia’s head were a million phrases that she was terrified to consider would soon be heard all across Equestria. After all, the very first impression she made on her return would be the one that clung to her the longest.

Hello, Equestria. It is I, Your Princess of the—

Grimacing and shaking her head, Celestia dismissed the thought before it was allowed to fully form. No way she was going to announce herself as “theirs.” According to the history books, she’d been doing that with delusions of entitlement concealed by a mask of kindness, like some exaggerated tyrant in a moving picture.

Equestria had moved beyond the apparently insane notion that she genuinely cared about her subjects and wished only the best for them, without having any personal ulterior motives.

Hello, Equestria! I realize that there have been some reports concerning my death. I assure you that those are… largely fictitious.

She grinned at that, although it felt as though it was something she was stealing from somepony else.

Letting that thought fade, too, Celestia looked aimlessly forwards in the direction of what she presumed was New Canterlot—she had yet to learn if that was its actual name.

Her thoughts were abruptly and rudely interrupted by another spike of pain in her abdomen, as though she had been stabbed by a dagger dipped in alcohol.

There it was again. It had been bothering her since the forest. The sunlight had been nice, but Celestia knew better than to think all its benefits would be pleasant to take in.

She also knew better than to assume that all its heat and warmth would be providing her would be beneficial.

A glance upwards confirmed what she had presumed, and she smiled at the barren and featureless full moon peeking up at her through a gap in the clouds overhead.

“I know, Luna,” Celestia sighed, grimacing again as another dagger-like-pain reared its ferocious teeth. “Do what you feel is necessary. I deserve it, after all.”

She removed her glasses and rubbed the sleep from her eye, and then delighting in the blurred pattern the city coupled with her pathetic eyesight formed, she did not immediately return them to her snout.

She’d noticed one of the lenses had been shattered earlier, but Twilight’s attitude hardly allowed her to feel comfortable pointing it out even as a joking remark.

The poor mare was terrified of her.

There was no discernible reason for it, and Celestia knew Twilight meant no harm. She was a princess (in principle, anyways) and Twilight’s own self-image was hardly a flattering one. To the young unicorn, Celestia was as unapproachable as the stars or the moon.

With this thought dancing in her mind as her unfocused eye watched the patterned light below, it was with a violent start that she responded to a sudden rustling behind her.

“Sorry!” Twilight Sparkle squeaked, cowering back down the stairwell a ways as Celestia jumped in surprise. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“Twilight,” Celestia sighed, folding her wings and turning to face her. No sense leaving her thoughts unexpressed now. “I do wish you would realize that I mean no harm towards you.”

“I… I know that…”

“Yet you act terrified of me. I understand why, but I assure you that you have no need to be,” Celestia said softly. She shuffled a little, outstretched her left wing, and gave her an inviting smile. “Why don’t you come sit next to me, Twilight? I would very much like somepony to keep me company up here.”

“S…sure,” Twilight managed. She navigated her way towards Celestia’s opposite wing still folded against her fur, and sat a solid three feet beside the solar princess.

“I read some of your articles,” Celestia said, staring forwards at the twinkling lights of New Canterlot. “You have a very good grasp of words, Twilight Sparkle.”

“Me? Nah. I just… write what comes to my mind.”

“Well, what comes to your mind is good,” Celestia replied. Internally, she noted with frustration that Twilight Sparkle was almost impossible to compliment. The poor mare saw fit to disprove every positive virtue Celestia presented.

“I was actually considering how I should announce my return,” Celestia said. “And I thought perhaps you could assist me.”

“But… you’re Princess Celestia! Surely that sort of thing comes naturally to you!”

“Oh, it did, but keep in mind I used to have an entire country at my back and ponies who loved me as much as I loved them. Now, I only have you.”

“So, nothing,” Twilight translated grimly.

“So an intelligent young mare with plenty of promise,” Celestia narrowed her eye and trained her stern glare at Twilight. The unicorn blushed and looked down at the deserted streets of Canterlot below.

“What about using the radio?” Twilight’s idea was expressed as a whispered suggestion towards the empty alley beneath.

Celestia was silent for a while. Yet another new word. She was growing quite tired of having to relearn the world like a feeble filly, and she felt guilty that Twilight could not speak for more than a few sentences without having to offer up some dictionary definition.

“What is a radio?”

“Right, sorry,” Twilight smacked her face with a hoof. “The radio is… a means of sending information, sort of. It sends special waves from towers, and ponies with the right equipment can pick up those waves and listen to somepony from all the way across Equestria.”

“I see. And they are common?”

“Most ponies have radios in their houses. I can show you mine later, if you like.”

“I would be very fascinated to see it,” Celestia nodded feverishly. “And so, I could communicate my return with my own voice, for all of Equestria to hear?”

“In principle, yeah.”

Celestia grinned and nodded again. “That is a wonderful idea! Although it is… rather ironic.”

“How so?”

“Princess Celestia, the Mother of Arcane Traditionalism, announcing her return on the newest technology of the future?”

To Celestia’s delight, the remark earned a placid chuckle from Twilight. “I guess it would be weird. Plus we’d have to find a station willing to host you.”

“We will figure it out in due time,” Celestia waved a hoof. “I have some matters to attend to before I announce my return anyways.”

“Oh?”

“You seem to be a very learned pony, so tell me, Twilight Sparkle… do you know what the Sunstone is?”

Twilight’s expression grew blank.

“Presumably not,” Celestia said. “No matter, I suppose it is obscure ancient history. The Sunstone is a magical gem that was… rather helpful when I first began raising the sun.”

“Began?” Twilight repeated. “You mean after Discord?”

“Actually, during Discord’s rule,” Celestia corrected. “I ascended as a filly. I had wings and a horn before a cutie mark.”

“Really?!”

“Most ponies don’t know that, hmm?” Celestia smiled. “Yes. I had other plans, actually. Originally, I just wanted to flee Equestria. But I got swept away with a group of ponies who wished to usurp Discord’s chaotic rule.”

“I didn’t know… I always just assumed you and your sister were the only…”

The rest of Twilight’s sentence resounded as if it were coming from a tunnel. Celestia felt like her whole world was caving in.

She became aware of Twilight breaking off, and saw her lean forwards with a look of concern. Celestia kept her gaze locked straight forwards and her expression stoic, but she knew that even with her lips forming the same weak smile that Twilight would have seen in her every depiction and from every glance at her in the flesh, Celestia could not hide the distant melancholy that had crept into her eye.

With a blink, the look was banished.

Where had she been?

She and Luna had been the only ponies against Discord. Right.

When Celestia next spoke, her voice was as firm, strong, and kind as ever.

“Most ponies assume that, Twilight,” Celestia cleared her throat and continued her recount as if nothing had happened. “But the fact of the matter is I most certainly had help. The Sunstone is an example of such help. It is an enchanted gemstone that, true to its name, could bridge the gap between a pony and the very sun itself, provided the pony wielding it had the particular talent.”

Celestia motioned to her cutie mark with a wing.

“Naturally, the arrogant young mare with the sun on her flank seemed like the right pick. While several ponies could grasp the sun with the stone, they damn near killed themselves in the process. And that was when Discord wished to humour them with the very opportunity.”

“But… but you?”

“Oh, I could raise and lower the sun, but hardly with ease. Better than most ponies, but hardly at a level that could be called impressive,” Celestia said, grimacing from some gruelling magical experience many centuries prior. “But then, when Discord tried to grasp the sun at the same time as I tried to raise it… I had the wild idea of fighting back. Tug of war, with the sun, in essence.”

“And you won?!”

“To immense surprise on my part, yes. I did,” Celestia said. “Thanks to the Sunstone, largely.”

“So wait… the… the Sunstone is still around?!”

“Of course it is. I kept it as a contingency plan.”

Twilight looked bewildered. “Against?”

“Myself,” Celestia replied grimly, shuffling from one seating position into another. “I did not know what my future entailed. All I knew was that I did not want Equestria to suffer under a sun that some arrogant old mad mare with a sun on her flank refused to lower.”

“Wow,” Twilight breathed. “Princess Celestia… does anypony know about this? How can they even call you a tyrant when you’ve done things like that?!”

“Because it’s a rather pathetic indicator that I’m not,” Celestia replied. “But to answer your question directly, yes, anypony with the drive to find out could learn about the Sunstone from any history book or wise old unicorn.”

“Weren’t you afraid ponies would… uh… overthrow you?”

“A little,” Celestia admitted. “But it happened even without the Sunstone.”

Neither mare spoke for some time. Off in the distance Celestia heard a trash can fall as if knocked over by some pestersome animal, and two beacons of light joined the other constellations as some spotlight was lit in New Canterlot, weaving patterns into the late January sky.

Celestia grimaced as another throb cut through her abdomen. The moon was poking out from the clouds again. Thankfully, Twilight’s attention was elsewhere, and she did not notice Celestia’s sudden painful scowl. Princess Celestia breathed a sigh of relief and took in a heavy sip of air to fill the impossible gap in her insides.

“That all being said,” Celestia confessed. “I admit I want the Sunstone back.”

Twilight looked up to Celestia in surprise. Celestia smiled sheepishly in response.

“Contingency plan,” Celestia said cryptically, returning her glasses to her snout and rising to her hooves. The moon was back behind the clouds, but when she glanced upwards she saw that they were gradually dissipating to make way for unsullied sky.

Not wanting to be on the roof when it happened, Celestia made her way back towards the stairs and descended into the library.

Author's Note

With the editing talent of gardrek and prereading talent of PinkieDP. Thanks guys!

Yes, Memories of Butter is a real thing.

Accession Number Not Found (IV)

Celestia waited.

She sat, motionless, in the shadows of night. She was far enough from the well beaten path cutting through the Everfree Forest that she did not need to worry about some carriage passing by and spotting the white alicorn standing still in the darkness.

Still, she could hear them pass on occasion, the sound of their heavy wheels rising in intensity and then fading as they crept forwards into Ponyville. The night was early and the moon was only beginning to bloom in its beauty in the sky beyond ceiling-like foliage, but even with the pronounced road slicing through the twisted and gnarled vegetation, nopony wished to be caught in the Everfree Forest at night.

Celestia herself was thankful for the thick ceiling overhead, keeping her and the night sky separate like a mother trying to keep two arguing siblings apart.

The road through the Everfree Forest was an achievement Celestia admitted she was impressed by—or at least, she would have been impressed if she did not disagree with its purpose. It was well-trodden and lit by the same electric lights that were in the city. To her amazement, they had activated by themselves when the darkness required them. The road continued to weave through the forest in the familiar direction of the Everfree Castle. Celestia repressed the urge to scowl at the very concept, convincing herself that if she were to do so, she would just be some foolish and bitter old harpy.

Watching her breath rise into the cool midwinter air, Celestia took long draws of the Everfree’s rancid scent. The overhanging smell of rotten wood was hardly pleasant, but at least it was a natural unpleasant, unlike the chemical skies outside Ponyville.

The Everfree, at least, was still a forest, and not some industrial wasteland. Celestia noted passively that some things simply refused to change.

Somewhere down the path, a twig snapped. Celestia’s ears perked up. She took a single step forwards, so that more of the path came into view. Eventually, the source of the noise stepped into her line of sight; a somewhat pudgy purple unicorn with comically overstuffed saddlebags weighing down her walk to an awkward stumble.

With a grin, Celestia made her way out of the darkness and into the light of the path.

“Hello, Twilight,” Celestia greeted. As she stepped forwards she used her magic to lift one of the heavy bags off of Twilight and clipped it to her side instead. Twilight smiled gratefully at the reduced weight, and her walk became somewhat more normal. “You made it alright?”

“Y...yeah,” Twilight huffed exhaustedly, her rapid breath jetting into the air. Celestia noted sadly that Twilight was hardly in good health. She supposed it was a side effect of living as cheaply as possible. “I hate taking the train, though. They stuck me in a compartment with some mare who wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

“Oh?” Celestia snickered. “I presume you’re somewhat of a celebrity?”

Twilight snorted. She twisted her voice into a patronizing, mocking trill. “‘Are you that writer mare? Midnight Sprinkle? My grandmother thinks you’re hilarious!’”

Twilight snorted again. “How do you even respond to that?”

“‘Thank you?’” Celestia suggested. “I mean, there’s no need to be defensive. It sounds as though she was complimenting you, Miss Sprinkle.”

“Trust me, she wasn’t,” Twilight replied, scowling instead of grinning at Celestia’s joke. “She was being sarcastic.”

Celestia said nothing. She had her doubts that Twilight had judged the situation correctly, but then again she hadn’t been there and it would be hypocritical to pretend otherwise.

“What about you?” Twilight asked. “Your flight was…?”

“Painful,” Celestia admitted. “I really wish my wings would cooperate with me more than they presently do. At least I was not seen.”

“Hm. Didn’t you say that sunlight would help you? I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t really seem like you’re improving very much.”

“It takes time,” Celestia waved a hoof dismissively, before promptly changing the subject. “You didn’t raise any questions with the contents of your saddlebags?”

“They didn’t check, thank heavens.”

“Yes, those scrolls were hardly simple to write,” Celestia agreed. The last thing she wanted was for her days of effort and preparation to simply go to waste and end up confiscated by some guard in a train station, and poor Twilight asked questions she couldn’t possibly answer.

And, additionally, Celestia knew that her own time was fleeting.

The more she waited to make her return known, the more suspicions she would stir when she eventually did. If she waited for months before announcing her return to Equestria, she would undoubtedly raise questions as to where she had been during those months and what she had been doing that was more important than her own subjects. Right out of the starting gates she would be judged and criticised, and it was hardly a welcoming thought considering how much of that she knew lay down the road for her to confront.

Celestia nudged the clasp on the saddlebag with her snout and peered inside. The glint of crystals and glowing parchment immediately greeted her, but the princess ignored those and instead withdrew a hastily constructed submarine sandwich wrapped in cellophane.

“So… the Everfree Castle closes at 7,” Twilight said, trailing behind Celestia. “It’s almost 9, now.”

“Good, good,” Celestia’s words were muffled by a mouthful of sandwich.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Twilight mused.

“Mm?”

“Breaking into a museum,” Twilight elaborated. “Who breaks into museums? Y’know, other than comic book villains?”

“Well, to be fair, it isn’t a museum,” Celestia replied after gulping down her mouthful of food, “It is my former home. I gave nopony the right to convert my past into some patronizing sideshow.”

“That’s true,” Twilight agreed. “You should see some of the stuff in there, Princess. Blatant lies about you. Honestly, I don’t even know how they’re allowed to say them.”

Celestia truly appreciated Twilight’s sentiment, even if she didn’t give a damn what anypony said about her. She knew she was no tyrant, and who cared if a few foolish ponies innocently held that she was? She knew better than to tell ponies what they should and shouldn’t think about her, and she had learned that simply being kind and understanding was a better tactic than any level of deceit or subliminal speech censorship.

Then again, there was an obvious difference between innocent opinions and the presentation of false information claiming to be factual.

Some ways down the path, Celestia muttered something about staying out of sight and then cut into the thick forest. Twilight wordlessly fell behind Celestia as the princess led the way. Even though it had been decades, she knew the forest like the backs of her aching hooves.

In less than ten minutes, the two were on a cliff overlooking the Everfree Castle, nestled comfortably in a valley where not even the omnipresent vines and weeds of the forest dared venture into.

Her castle had been brought back to its glory faithfully, Celestia was surprised to see. When she had abandoned it to the wilderness in its quiet moonlit grotto, she had done so on good and loving terms. A final walk through the halls that had been her home for centuries, a final admiration of the tapestries meticulously stitched and sewn.

One final glance in Luna’s long vacated bedroom.

She’d left the castle as it was without touching a single affair. It wasn’t that she wished to simply start again, but rather the opposite; she did not wish to move on as if nothing had happened at all. And simply clearing the libraries of their books and moving her furniture to someplace far away seemed like doing just that.

Instead, she’d let the sands of time do their work with the castle.

But depictions had survived. Floorplans had survived, too. She made no effort to snuff out the castle’s memory, and so it had been restored to life nearly exactly how she had remembered.

Of course, the artificial electric lights surrounding the courtyard was a new affair, as was the well trodden road weaving its way downwards into the grotto.

“Well, there it is,” Twilight said, panting for breath from the short walk. “Everfree Museum.”

“It has been restored faithfully,” Celestia said, unclipping her saddlebag and sitting down close to the edge of the cliff overlooking the magnificent castle. “Twilight, come sit with me for a moment. We must discuss something very important before we proceed.”

“Of course, Princess,” Twilight nodded, unclipping her own saddlebag and sitting next to the princess. Already, she was becoming much more comfortable around Celestia, although she still showed obvious signs of fear veiled behind respect.

“What lies ahead, even I cannot be sure. The Catacombs of Canterlot where the Sunstone lies were designed specifically to keep me from passing through alive. This was done on my order, to prevent some insane, power-mad future self of mine from shattering the Sunstone and thus any hope for Equestria.”

Twilight did not speak, but gave Celestia a single nod to telegraph her understanding.

“I am hoping that it shall be largely harmless to you, however. If the circumstance presents itself that it is not, and you are placed in any level of danger, then our newest priority is getting you safely back to the surface.”

“But… but what about the Sunstone?”

“Your life is infinitely more important,” Celestia’s reply was instantaneous. “Besides, I promised your brother I would not let harm befall you.”

“Well, Shiny can take that promise and shove it up his—”

“Twilight,” Celestia interrupted her with venom. The mare instantly ceased, her angry expression turning to one of apologetic, sheepish apprehension.

“Thank you,” Celestia said when she once again had silence. “Now, this is a more general note. I believe my statements in Canterlot bear repeating once more; if we are divided and I am captured, you will not see me again. I will be taken back underground and I don’t believe I will ever be permitted to see the sun again. There is no way I could fool them the same way twice.”

“So what do I do to save you?”

Celestia grinned. “You don’t. That would be impossible. I was imprisoned behind a dozen high-security checkpoints and underneath a thousand feet of bedrock. I will find my own way out, or happily die trying. As for you, Twilight, this is very important; if you are caught, questioned, or otherwise in some compromising situation in which my name or my plans even flit across your explanation, then you are to lie. You do not know me, you have not met me, and you despise the mare I supposedly am.”

“I just don’t get why—”

“Twilight, when I was captured, I was… hardly treated well,” Celestia recounted. It was a story she’d already told the young mare, but apparently it had not fully sunken in. “I refused to raise the sun, I threatened orderlies, I even came close to escaping on multiple occasions, and as a result I was… corrected.”

Celestia moved a bit of her mane aside to show a bit of flesh that was permanently charred.

“A charged electrode to the skull can have… convincing effects.” Celestia shivered. “I didn’t cave because I couldn’t take it, but merely because I knew I was fighting a fruitless battle. I finally rose the sun and put my freedom aside for an Equestria that had turned against me.”

Twilight shook as a ripple of animalistic fury clearly tore through her. “That’s… that’s blatant torture! Those bastards, I can’t believe that!”

“Indeed. And if they had so little concern about what they did to the very mare who brought the sun, do you think they will grant you even a moment’s consideration? I was kept alive because I was necessary. I fear they will not feel the same way about you.”

Twilight grimaced, her hoof digging into the dirt. “You’re right. I’m hardly worth a whole lot to anypony, and I doubt Equestria would even notice if they snuffed me out. One less liability in their lives.”

“That is by no means what I intended,” Celestia had half a mind to grab Twilight and try to shake the crippling self-doubt out of her. She settled with a sideways glare instead. “For goodness sake, Twilight, you are not a worthless pony! You are the opposite.”

Looking at her hooves, Twilight gave them a dismissive eyeroll. “Right, right.”

“Twilight, look at me,” Celestia commanded with sudden sharpness, like a stern mother. Twilight’s gaze was dragged upwards lethargically, as though the action had been waylaid some ways between Twilight’s brain and nerves. “In the time I have met you, you have not used a single positive term to describe yourself, yet you have continuously helped me at every opportunity and proven yourself to be a significant asset. You are funny, smart, and likeable. So I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you think you are an important mare.”

Instantly, Twilight looked as though she regretted looking upwards as she was commanded. Her eyes were locked with Celestia’s now, so that if she broke the gaze then she would feel she was explicitly denying Celestia’s orders.

“But I’m not—”

“Twilight, we are not moving until I hear you say it.”

With obvious effort, Twilight forced out the sentence so that she could finally look away.

“I am… an important mare.”

“Yes,” Celestia agreed, rising and clipping the saddlebag back at her side. “You are. Now let’s go. Before we allow the dawn to creep up on us.”

“Alright,” Twilight breathed, looking at the shimmering bright brown light before her—sometimes yellow, sometimes purple—and the museum still nestled in its place in the grotto far below them. “I… I suppose I’ll count down from three.”

“Whatever you deem necessary,” Celestia replied, staring intently at the hovering crystal gemstone between them, held by both of their magic simultaneously so that Celestia could feel Twilight’s unicorn magic bristling against her own.

The gemstone itself was hovering over top of a scroll Celestia had written herself—a rather simple teleportation spell, hardly a trial to create. Regardless, it was an absolute necessity after what she and Twilight had learned about the magic shield around the castle that blocked unicorn’s teleportation magic.

Celestia had been somewhat surprised to learn that such a shield had been erected around a glorified museum, and even more surprised when she learned it was not actually magical in origin.

Regardless, they had come prepared, and the teleportation scroll was only one of the many Celestia had asked Twilight to take with her on the train.

“Alright,” Twilight said again, whipping out a floorplan of the Everfree Castle from her saddlebag and casting one last glance at it before shoving it back with the dozens of other scraps of parchment within. “Are you ready, princess?”

“I am admittedly frightened of returning home,” Celestia said. “But yes, I am ready. On your count, Twi.”

Twilight blushed at the nickname, and Celestia felt the unicorn’s magic waver a little, before suddenly spiking in intensity. The gemstone’s glowing rose in intensity, and the scroll began sparking to life, slivers of static electricity arcing through the air and striking the hovering gemstone.

Twilight took a deep breath.

“Three...two...one!”

In an anti-climactic blink, the two were plucked from the Everfree Forest and immediately surrounded by dimly lit electric lights.

Celestia felt her breath catch as the Everfree Castle appeared in vivid familiarity. Twilight had brought them into a random hallway that she had guessed would be the most deserted, but Celestia recognized it all the same.

Had it really been a thousand years since she had last been there? As Celestia stood in shock, she had trouble convincing herself it was so.

The memories of waltzing carelessly down the halls and gossiping with Luna and the orderlies were as clear as dawn.

As were the memories of their shouting arguments, the slamming of doors, the hurling of accusation and insult. Those memories were more recent, after all.

Celestia let out a long breath from her nose.

“Ah… Princess?” Twilight whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Celestia nodded, shaking her head free of useless memories.

“Alright. Then… I don’t mean to interrupt or anything, but…”

Twilight pointed a hoof at a blinking device mounted atop one of the entranceways. Celestia remembered seeing them in the underground prison they’d kept her in. A security camera, if she was not mistaken.

She repeated this to Twilight, who nodded feverishly.

“Yep, that’s correct. Right now, it’s pointing towards that hall right ahead of us, so we should be good.”

“I understand. But we must go through that hall in order to reach the library, and by extension the castle’s hidden catacombs.”

“You… built the catacombs into the library?” Twilight rose an eyebrow.

“No, but they run directly beneath. There is an entranceway in the basement of the library wing, and it is the quickest and simplest way to access the hiding place of the Sunstone.”

“It’s not on any of the floor plans,” Twilight already had them pulled out from her saddlebag. She trotted over to a glass table (one of many lining the walls beneath muddy portraits of long forgotten mares) and outstretched the plan across it.

“It wouldn’t be.” Celestia nodded. She pointed a hoof at the catacombs, which according to the floor plan stopped some distance before the library wing. “The ‘catacombs’ end where they are marked on the map, but the underground passage continues on. It is in those caverns that the more… dangerous relics of Equestria’s past lie.”

“Like the Elements of Harmony?” Twilight guessed.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Celestia said sadly. She would have to explain to Twilight about the Tree of Harmony and her necessary sacrifice, but that could wait until they were not trespassing inside of a rather well-guarded museum.

“Alright. Well, to get to the library…” Twilight consulted her floor plan again, and swore bitterly. “Stars, you’re right. We’ve gotta go through this hall.”

“A banquet hall,” Celestia recalled, with distant nostalgia. “Oh, I remember the dances we would have in there. Half of Canterville would travel for miles just to attend.”

Celestia couldn’t suppress a small chuckle. “My sister was always hounded by young fillies and colts. at those banquets. They loved her. Wouldn’t leave her to a moment’s privacy.”

Twilight said nothing. Celestia blinked away her bittersweet, nostalgic reverie, and before the hollow and empty feeling of loneliness could creep into its shadow, she shook her head and brought her mind back to the matters at hoof.

“The camera.” She pointed at the blinking device. “I would prefer not to be spotted by it.”

“Right. We can’t teleport, thanks to the suppression field, but perhaps… damn it, I don’t know! Maybe if we…”

The mare had started rambling, pacing back and forth down the hall, stumbling over phrases obviously intended for her brain and not her lips. In the still and empty museum halls, her voice sounded much louder than she’d probably intended. Celestia was instantly reminded of finding Twilight rambling to herself as she investigated some suspicious affair in her study back in Canterlot.

“Twilight,” Celestia stepped forward and outstretched a wing, signalling for her to stand back.

Then, she shot a magic beam directly at the security camera. The thing disintegrated into ash without making a sound.

“There!” Celestia said with childlike mischievousness. “Problem solved!”

Twilight was speechless for a moment, and then:

“You just...” she began, looking from Celestia’s horn to the pile of ash. “That was awesome. And… a little terrifying.”

“Thank you,” Celestia said earnestly. “Now come along, Miss Sprinkle.”

The two trotted across the banquet hall. Celestia let Twilight take the lead, for Twilight had the floor plan and Celestia did not trust her own memory of the castle nearly enough to bet their safety on it.

iii

Twilight had begun leading the way through the castle at a rapid pace, but she slowed down significantly before long. Not only was she severely lacking any physical endurance that allowed her to carry on, she could have no idea whether or not she would run around some corner right into a security guard who had left his post to use the bathroom. Furthermore, Celestia seemed to appreciate the slower pace also. Despite her lectures of urgency and importance, the attitude that the princess was radiating was nothing of the sort.

At one point during their sneaking pilgrimage to the Everfree Castle’s library, Twilight had turned to find Celestia gone. Her terror had spiked, and she had turned down the closest corridor only to find Celestia posing on a pedestal underneath a museum sign that read Forgotten Relics. Celestia was doing her best to keep a straight face, and she failed the moment Twilight burst out laughing.

Considering all the dread and drudgery that had defined Celestia’s recent years, Twilight found herself amazed by the princess’s positive attitude. Ever since she had shown up unannounced in Twilight’s library, she had been incurably optimistic. Even during their long, introspective moments on the library’s roof, Twilight had traced Celestia’s stares at the smokestacks from behind her cloudy cataracts and she had failed to detect a trace of anger in Celestia’s expression.

Disappointment, certainly. Melancholic reflection abound. But it seemed to all be directed inwards.

When she had first considered the very same thought as she nearly fled from Old Canterlot and from Celestia, it had seemed ludicrous. But now, the thought that she shared similarities with the solar princess did not seem quite so unbelievable.

Remembering Celestia’s words of encouragement to her earlier, Twilight forced her own forwards despite the screaming and terrified voice of her conscience telling her she would just make a fool of herself to even try and approach a mare like Celestia.

“You’re not a relic,” Twilight said with an awkward giggle.

“Oh? That is good to hear,” the Princess snickered. “Anyways, we can get to the library quicker this way.”

Celestia hopped back down, her hooves clacking loudly against the castle’s marble floor, and she lead the way further down the Hall of Forgotten Relics.

It was perhaps an inaccurate name, considering how important the “relics” had been to Equestria. Most of them were definitely not forgotten, and in many cases were not even relics to begin with. It wasn’t as though anypony cared whether or not they were real, as long as they looked as though they were and foolish tourist ponies got their photos, there was no reason to care.

One such relic was a crafted replica of the Element of Magic. It was a faithful recreation, although Twilight could clearly see that the gem in the middle of the crown was a sparkling pink sapphire. More extravagant, perhaps, but the real Element of Magic’s gem was merely polished tourmaline.

Twilight’s attention was jerked by the sound of rustling metal. Looking away from the Element of Magic, she saw Celestia slipping into a set of her regalia from several centuries prior. It was a cruder affair than the one she had left behind in her subterranean prison, with sharper looking edges and a more stoic design, but she fit into it well all the same.

“Forgot how uncomfortable this thing was,” Celestia grumbled, slipping her hooves into the regalia’s matching hipposandals. “How do I look?”

Twilight was floored by the question, but thankfully, Celestia did not actually wait for a response. The princess instead immediately trotted over to the Element of Magic in front of Twilight, analyzing it for several seconds and then chuckling.

“Close, but no cigar,” Celestia breathed.

“It’s the wrong gemstone,” Twilight agreed, pointing at the dark pink sapphire. “The real Element doesn’t have a sapphire in the middle. Just a cheap old pink tourmaline.”

“Very good,” Celestia praised warmly. “An interesting irony, I must say. I’d bet this replica would fetch a higher price at an auction house than the real article.”

Celestia lifted the Element of Magic to examine it closer, and then passed it to Twilight.

“So… the Elements were real?” Twilight asked, turning the thing over, examining its flawless polished surface and the sparkling gem.

“Do you believe they were?”

“Yeah,” Twilight gulped. “Why would you lie about them?”

“I find your trust very flattering,” Celestia smiled. “Thank you, Twilight. I’m curious; what else can you tell me about the Elements of Harmony?”

Doing her best to keep her mind calm despite Celestia’s abrupt pop quizzing, Twilight racked her brain and tried to conjure up memories of some dusty history book she had studied one time or another.

“Well, only the Element of Magic has a crown like that,” Twilight began. “The other five are just gemstones. They are generosity, honesty, loyalty, kindness, and…. uh… joy, right?”

“Laughter,” Celestia corrected, beaming. “I am very impressed. You are a very learned mare indeed.”

Twilight felt her face reddening in a blush, and she forced out a stuttering thanks. Then, she placed the artificial Element of Magic back on its pedestal, and Celestia continued leading the way down the hall.

Twilight walked with her eyes on her hooves, but she was quick to look up when Celestia abruptly stopped, her newly donned hipposandals clacking loudly on the polished floors. The princess of the sun let out a surprised gasp, and when Twilight’s eyes darted up, she instantly saw why.

Another section of the hall lay ahead of them, but labelled differently, and characterized by vastly different artificial lighting. Where Celestia’s old affairs had been displayed beneath soft and warm yellow light, the hall’s lighting abruptly shifted to a cold blue underneath a foreboding sign.

Hall of Nightmares.

Celestia did not speak as she took another cautious step forwards. Twilight could clearly see the wariness in her walk, as though she were greatly intrigued of what lay forwards and yet much too frightened to properly venture forth.

Wordlessly, Twilight increased her pace so that she was walking beside the princess, and not behind her. Together, they continued forwards.

Celestia stopped in front of an icy blue helmet. Twilight saw her breath catch in recognition of the foreboding object.

Reaching a shivering hoof forwards, Celestia dragged it softly across the cold metal.

“Sister,” she sighed. She did not divert her glare, but the single word cast accusation towards every personal object from her life thrust forwards for the pleasure of strangers.

“They’ve made a mockery of us both.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight offered. “I… did this belong to your sister?”

Celestia looked up from the helmet. She blinked, as if in realization. Then, in an almost defensive tone, she answered.

“Nightmare Moon was not my sister.”

That wasn’t what I asked, Twilight stopped herself from saying aloud.

“Then... do you mind if I ask what happened to your sister?”

Twilight had meant it as a simple, curious passing remark, one she had always been curious to have answered. Regardless, Celestia’s answer was soft and mature, yet her firmness was clearly visible from beyond an enigmatic smile.

“With respect, my dear,” Celestia sighed. “I do mind.”

Twilight nodded in understanding and yet spoke without thinking. “I’m sorry. I was just curious… y’know, about whether or not what they say about you really is—

“Stop it.”

There was no smile to muddy Celestia’s firmness now. As she nearly barked out the two words, she brought her armoured hoof down on the polished museum floor.

It took the best of Twilight’s composure not to break down in tears of terror. Celestia’s outburst was hardly one of fury, yet coming from such a calm and kind mare it very well felt as much. Twilight could not recall a moment in which Celestia had raised her voice, and to hear it for the first time directed at her was nearly enough to make her turn and flee as she had in Canterlot.

Instead, she gulped and sunk her head in shame.

The two stood motionless for several seconds, avoiding each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity.

Then, Celestia opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again, and continued leading the way towards the library with newfound conviction in her limping stride. Twilight followed on shaking hooves.

Celestia was the first to break a nearly fifteen minute silence, her words sounding muffled as she spoke with her snout searching the contents of her saddlebag.

“I believe you have the gem and scroll in your saddlebag,” she said. Any trace of the hostility that had driven them both into silence was gone, although Twilight found herself warily approaching the princess all the same as she unclipped her own saddlebag to pass her the gemstone and scroll.

The scent of mouldy books was omnipresent. Despite the entire castle being twisted in order to convert the Royal Sister’s past and memories into some sort of sideshow tourist trap, no amount of tweaking could kill the scent of a thousand years of age eating away at a completely untouched library.

Twilight produced the gem and scroll—which looked nearly identical to the ones they had used earlier—and levitated them towards Celestia.

“Yes, these are the ones,” the princess said. “Normally my own horn would suffice in locating enchantments, but less so when said enchantments are designed not to be detected by my horn.”

Twilight nodded, wearing a blank expression, watching passively as Celestia’s magic sprung to life.

As before, the scroll and gem lit in a flourishing fireworks display of colourful lightning. The air took on a metallic scent as the enchantment built in intensity and Celestia’s expression became a focused frown.

Twilight’s own horn had begun tingling with an irritating sensation, not dissimilar to when she had been casting her magic on the teleportation spell at the same time as Celestia. It once more felt like her own magic was physically rubbing against another unicorn's, but the frequency was certainly not that of Princess Celestia.

As the enchantment sparked, it felt as though all of the air in the library was collapsing towards the hovering yellow gemstone. For a moment, Twilight thought it was just her, but a sideways glance showed her that Celestia, too, was gasping for air as she cast her magic. To Twilight’s surprise, Celestia seemed to be in visible distress and her breathing was much more laboured. While the tingling in her horn had twisted Twilight’s expression into an irritated frown, Celestia was grimacing in pain.

Then, the gemstone abruptly shattered. An alarming shockwave of escaping air followed. The foreign magic rubbing against Twilight’s own spiked in intensity and did not immediately go away. Instead, it only continued growing in strength.

The case was the same with Celestia, who was still breathing heavily even as the air returned to normal.

“Princess… are you alright?”

“Focus, Twilight,” Celestia replied with intensity but not hostility, a foreboding rasp skirting the outlines of her voice. “Do you feel magic that is not your own?”

“Yeah…”

“Good,” Celestia said, squeezing her eyes in a grimace as the foreign magic once more spiked. “We must follow it.”

Twilight instantly obeyed. Despite the tickling sensation in her horn, following the strange magic flows was an oddly natural feeling, as though her horn were a compass leading her through a terrible blizzard.

She trotted towards the staircase which led down to the bottom floor of the library, and without hesitation began descending them at a brisk pace.

Celestia followed, but stumbled twice going down the stairs. What was only a minor irritation to Twilight appeared to be a major hindrance for her.

At the bottom of the stairs, Twilight only had to walk a few more paces before stopping abruptly in front of a glowing design in the tiles of the library’s bottom floor. It was a sun and moon in tandem, both of them glowing in a crude magic aura that Twilight instantly recognized as the gemstone’s.

“Here,” Celestia rasped, pointing to the glowing emblem.

“Hm,” Twilight sniffed. “Subtle. So this leads to the Catacombs?”

Celestia grunted her affirmation just as the large sun and moon tiles suddenly began shifting, first downwards for a foot, then disappearing into carefully cut slots underneath the library floor.

The stones finished sliding into place, revealing a dusty spiral stairway descending into nothingness.

“Woah,” Twilight breathed. She reached into her saddlebag to find her camera, but Celestia was quick to usher them towards the opening and down the steps.

Twilight opened her mouth to point out that they did not have any means of light to enter the Catacombs with, but the sound of shifting stone quickly silenced her and justified Celestia’s urgency. Already, the moon and sun tiles were returning to their proper places as the last of the enchantment faded away.

The tiles ascended and began fanning back outwards. Then, any of the light from the outside world was instantly extinguished, flooding both mares in perfect darkness.

“That was close,” Celestia panted. “Well, better light a torch, Twi.”

Twilight felt her blood curdle. Panic and confusion escalated to terror before she could even fully register what was happening. The stones above them were heavy. They would not be returning the way they had come. Downwards was the only way forwards.

Yet downwards only lay darkness.

“Twilight,” Celestia repeated, somewhat impatiently. She was still panting, but the pain seemed to have left her. “Light, please.”

If there would have been light, Twilight imagined Celestia would have clearly seen the terror in her face as she spoke. “I… I didn’t bring a torch, Princess.”

Celestia was silent for several seconds.

“I appreciate your good humour, Twilight, but please do so when the conditions are appropriate.”

The darkness was so complete, Twilight could not even fully decide where Celestia was. Any chance of them making it down the stairwell and to the Sunstone was an impossibility.

Downward, darkness. Downward, darkness. The thought echoed again and again in Twilight’s head as she gulped and repeated herself.

“I don’t have a torch, Princess,” she managed. And then, her voice cracking, “I’m so sorry.”

Before her apology had even completely left her tongue, yellow light flooded the spiraling staircase. All was illuminated, the emblem above them, the dust swirling madly all about, and the guilty and mischievous smile of Princess Celestia.

“We have horns,” Celestia pointed out bluntly. “I apologize, Twilight. Did I frighten you?”

“Yes,” Twilight sighed loudly, in both relief and irritation directed inwards. “I’m an idiot. I thought I’d just killed us both by forgetting a torch.”

She lit her own horn, her purple light joining Celestia’s yellow, and just as she did so she realized something else.

“You knew! You could’ve lit your horn! You scared me on purpose!”

“I admit I perhaps took the joke too far,” Celestia admitted sheepishly. The angle of her horn’s light shifted as her head fell.

Twilight could only giggle in response, although Celestia’s antics only drove forwards an inkling question she desperately wished to ask but did not dare out of fear of insulting the princess.

But now, after seeing Celestia’s guilty reaction to her own innocent prank, she felt a sudden spike in confidence. The two began descending the infinite steps as she posed the first question of many.

“Princess Celestia… can I uh… speak freely with you?”

Celestia cast a backwards glance from several steps down, looking almost offended.

“Twilight. You are my friend. You should never be frightened of speaking with me. What is troubling you?”

“It’s just… it’s going to sound strange, but… my whole life I’ve sort of held this one vision of the ‘great Princess Celestia.’ Well, actually, two visions: the one I remember as a filly, and the one Flim and Flam shoved forwards. Both of them basically put you in the position of some unapproachable goddess, either because of your power or… uh...”

“Expertly veiled wrath?” Celestia finished, much to Twilight’s gratitude. “I hope you have found those visions to be fictitious?”

“Yeah, of course I have. I’m sorry, I don’t even really know why I’m mentioning it to you. It’s just, nearly every pony in Equestria has this opinion of you as either a goddess or a tyrant. Imagine my surprise when you turn out to be cheery and funny. And approachable.”

Celestia’s reply was not immediate, as though the princess was turning over Twilight’s words like they were some complex riddle. Both mares simply continued descending down the seemingly infinite staircase in silence for nearly a minute before Celestia’s response finally came.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “After you’ve been cooped up alone in a brick room for a decade, it is quite easy to find joy in the outside world and the ponies inhabiting it. I simply hope Equestria shares in your opinion.”

“I’m sure they will,” Twilight said. “If two arrogant business ponies convinced them, I’m sure you can, too.”

“I wish I had your optimism,” Celestia sighed. “Raven, my… ah, caretaker, used to bring me newspaper clippings to keep me up to date on Equestria’s going-ons. Imagine my shame when there were entire articles devoted to praising the Equestria my archaic self had kept at bay.”

Indeed, Twilight had no trouble imagining Celestia’s shame upon being confronted with such articles. Twilight herself had been the one publicly refuting them, after all. She could only imagine Celestia’s assistant grazing over piles of newspapers and accidentally missing one of the pathetic few offering anything but praise for Equestria’s glorious new dystopia.

It was almost enough to make her feel proud when she considered how her foolish scribblings could have actually made the very princess of the sun feel anything beyond shame and embarrassment.

“How much longer does this staircase go on?” Twilight groaned. Her hooves were beginning to ache, and the dust was nearly enough to make her pass out. It swirled all about, forcing her to constantly blink to clear it from her eyes and sneeze to clear it from her nose. They’d been descending for what surely must have been longer than half an hour, and yet still she could see no end in sight.

Twilight could only begin to imagine why building the Catacombs so deep under the ground would be necessary.

“I do believe we are almost at the end,” Celestia said, sounding quite out of breath herself.

“How can you tell?”

“My horn is beginning to flicker from magical interference,” Celestia said cryptically, pausing to turn around and demonstrate what Twilight had no reason not to believe. True to her word, Celestia’s horn occasionally faded in luminosity, like a torch in a light rain.

Celestia’s suspicions seemed reasonable to Twilight, but they also bled into further questions.

“What exactly is doing that, Princess? Even up there, the magic seemed to really be distressing you.”

“Indeed it was,” Celestia admitted. “You must understand, this entire area is designed with the sole purpose of preventing me from crossing easily. Eating away at my magic is logically the first step in order to do so.”

“You… you will be able to make it, though, right?” Twilight felt a sudden stab of guilt; in her excitement in the face of their adventure, she had not even considered the implications of Celestia’s cryptic predictions of what the Catacombs held for her.

The very memory of seeing Celestia grimace from some internal irritation had been enough to make Twilight feel distressed herself, as though she too could feel the pain that only Celestia felt.

“Oh, yes,” Celestia said nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Despite her agreeing nod, Twilight decided she’d feel quite a lot better about herself if she chose to ignore Celestia’s request this particular time.

It wasn’t as though worrying about Celestia was particularly difficult to do as of recently.

When she finally reached the bottom of the spiral stairwell, Celestia had lost her magic completely, so that only Twilight’s horn was keeping their surroundings illuminated. Celestia descended the last dozen steps on shaking hooves, feeling as though she were about to tumble down them with every step and yet somehow managing to prevent herself from doing so.

She apologized to Twilight when her horn had finally blinked out and every time she stumbled a little on the steps, but the unicorn seemed too shy to say much beyond an indecipherable mumble.

Now, the long staircase was finally behind them, and an equally as infinite hallway of greying bricks stretched onwards far beyond Twilight’s illumination spell.

The temperature had dropped to nearly freezing as they had descended, and already Celestia was regretting not bringing a cloak or jacket for Twilight, even if the unicorn had instantly insisted that she was fine when Celestia mentioned it.

Celestia had also withdrawn from her saddlebag yet another enchanted gemstone, tied with twine so that it resembled a crude necklace.

"Wear this," Celestia ordered, passing it to Twilight. "I only had the resources to make one. It should help deter any of the enchantments that the tunnel produces."

"But... shouldn't you wear it?" Twilight hesitated, not immediately taking the necklace. "It seems to be affecting you more than me."

"Perhaps, but my body can also afford to be subjected to the enchantments moreso than yours." Celestia placed the thing around Twilight's neck despite her protests. "If things get too bad, we shall take turns wearing it."

The Catacombs beneath the Everfree were only so in name. Or, rather, the Everfree Castle did indeed have a set of subterranean tombs, but the tunnel they were travelling down was far beneath even those. Without a public purpose and with its location being a largely kept secret, the tunnel had no reason to be identified in its own terms.

The tunnel was wider than a pony would imagine, and arced in a half circle, much like a culvert would. Many of the bricks had fallen from more than a thousand years of time, and more than a thousand feet of dirt above.

Still, Celestia knew better than to assume that there was only brick and mortar around her. She could feel it pulsing through her dead horn. Her head was throbbing in a migraine-like headache, and she could faintly hear the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

It was a long way to the Sunstone cavern, and she knew it was only going to get worse as she advanced. But there was no progress to be made standing still at the foot of the staircase.

With her horn’s light extinguished, Celestia let Twilight take the lead. While Celestia was doing her best to keep her pain as hidden from her expression as possible, one glance at Twilight and it was clear that the unicorn was being spared entirely from the spells designed to stop the princess of the sun alone.

Together, the two ventured onwards into the foreboding darkness.

The tunnel was stark and featureless, and the temperature seemed to drop by a degree every minute despite their elevation remaining consistent. Celestia was quite certain it was some projection of her overworking brain, because Twilight did not seem to be aware of it.

As they walked, Celestia tried to return magic to her horn, to no avail. The only change she managed to achieve was an intensification of her already throbbing headache, and yet still she stubbornly tried over and over, if at least to have something to occupy herself with as they made their way through the dank and featureless tunnel.

The tunnel did not deviate in size, shape, or direction. It was the same straight path, so mind-numbingly consistent Celestia had memorized how many bricks formed the ceiling after only twenty minutes of walking. Twilight was hardly a conversationalist, and any of Celestia's attempts usually ended the moment Twilight answered with an awkward laugh or one-word response.

Still, any distraction from the overhanging magic was a welcomed one.

Or, so Celestia figured.

The moment a black alicorn stepped into the light of Twilight's horn, she decided she would have greatly preferred the sole company of her headache at the hooves of the tunnel's overhanging magic.

Twilight made no move that she saw the alicorn, and continued walking straight onwards at her determined pace. Nightmare Moon paused, looked over Twilight's form for a moment or two, and then shrugged and matched pace with Celestia instead.

For several seconds, the two walked side-by-side in silence, as though they were two friends who had just gotten into a petty bickering argument and were unsure whether the other was truly offended.

“So, that nerdy purple cow is your newest prized pupil?” Nightmare Moon eventually said.

Celestia cast her a filthy sideways glance and said nothing.

“I'm impressed. You're not even a little surprised to see me. I didn't know you were that cruel.”

“You’re gone,” Celestia whispered calmly, well aware that with any volume, Twilight would hear her talking to herself as though she were a madmare. “I’m sorry, sister, I truly am, but you are not here. You're only in my head.”

The beast crept forwards, widening its saber-toothed smile as she leaned in threateningly close. “That doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

Nightmare Moon whispered the words into Celestia’s ear, then gave the stoic white alicorn a playful tap in her skull, signalling to her churning brain within.

Then, as if to drive her point further, and as gruesomely as possible, the beast erupted into purple mist and vanished from sight. Immediately after it did, Celestia was struck with a stabbing pain in her upper abdomen—the same alcohol-dipped dagger as before—slicing easily through her flesh and rubbing threateningly against her rapidly beating heart.

It stabbed her twice, impossibly close to the vital organ both times.

The pain she’d felt on the roof of the library had been a sliver compared to what Nightmare Moon was dealing now. Celestia tried and failed to hold back cries of pain every time the sharp dagger of magic struck, and she collapsed to the cold floor of the tunnel.

Her world that should have been illuminated solely by Twilight’s magic had now taken on a reddish tint. Despite every muscle’s intentions to refuse her mind’s command, Celestia managed to bring a hoof first to her newly injured chest and then to her eye to examine it closely.

Her hoof was shaking, and the blood it was drenched in splattered somewhat onto the lenses of her eyeglasses.

“How’s that for real, Celestia?” Nightmare Moon reappeared, grinning not with malice but with genuine humour and pleasure.

“Very,” Celestia managed to croak out.

“Hmph,” Nightmare Moon sniffed, looking away from Celestia to examine the tunnels surrounding them. She rose an eyebrow curiously, as though just now noting the oddness of the location.

To Celestia’s grim relief, it was a location whose memories Luna had taken with her.

But even Nightmare Moon’s confusion could not veil the obvious flow of magic hanging above them.

“Is that your dear sister’s magic that I feel coursing through me?” Nightmare Moon cooed. “Oooh… the moonlight is one thing, but this! I feel like I could kill you right now with all of this magic!”

“If you must, I understand,” Celestia sunk her head. “But please. Don’t harm the unicorn.”

Nightmare Moon blinked. Then, she hung her head and cackled. “The unicorn? Oh, I couldn’t harm her if I tried. Luna seems to have taken that precaution. Seems as though you were the only pony she wished to destroy with this enchanted tunnel.”

Despite the circling vultures in her mind cawing predictions of a rending death, Celestia afforded herself a smile. Luna. She had done her job precisely as she had promised, even if it was a job she had been firmly opposed to doing.

Back before isolation had begun tearing them apart.

The sharp pain was rubbing against Celestia’s beating heart again. Occasionally, it would spike a little in intensity, threatening to escalate to an actual wound. A wound that would be the final one her living self would feel.

With effort, Celestia managed to calm her breathing. She’d been a fool to think that the tunnel designed to kill her would fail to complete its task, considering the unparalleled skillset of the mare who had created it. She had been arrogant to insult Luna so.

Looking back up, she saw that Nightmare Moon was gone. She was now truly alone.

That was alright, too. A final flicker of life in the growing darkness now, but a solar flare of hope in the future.

Still, something was wrong. The darkness was a lie. Even as the light faded, Celestia knew something was wrong. For the light should not have been there at all.

“Celestia!” A screeching, urgent voice jerked Celestia from her hypnotic reverie. The redness slunk back from her pupils into the recesses of her mind, even if the bloodstains on her eyeglasses remained. The light focused, brightened, intensified, and the echoing feeling of loneliness had been filled by the presence of a nearby companion.

With a blink, the red film before her vanished and Celestia was looking into the widened eyes of Twilight Sparkle.

“Princess Celestia…” Twilight said again, sounding as though she was not entirely confident that she would receive a response. Her eyes were alight with terror.

Celestia blinked again. Her head was still throbbing, and her body was still chanting its pain, but as the seconds passed she felt confident enough to speak.

“I apologize,” she whispered, rising back to her hooves and wincing from the effort. Twilight moved to help her rise but was too slow. “Let’s keep moving.”

“No, wait! Hold up! Not again!” Twilight trotted forwards, standing confidently in front of Celestia, impeding her way forwards. “Princess, that wasn’t right! You’re bleeding! You look like you just got stabbed! Those are fresh wounds! What in Tartarus is happening to you?”

“I am fine,” Celestia said wearily, knowing that even the most foolish pony in Equestria would view it as a pathetic lie. “Please get out of my way, Twilight.”

“Not until you tell me what’s happening to you!”

Although the terror had not left her face, Twilight followed her statement with a confident glare and a spark of magic springing from her horn. A spider-web of light exploded from it, outstretching across the tunnel and forming into a barrier that further divided the path forwards.

“Twilight,” Celestia said impatiently. “The only way forwards is the Sunstone. We can wait here forever, and I will continue to lose blood every moment you keep your little barrier active. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not! But you’re in pain! I want to be able to help you!”

“Then do it by listening to me.”

Celestia stood as still as a statue, even as her blood dripped into a growing pool around her hooves.

Twilight was no fool, hardly incapable of seeing defeat when it presented itself. Celestia saw her fear vanish and the rest of her anger took its place, yet she dropped the barrier all the same.

Not a lot further down the path, the Sunstone was lying dormant in anticipation. Celestia could feel its tug, calling her forwards like a siren’s song.

Luna’s ancient magic grew stronger and stronger as the tug of the Sunstone pulled Celestia forwards.

Even with darkness as the only waypoint forwards, Celestia knew before Twilight’s light illuminated the pathway that the Sunstone lay close. The princess rose a wing to stop Twilight in her tracks, and cracked a grin.

Luna’s magic was stronger than it ever had been. Celestia could hear her heart thumping like war drums. Her throbbing headache felt as though it wished to split her head apart.

But her long-dead horn was tickling with activity. Occasionally an excited spark showered from it as the appendage picked up the tug of the Sunstone. It was calling to Celestia just as the Sun did every dawn, like some friendly gentleman caller in an old mare’s beach novel.

“We’re here,” Celestia breathed. “It’s ahead.”

Twilight nodded and began to lead the way, but Celestia’s wing did not move.

“Wait here,” the princess commanded. It was not a request, and there was no ambiguity in her voice.

Celestia stepped out of the perimeter of the light Twilight had been casting and onwards into darkness.

“Almost there, Celly,” an unwelcome voice cooed from somewhere in the inky blackness the moment it had crept around Celestia like a curtain. A look backwards and Celestia saw it was much the same, as though Nightmare Moon had taken all the light of her world away the moment she had appeared. “Why don’t you want the unicorn to follow you? Afraid she’ll see your own precious little Sunstone turn against you?”

“It is a concern of mine,” Celestia whispered, quiet enough that Twilight would not overhear. She was no such fool as to think that the Sunstone itself was not bearing any enchantments designed to keep her away. In fact, she knew it for a fact.

The last thing she wanted was for Twilight to suffer the horrors such enchantments would bring about.

“Hm, how very selfless of you,” Nightmare Moon’s voice came from an entirely different location this time. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun. See you on the other side.”

Celestia could do nothing more than shiver. Other side. The last she had heard that taunt from Nightmare Moon had been on that terrible night where everything had changed. Hearing it again only rekindled the fear that her memory had chosen to drive away.

Other side. Celestia truly did not know what lay there. Nor did she know whether Nightmare Moon’s goading had any merit. And the mystery was enough for part of her to believe it was true.

All she could do was keep running. She’d been doing it so well, and for so long, and anything else seemed almost alien to her.

Celestia stumbled as her hooves struck an abrupt change in the flat tunnel floor. She cried out in surprise and struck stone steps without grace, but quickly rose to her feet and brushed herself off wearing an embarrassed expression for the darkness all around.

Behind her, Twilight was staring with a concerned expression, not fifteen feet away. Celestia smiled sheepishly and noted sadly that the darkness that had veiled her had only ever existed in her own mad mind.

A cautious hoof stabbed through the darkness, searching for the next step. Finding it, Celestia crept her way forwards in the same wary fashion, step by step.

Then, the stabbing pain returned, in all of its fiery fury.

“Princess!” Twilight screamed as Celestia crumbled on the steps and slid roughly down to the tunnel floor once more. Ignoring Celestia’s orders, Twilight tore forwards, her horn alight with added intensity, but Celestia was already back on her hooves by time she had arrived.

“I am fine,” she said raspily, coughed, and said it again.

“I… I can help you up the stairs,” Twilight offered, casting a horrified glance at the blood trickling down the steps like a waterfall from where Celestia had fallen.

“I appreciate it, but I am no invalid.”

“You… are incurably stubborn,” Twilight said in defeat, falling behind Celestia as she once more took on the cold stone stairs, this time with the benefit of Twilight’s illuminated horn.

“I make no attempt to deny it,” Celestia replied. “The Sunstone is at the top of these stairs, Twi. I can feel it.”

“That’s good to hear. Let’s hope these stairs aren’t a repeat of the other ones.”

“They aren’t,” Celestia shook her head. “Eight, maybe ten flights tops.”

“Only ten. How encouraging,” Twilight groaned. “What kind of architect does this? Makes a huge tunnel underground that just leads to stairs that lead back up again. It’s like the world’s most tiring practical joke.”

Despite Twilight’s chagrin, the ascent began as nothing if not uneventful. Nightmare Moon occasionally offered a snide observation which Celestia ignored. It was only a figment of her mind—but not imagination—and she would not grant it the luxury of a response. Especially when Twilight would hear it, too.

Unfortunately, not all of Nightmare Moon’s attacks were verbal, and not all of Celestia’s hallucinations were subtle. Luna’s overhanging magic only grew in strength with every flight of stairs they climbed, and with it the same pains cut into Celestia’s already aching abdomen. She stumbled and fell each time, but Twilight was always quick to respond. The poor mare had quickly learned not to ask any of the questions she surely would have been itching to blurt out.

Even with the two mares traveling in silence, it did not seem long before the foreboding, spiraling stone took on a tint of orange with the promise of some form of light ahead. Celestia knew better than to increase her pace—her hooves were aching as they were, and she felt woozy from blood loss. And even her own injuries aside, Luna’s magic was yet another force more than prepared to send her falling back down the very stairs she had just exhausted herself climbing.

Yet, even with Luna’s persistent magic waving through the air, the Sunstone was a trough to her soaring crests, and Celestia was too close to let pain be the catalyst to stop her.

With her eye locked on the steps and her hooves, she saw the flowery red carpet before she saw the Sunstone before her.

Twilight emerged a few seconds later, huffing and panting, but Celestia had already started into the carpeted room, with all of its brilliant tapestries hung proudly in this room that had played host only to dust and darkness for a thousand years unended. The room was a humble size, but hardly a humble room. The tapestries expertly stitched, the walls lined with armour still polishing as marvelously as the day they had been hauled into darkness never to be seen by anypony again.

And at the end of the room, on an ivory pedestal, encased in a case that appeared to be glass, was the Sunstone itself.

Not a fancy gem, not something Celestia would imagine there would have been much demand to twist into a replica and sell in the museum’s gift shop, but it was the Sunstone all the same. As humble a piece of rock as it had ever been, with its crude, sharpened edges and bits of glowing magic seeping from cracks and holes on its surface.

“Not what I was expecting,” Twilight admitted, joining Celestia beside the glass case. “This is it?”

“This is the stone that made a chaos spirit realize there was a new goddess in town,” Celestia said jokingly.

Twilight giggled and rose a hoof to the glass, one that Celestia was quick to swat away.

“I have my doubts that the case is glass. And I have my doubts it is not enchanted.”

“But… you said it wouldn’t affect anypony except you, right?”

“I said I was earnestly hoping that such was the case. I doubt that the same rules apply to the enchantments around the Sunstone, anyways. Twilight, can you tell me what Haycartes Third Outlawed Spell was?”

“Ah… trap magic. Basically, it could place a curse on stuff like chests or doors, so that if a pony tried to open them they’d be injured or… worse.”

“Outlawed for a reason,” Celestia nodded. “I never liked that mare.”

“Wait. Haycartes was a mare?”

“Can we stay focused, please?”

“Right, sorry. So it might be trapped. What do we do?”

“Spring the trap,” Celestia said simply.

“Alright. So we use some of the gemstones we brought, and—”

“No,” Celestia shook her head. “That won't work. Gemstones project charged magic, they cannot absorb it. A living thing must spring the trap and absorb the magic.”

Twilight stared blankly.

“Me, obviously,” Celestia added.

“No way. You're already losing blood fast enough. You can't afford any more injuries.”

“I can, and I will.”

“Surely we can defuse this thing without having to put you through that?”

“Yes, with weeks of research and piles of elite resources, and we can afford neither,” Celestia said. “Trust me. I'll be fine.”

Twilight blinked, and took a step back. Her expression was a confusing mixture of frustration and awestruck admiration. “You're… really set on getting this rock. Alright. Tell me what we need to do.”

“We will empty our charged gemstones. Then, I will use my body as a sort of pump, and vent the hexing magic into them,” Celestia shrugged. “Seems like it should work.”

“You're gonna be alright doing that? I… I can do it, instead. Or maybe we can take turns. If you start… ah, going under, I can step in and pump the rest.”

Celestia pursed her lips. She had to admit, it was a tempting alternative. She had already vowed to herself that she would not allow harm to befall Twilight, but considering her life was on the line she felt as though she somewhat deserved to be at least a little selfish. An arbitrary promise seemed weak grounds to justify giving up her own life.

Still, Twilight's alternative, as tempting as it truly was, seemed unlikely to succeed.

“Interesting,” she said simply. “But I fear that 'taking turns' would be impossible in practice. The moment the hexing magic starts flowing, it will come as a rapid torrent. The procedure will last forty, maybe sixty seconds at the most, and that is being considerably generous. Breaking the flow of that rapid torrent of magic will be nearly impossible to do.”

Twilight gave the carpet a frustrated stomp. “Well, that really sucks.”

“Indeed.”

The two stepped back from the Sunstone's pedestal. Celestia unclasped her saddlebag, delicately removing each gemstone and analyzing their sizes and shapes individually. Twilight, by contrast, violently overturned her entire bag and dumped them all to the carpet in a flurry of scrolls and stone.

In less than half an hour, the air of the room had taken on a revolting scent, and the roof above them had been veiled by a hanging canopy of oddly coloured smoke, like the inside of an Appleloosan tavern. The hypocrisy of her magical gemstones polluting the air with their venting byproduct was not lost on Celestia.

Fortunately, thanks to the scent and oddly tasting air, Luna's magic was now almost completely veiled from Celestia. As she once more approached the Sunstone, she did so with the empty gemstones floating in her gradually returning magic.

“Are you quite ready?” Celestia asked, instinctively spreading her wings as if to protect Twilight from the poisonous magic before them. “You are familiar with what needs to be done?”

“Float you an empty gemstone every time one gets full. Keep you from passing out. Make sure our magic doesn't touch. Yeah, I think I'm ready.”

“Good. Then let's get this over with as quickly as we can, so we can return to Canterlot. I am quite tired.”

There was no use hesitating any longer. Celestia let loose with the dwindling magic she had, but the moment she made contact with the Sunstone's glass case it clung to her with determination and fury. She cried out in surprise and her focus wavered, only for a moment. The first gemstone fell from her telekinesis and onto the carpeted floor, but in an instant it was floating back up in a purple aura.

Breathing heavily, she did her best to calm herself and resume control.

She grabbed the gemstone just as Twilight's aura disappeared and it began to fall. The gemstone was glowing first with her yellow magic, and then with magic of a sickening greenish tint. With a surprised blink, Celestia realized the gemstone had not changed at all, but rather everything had taken on a greenish tint. She blinked her good eye rapidly, feeling as though she had gotten smoke into it, and yet she knew it was quite the obvious. From the corner of her eye she could see the green billowing indicators of dark magic coursing through her.

Her heart beat rapidly, spreading blood that would only be wasted by the gashes in her sides. Celestia groaned and brought a hoof to her bleeding wound, pressing her leg firmly against her chest in a futile attempt to try and keep it closed. Luna's magic was too much, she felt as though her world was ending, her mind was ending, she could not see or hear anything and yet still her heartbeat pounded onwards. It was in her ears, in her mind, she wished only for it to stop and yet—

“Princess! Take the gemstone!”

She blinked. A new, empty gemstone was floating beside one venting the same greenish smoke. She took it without hesitation, easing her mind back into focus.

It filled as the other had. The dark magic flowed through her, and even despite the chaotic stabs of pain, her mind was now calm enough to give the flow a direction. The second gemstone filled, and by time she took the third her heartbeat was less of a deafening drumbeat drowning out all other sound.

Still, her head felt heavy. Celestia felt dizzy, as though unconsciousness was creeping up on her. She could have sworn Twilight had said something, but it sounded as though it had come from a mile away. A droning, high-pitched ringing sound had replaced her persistent heartbeat, as though an explosion had just ruptured her ears. Her breathing was drowned out, Twilight's words were muffled, and somewhere in the chaos Celestia could have sworn she had heard Nightmare Moon say something, too.

By the end of the fourth gemstone, the ringing had drowned out all other sound.

By the fifth, her eyesight had joined her hearing, leaving her in a black abyss of high-pitched nothingness.

Unconsciousness was creeping up on her once again. She lazily dropped the fifth gemstone, attempted to grab the sixth, and dropped it, too. She collapsed first against the pedestal and then onto the ground, and then even the ringing was silencing.

As the last of her consciousness vanished, she thought she had heard Twilight screaming something, but before the mare could finish her incoherent sentence, the princess of the sun was gone.

Author's Note

Subterranean Suicide (V)

Celestia awoke with a start.

The first thing her waking mind chose to focus on was her throat, which felt dry and parched and very much in need of a drink of water she knew was impossible until she reached the surface.

If she reached the surface.

Her vision was blurred even with her cracked eyeglasses still on her snout, but her throbbing headache was still as clear as day.

“Damn it...” she mumbled.

“Princess Celestia!” Twilight exclaimed the moment she heard Celestia speak. “You're alright! I was… I thought you were…”

Smiling gratefully, Celestia turned her attention to her wounds. They had been bandaged using bits of the parchment, held fast by a strap from Twilight's saddlebag. Considering the nature of the resources, it was a rather well-done makeshift bandage, even if it was only partially successful in stopping the blood from trickling out of her.

“How long was I out?” Celestia asked.

“Uh… not too long. About fifteen minutes. You were breathing, but I wasn't sure...” Twilight trailed off and sheepishly and shook her head. “But you're alright?”

“I believe so. What of the Sunstone?”

“I think you got the last of the enchantments around it, but I didn't want to touch the stone itself until you said it was okay.”

“Indeed. That was a good call, Twilight. And thank you.”

Celestia became aware of a foreign weight around her neck, not her regalia (which Twilight had removed to patch her wounds better) but the enchanted necklace that she had given Twilight when they had first entered the Catacombs. She had already opened her mouth to tell Twilight to take it back, but one glance at her stained red make-shift bandages and she decided she could stave back her stubborn pride if it meant saving her own life.

Twilight had given it to her of her own accord, and she would have to stop treating Twilight like a defenseless little filly eventually.

“Are you good to keep moving?” Twilight asked.

“I believe so. To wait any longer down here would only bring about further injury.”

“Right. But we have… a bit of a problem.”

Indeed, Twilight was not mistaken. Following the unicorn’s worried gaze, Celestia instantly saw the cause for her justified concern. The dark stairway they had come from was gone, in its place the same stone that made up the walls around them.

As before, with the sun and moon emblems in the library, they had been trapped. Forwards was the only way out once again.

She’d had the inkling suspicion that they had gotten to the Sunstone too easily. They perhaps had, but getting to the Sunstone was never their goal. For it was quite worthless for their cause if they retrieved the Sunstone only to die on the way to the surface, or become trapped in the Catacombs until hunger and thirst did that job in the enchantment’s place.

The Sunstone was still sitting atop its pedestal. Celestia turned from the grim sight before her in its direction. The gemstones filled with the trap magic were still laying next to the pedestal, like glowing green lanterns—Celestia made a mental note to herself to use them for that very purpose when they ventured into further darkness.

Not daring to get any closer than several feet from the Sunstone, Celestia examined it pensively for several seconds, taking vital care not to let her mind get too hasty and greedy—the last thing she wished was for her telekinesis to spring up and attempt to grasp it in some mindless moment of hasty action.

Instead, she motioned for Twilight to come closer.

“Twi, earlier you asked me about my sister. I refused to give you an answer.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Princess! It was stupid of me to even ask.”

“No, it was not. You have every right to know.”

Celestia sat wearily back down onto the damp and cold carpet, directly in front of the Sunstone. Twilight followed as if in a trance, her expression a sort of cloudy regret that was a relapse of the same regret Celestia had guiltily observed after she had snapped at the poor mare for asking the very question she was now answering.

“My sister…” Celestia started, and instantly broke off.

Say her name, you gutless peacock.

“Luna. My younger sister Luna. She created these tunnels to keep the Sunstone from me.”

“I know that,” Twilight spoke in a nervous whisper.

“Indeed. Yet, earlier you asked what became of my sister.” Celestia looked to the Sunstone looming before the two of them, sitting before it like it were some sacrificial altar. “To be blunt, my sister… Luna, was murdered.”

“What?!”

“Murdered,” Celestia repeated. “And deceived. By a creature who called herself Nightmare Moon. My sister had been brought low by jealousy, and hatred. Her mind had been diluted by fear. And it was in this weakened state that she allowed Nightmare Moon to creep close.”

“Nightmare Moon…” Twilight repeated. “But… that was only a decade ago.”

“No. Nightmare Moon murdered my sister a thousand years ago. She fused herself with Luna’s soul and wore my sister’s flesh like cheap rags. I tried to reason with whatever bit of Luna’s soul still remained, but there was none to be found in the beast. But Luna was smart. As the dark magic split her soul and discarded it, she decided it was necessary for her to preserve a part of her soul in any way she could in case she lost her mind to madness. She split some of her magic and drove it into the Sunstone.”

“So wait… Luna is still alive? Like... like a phylactery?”

Feeling as though she were about to pass into unconsciousness again, Celestia gritted her teeth and let Twilight’s words reverberate through her for a moment before she could manage to answer.

“No.”

“But you said—”

“I said she split her magic and drove it into the Sunstone. A small fragment of her memories. An echo. Not my sister.”

“Is… is Nightmare Moon… still alive?”

“No.” Celestia said again. A terrible truth she wished desperately could have been a lie. The creature that haunted her mind was not Nightmare Moon no more than it had ever been Luna. “A thousand years ago, I was forced to use the Elements of Harmony. Nightmare Moon was defeated, but she took my sister with her. Of course, I had not given up hope. I vowed that I would have my sister back no matter the costs, even if I had to wait a thousand years to do so...”

Celestia trailed off. The silence stretched long enough for Twilight to cautiously interject.

“And?”

“And I did,” Celestia said simply. She pointed to her missing eye. “You can see how I was received in turn. A thousand years I waited for my sister with hope, only to have it disintegrated in one night. Any trace of my sister was gone, but the nightmare beast had hardly given up. I could not fight her. Every spell I cast was a defensive one. I’d waited a thousand years, and I was willing to endure a thousand more of pain by the hooves of my sister if it meant having her back.”

“That’s… that’s awful,” Twilight sunk her head sympathetically. “I can’t imagine how you would’ve felt.”

“Indeed. For all intents and purposes, it was a stalemate. Nightmare Moon could not win through sheer power. I had been ready for a thousand years, but to her it had been seconds since we had last done battle. She could not kill me, and I would not kill her.”

“Then... how did you win?”

“In a manner of speaking, she did.”

Celestia stopped, and motioned to the newly rended gashes in her flesh. “She absorbed her own assaulting magic as I reflected it. I had killed her by defending myself. She split her soul as she had with Luna, and as Luna had the Sunstone, and she drove it into my own.”

“She’s trying to kill you from the inside,” Twilight translated, her voice a horrified whisper. “You’re… you’re dying. This tunnel has nothing to do with it!”

Celestia nodded sadly, although it was a partial truth. The tunnel might not have been the catalyst, but Luna’s magic hanging overhead was a greater node than her moon’s silver beams had ever been. “In many ways, Nightmare Moon’s victory was greater than she could possibly have achieved through brute strength. Every time I am in the Moon’s silver light, I am reminded of my greatest failure. While the Sun heals my wounds, my own sister’s magic reopens them.”

“Then… then what is the Sunstone?”

“A cure,” Celestia said, and once more tried to smile. “What can I say? I am a stubborn mare. Yet it is a cure I cannot use. With so much of Luna’s magic driven into it, to even touch it would end my life in a moment.”

“Can… can I?”

“Indeed,” Celestia rose again, giving her wings a little shake, and then motioning at the Sunstone before them. “Go ahead, Twilight. It is quite safe to touch.”

As Twilight warily crept forwards, Celestia withdrew from her saddlebag the golden crown of the faux-Element of Harmony from the museum. Turning it over in her magic for several seconds, she then centered her grasp around the pink sapphire.

Luna’s overhanging magic was still a cork in her own magic flow, but nonetheless she managed to wrench out the sapphire from the crown, leaving a little indent in its gold surface. It fell to the carpeted floor, and she crunched it into dust with a hoof.

A faint humming sound rung out as Twilight hesitantly grasped the Sunstone with a hoof. Then, much as Celestia had been expecting, nothing further happened.

“Huh,” Twilight had been holding the Sunstone like it was a lit stick of dynamite, but as the seconds ticked on and nothing happened, her confidence slowly returned. “So, this is it?”

“Indeed. The Sunstone is a humble relic, my dear,” Celestia replied, sensing her disappointment. With the Sunstone in Twilight’s hooves, Celestia took a step closer. “That being said… please understand that if I so much as graze it…”

“Right,” Twilight’s caution returned, and she gripped the Sunstone tighter. Still, even despite the graveness in her expression, she was quick to revert to her inquisitive nature as she looked back up at Celestia. “Wait….is that the Element of Magic?”

Celestia blinked, confused momentarily before remembering the crown still floating in her magic. “Ah, this! No, this is the replica from the museum. But here, the Sunstone should fit nicely where the sapphire was.” She shrugged and floated it closer to Twilight. “No harm in a little convenience, right? In my days, I just tied it around some twine and wore it as a necklace, but it seems to me like a crown is more fitting for such an important artifact.”

“That’s pretty clever,” Twilight agreed. Placing the Sunstone within the empty enclosure, she then used her magic to bend the gold ring circling it in order to secure it in place.

Blushing a little and giving a sheepish grin, Twilight rested the crown upon her head.

“It suits you,” Celestia said. “Can you feel its magic?”

“N...not really. Should I?”

Celestia frowned. “You should feel at least something. Not even a slight tingling?”

“Uh… maybe. I’m not really sure, princess.”

“Hm, well, perhaps that will change when we are closer to the Sun,” Celestia shrugged. It wasn’t as though she could feel the Sun through a thousand feet of stone, anyways, and considering the Sunstone was more or less a gemstone-version of her gifted horn, it did not seem unreasonable to assume it would suffer the same problem.

With a shake of her head, she turned her attention to the room once again. Greeting her critical glare were the same stone walls and red carpet… only the entranceway had changed, and even so Celestia could make out the outlines in the stone where it had been. A heavy slab that neither of them would be able to move or destroy with their magic.

Fear was starting to flutter in her stomach, but she dared not telegraph it to Twilight with her actions nor expression. The sun and moon emblems in the library had been solely a matter of advancing swiftly, and the more she stared at where the exit had been, the more she began to fear that it had been the same in this instance—disable the trap magic, grab the Sunstone, and flee before they were trapped. If this was so, then her loss of consciousness had been the nail in the coffin for both of them.

Her hoof calmly dragged across the crack where the entrance had been, but her mind was a flurry of growing panic, repeating begging prayers over and over that her prediction was wrong, that there was another way out.

“Princess Celestia?” Twilight called out from the other side of the room. “You… might wanna come see this.”

The area in question was a portion of the wall directly in front of the Sunstone that Twilight was gazing inquisitively at. It looked virtually identical to the stone wall around it, but nonetheless it appeared to have brought Twilight to a state of amazement and awe.

As Twilight brought a hoof forwards, Celestia instantly understood why.

Twilight’s hoof passed cleanly through the stone as though it were water, disappearing from sight into the room beyond.

“Looks like we have a train to catch,” Twilight joked, and Celestia smiled politely even though she did not understand. “Pretty clever enchantment.”

“Indeed. I was worried for a moment we were trapped in here.”

Testing the wall with her hoof several more times and gaining confidence with each, Twilight eventually worked up the courage to take a single step forwards into the next room, vanishing as she proceeded.

“Woah,” her voice sounded uninterrupted by the stone wall. “Princess… I think I’m starting to feel the Sunstone now.”

From Twilight’s tone, it sounded almost as though the unicorn was in pain—a magical migraine at the hooves of the Sunstone, perhaps. Celestia was on the move in an instant.

Yet as she proceeded through the wall herself, her hoof struck stone.

“Oh no,” she breathed. She prodded the wall at several different points, meeting the same result; impassable stone that had simply not been there for Twilight was now impeding her way forwards.

“Twilight,” Celestia did her best to sound calm. “We have a problem.”

Poking her head back out from the other side, Twilight returned into the next room as she saw Celestia staring blankly at the same wall, a hoof resting on the cold stone.

Through a section directly beside Celestia’s hoof, Twilight reemerged entirely. Already, her previously triumphant expression was one of terror.

With her telekinesis, Celestia removed one of the tapestries from the cold stone walls. She tore the entire thing so that she was only carrying the metal rod. Then, she shot it like a lance at the wall, only for it to bounce off the stone and roll back to her hooves.

“It is as I suspected,” she muttered. Her head fell. “Anything not carrying the Sunstone cannot pass. No matter how many ponies come down here to retrieve the Sunstone, only one can ever surface again.”

“O… okay,” Twilight was breathing heavily, evidently trying her best to keep her mind focused on a solution instead of the connotations arising from the lack of one. She removed the Sunstone from atop her head, and rested it on her side. Then, she brought a hoof to the wall, only to violently draw it back as it struck cold stone, as though she had been given an electric shock.

Contrary to what both mares had been hoping, it appeared as though Twilight had just proven Celestia’s theory correct.

Still, Twilight offered solutions in between bouts of hyperventilation. “So… so I’ll go to the other side, then I’ll toss the Sunstone through the wall… and you can…”

She trailed off as Celestia shook her head.

“I cannot touch the Sunstone, remember?”

Twilight’s breath caught. She looked as though she were about to faint herself.

“Besides, I imagine that if you attempt to throw the Sunstone, it will simply strike the wall,” Celestia added. “Without somepony using it, it is a mere gemstone.”

“Well then what do we do?” Twilight exclaimed frustratedly, slinking to her hooves. They sat in silent defeat for several seconds, before her ears perked up suddenly and her eyes lit up. “Wait! Teleportation magic!”

Celestia frowned. Her reply was grim and unsure. “I have my doubts such a flaw would not be corrected. And I feel the need to point out that if it does not work, the results may be… ah, fatal.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“I mean, if there are enchantments in place to prevent me from teleporting through the wall, you may have to make your way back to the surface with… ahem, half of a princess.”

It took Twilight a moment before Celestia’s explanation clicked, but when it did she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Goddesses above. Well then that’s off the table, too. I’m not taking that risk.”

“I’m afraid the only alternative I can see is to leave me behind. I will find a way to return back the way we came.”

It was hardly an encouraging thought, and Celestia hardly believed herself that it could be done. Instead, she spoke it as a pathetic lie, hoping it would be enough to convince Twilight to carry forwards.

Never for a moment did she expect it to work.

“Wait, so the Sunstone fuses with my magic to let me through, right?” Twilight reasoned. “So what about telekinesis?”

She did not actually wait for an answer, instead rising to her hooves once again. The Sunstone crown was returned to her head, and she grasped the metal tapestry pole in her telekinesis. Then, she floated it at the wall as Celestia had, keeping it in her magic the whole while, letting go only when it had vanished on the other side. It clanged as it struck some hard floor, but neither mares saw it from the Sunstone chamber.

Twilight turned wearing a triumphant smile. Celestia was quick to share it—the glowing victory on the mare’s face was nothing if not contagious, although uncertainty prevented it from growing to much more than a neutral grin.

“It is a good idea, Twilight, but again, with your magic bound with the Sunstone...”

Celestia trailed off for a moment, letting the premise state itself. Twilight cursed bitterly and stomped a hoof.

“Why would they do this?!”

“Who, my dear?”

“The… the ponies who designed this chamber! What kind of cruel idea is that? Only one pony passes! It’s basically murder! And for what reason?”

“Twilight, with respect, the pony who ‘did this’ was my sister. And it was done to prevent some group of ponies who are undeserving of the Sunstone from taking it. This ensures that those who do are willing to make a great sacrifice.”

“I… I suppose,” Twilight sighed.

Both mares fell silent, Celestia in thought, Twilight in defeat.

Or so Celestia had figured, for once more, one of Twilight’s ears perked up, as some realization or idea hit her with as much force as the ground to a flightless pegasus. Nonetheless, she reduced her excitement to a nervous stutter when she next spoke.

“Princess… I have an idea… but I need to ask you something personal before I say what it is.”

“Of course.”

“It’s about your sister.”

Celestia frowned. “I understand.”

“She… she wielded the Elements of Harmony, right?”

“Yes. We both did.”

“And… she understood what they meant, right?”

“Of course. One cannot wield the Elements if they do not intend to adhere to their teachings.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Your idea, Twilight?”

Instead of answering, Twilight took a step towards the wall. Her horn lit, and the Sunstone crown was lifted off of her head.

Twilight took a deep breath, and Celestia took a wary and confused step forwards.

The Sunstone hovered in Twilight’s magic directly in front of her, the unicorn evidently experiencing second thoughts regarding her “idea.” But nonetheless, with another deep breath, she straightened her hooves and let the Sunstone float forwards.

Her heart was suddenly racing, and she had half a mind to scream at Twilight, asking if she was insane, yet some alien force kept her hooves locked and her mind calm, even as the Sunstone floated through the enchanted wall in the same fashion as the tapestry rod.

Then, Twilight let her magic die out. On the other side, the sound of the Sunstone clattering against the floor rung out.

“Twilight!” Celestia screamed. She darted forwards, but it was too late.

Or so she assumed.

For when she moved to grab Twilight and ask her just what she had been thinking, the unicorn rose a hoof to the wall, only for it to pass cleanly through.

“W...what?” Celestia sputtered. Without hesitation, she brought her own hoof to the wall. It may as well not have been there, for like a ghost it too continued on uninterrupted.

She was silent as she followed Twilight through the wall. They emerged into a long, claustrophobic tunnel with a considerably low ceiling, forcing Celestia to duck slightly as she proceeded. To her knowledge, the tunnel was almost entirely stone, and as a result it was almost frozen to the touch. Yet despite the grey surface, the occasional pulse of purple, arcane light glowed from the walls, visible proof of the dozens of enchantments lining the centuries old tunnel.

“Okay, Twilight,” Celestia said. The tunnel was too narrow for her to trot ahead and stop Twilight herself with outstretched wings, but her voice accomplished the same task. “Can you please explain your idea now?”

“I thought about what you said about ponies deserving to take the Sunstone… and Luna understanding the teachings of the Elements. Then I realized… it was a test.”

“A test,” Celestia repeated.

“Yeah. Remember when I said I could feel the Sunstone when I came in here? Well, it hurt bad. Like I was about to faint or something. That was my first clue that we were doing something wrong. Then, when you said your sister created this, I realized she wouldn’t create a trap that would kill so many potentially innocent ponies and let some potentially merciless one go free.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at Celestia’s lips as realization caught up with her, too, but she remained silent through Twilight’s explanation.

“So, instead, she created a trap where the only way through is if the ponies understand what the virtues of the Elements are. A pony trying to take the Sunstone for themselves and leaving their friends to die wouldn’t make it to the end of this tunnel. That’s why the Sunstone was hurting me so much. It was a warning, any further and I’d be forced to turn back anyways. By contrast, a pony who puts their friends above their own safety by refusing to leave them to die…”

“Oh, Luna,” Celestia sighed. “Very clever. And placing the Sunstone through the wall represents a pony willing to put the fate of Equestria over their own. I imagine that this tunnel carries on uninterrupted to the surface, so that somepony could retrieve the Sunstone, whether it be from the ground, or the hooves of whatever greedy soul tried to flee with it.”

“Did your sister by chance wield the Element of Loyalty?” Twilight ventured.

Celestia smiled sadly.

It seemed the flicker of fleeing melancholy had been enough of an answer, for Twilight turned without speaking and took her first hoofsteps forwards.

The tunnel stretched on, plain and featureless save for the occasional pulses from the runes inscribed into the stone walls. At first, it seemed as though it was simply a road to nowhere, yet another treacherous trap to bar them from reaching the surface, but after careful consideration, Twilight noted that the tunnel was actually proceeding onwards at a subtle incline, slowly but surely bringing them closer to the surface after all.

Neither mare spoke, but the tunnels were hardly silent as they trekked on. Behind her Twilight could hear Princess Celestia breathing heavily, sounding laboured and pained once again. And yet despite the chastising remarks swirling in her brain, Twilight could not work up the courage to ask Celestia if she was alright. She already knew what Celestia's response would be, anyways;

I'm quite alright, my dear, thank you.

Please stop worrying about me. But thank you.

We are almost at the surface. I will make it.

The latter Twilight desperately wished to be true, but at the subtle incline they were ascending at, she knew it would take some time. At one point her horn's light shone back at her as it reflected off of some stone surface ahead, but her excitement was pre-emptive—when they arrived the path simply twisted at two ninety-degree angles and continued on ascending at the same incline in the opposite direction.

Celestia cursed bitterly when this happened. It took Twilight a moment to come to terms with the fact that the word had been in Celestia's lexicon to begin with, although the abruptness of the remark gave Twilight enough courage to finally pose the question circling in her mind.

“Princess… are you okay?”

“Yes, Twilight. Thank you, but please stop worrying about me.”

She could do little else but nod and fall back into silence, somewhat increasing the intensity of her hoofsteps, guiltily wishing the echo would be enough to drown out Celestia's pained breathing.

Quickly realizing how selfish she was being, Twilight decided she would force a conversation no matter how awkward it seemed. Surely Celestia would appreciate any diversion from her own pain-filled thoughts.

“Princess…?”

Silence.

“Princess Celestia?”

“Yes, Cadance?”

Twilight blinked. Celestia had sounded unsure when she had spoken, but the name she had used had been unmistakable. She stopped in her tracks and turned around.

Celestia's normally clouded eye had glazed over completely, so that it was almost entirely a milk white. The other eyelid was open, too, although there was nothing but a grotesque void, and Twilight was quite sure the princess should not have had working muscles to open it to begin with.

At first glance, she looked dead.

Her expression was one of pain and confusion, and it was then that Twilight realized—the tunnel's enchantments were not content only causing her physical distress, not when the shattered princess' mind was just as vulnerable.

And if what Celestia had told her was true, then some part of Nightmare Moon was in there, with her.

“It's me, Princess,” Twilight whispered, desperately hoping her words would make it through whatever fog had clouded Celestia's mind. “Twilight Sparkle. Your friend.”

Celestia apparently did not hear her. Whatever delusion had swept over her, it only intensified. “Oh, Cadance. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for any of it to happen.”

Despite the cloudiness, Twilight saw her good eye start to water. Without thinking, Twilight swallowed and did her best to answer in a level voice.

“I know, Princess Celestia. I know you didn’t. It's okay.”

She spoke wearily, nervously, and moved to take a step forwards. She had hardly lifted a hoof before Celestia dove forwards with sudden energy, wrapping Twilight in her wings almost violently. It took Twilight several seconds to realize it was supposed to be a hug.

“I tried, Cadance! I did! I would have given anything to bring you back!”

“I know, Princess. I believe you. I...” Twilight had to keep her mind back so she could manage to speak. “I forgive you.”

“I love you, Cadance. I know I did not often say so as you grew older… I was going to after the wedding, but...”

“It's okay, Princess Celestia.” Twilight swallowed hard. “I… I love you too.”

Celestia's reply was a choked sob, the princess even subconsciously trying to keep her emotions hidden. Twilight wondered if Celestia could hear a word she was saying.

“First Luna,” she whispered. “Then you. Everypony I love is taken away from me. And it's my fault.”

Twilight was stunned. Across the weeks she had spent with Celestia, she had thought she had at least begun to get close to Celestia, to understand her.

But now she saw that the Celestia she had been with had been wearing a mask.

Delusions? Certainly, they were ravaging Celestia's brain, but her emotions were more genuine than they had ever been. Every warm smile Celestia had given her, every playful act or joke, and only now did Twilight realize the weight she was fighting back in order to bring them forwards.

Twilight leaned into Celestia's embrace, which she had been trying her best to calmly break. The princess sobbed soundlessly into Twilight's shoulder, and spoke no further. The fog in her mind seemed to have clouded over that, too. Twilight offered several interjecting remarks, which were no more than cautious utterings of Celestia's name, but received no response every time.

After a while, Celestia's heaving form gradually grew still, until she was leaning on Twilight with the full extent of her weight.. Twilight gingerly detached herself from the unconscious princess, doing her best to lower Celestia gently into a proper laying position. It seemed another bout of unconsciousness had swept over her, and Twilight reasoned that if anypony deserved a rest, it was her.

But a cautious glance instantly flooded her with more of her previous terror and urgency.

For Celestia's sobs had not only stopped, her breathing had stopped.

“Oh no...” she said it first as a whisper, but repeated it over and over until her cracking voice rung out, bouncing off the narrow corridor and echoing endlessly into infinity. “No no no no! Don't do this!”

At her side in a moment, Twilight instantly confirmed with growing dread that her suspicions were correct. She tore the Sunstone off her head and tossed it carelessly some ways down the tunnel. She spread her magic across Celestia's lifeless body, hunting for a pulse.

It was present, but weak, and fading.

The stronger tug was Celestia's magic stream—Twilight remembered the strange frequency from when they had both used their magic to power the teleportation scroll, and she once more found it rubbing against her own.

Healing magic was hardly Twilight's specialty; she had read several books, but never would she have dreamed of putting such spells into practice. She was a journalist, not a princess or arcane hero.

Desperately she tried again and again to keep her own magic linked with the fading throbs of Celestia's, a moving target for an untrained archer. Still, Celestia's magic was warm and welcoming even as it faded away. Twilight closed her eyes, and did her best to drown out the blood racing in her ears as well. Her mind was a flurry of activity, but with a deep breath she drove back grim predictions and her subconsciousness' chanting of text-book passages. Her world became two gossamer threads of magic, purple and yellow.

And then, in an anti-climactic click, it was just one.

The silence of the tunnels were split by Twilight’s ensuing scream. Celestia’s magic crackled into her horn, sending wild sparks as Twilight’s pathetic unicorn horn struggled to keep the link active.

In cautious, sipping breaths, Twilight brought her mind back to a focused state. Despite its painful intensity, Celestia’s thread of magic was now more or less linked with her own. Whatever the tunnels had been doing to the princess’s magic… Twilight now realized the full extent of what she had been enduring in silence.

Still, she did her best to stay focused, and to her own amazement her attempts to alleviate the tunnel’s burden on Celestia’s magic seemed to not be ending in complete failure. Celestia’s sides had begun to rise and fall slightly, joining the rhythm of Twilight’s panting breath.

And then, there was another sound, a rustling of heavy-sounding armour, echoing from the now unlit darkness. Twilight jerked her attention up, forcing light magic into her already sparking horn. It sprung to life and she cast back the shadows with her wavering light, still tinted yellow as Celestia’s also flowed through it.

The black alicorn it washed upon was instantly recognizable, even if it was a creature Twilight had never before seen with her own eyes.

Twilight’s blood curdled, but through some alien force, she managed to speak. “S...stay back! Leave us alone!”

A sly grin formed on Nightmare Moon’s face as she looked from Celestia, crumbled and bloodied with her one good eye glazed in unconsciousness, and to the shivering unicorn standing in front of her with her horn aglow.

“My, oh my! Ponies certainly come larger than I remember them in my day!” Nightmare Moon’s eyes travelled up and down Twilight’s body, before she leaned down and looked into her face with a smile—not a malicious one, but instead one Twilight would expect from Princess Celestia.

“Do you have a name, my dear?”

Any of her alien conviction had already fled. Twilight was too terrified to reply.

“Would you like it better if I refer to you in terms of your girth?”

A humiliated blush joining her frightened expression, Twilight forced out a stuttering sentence. “My name is T-Twilight Sparkle.”

“What a lovely name. Would you be so kind as to repeat what you have requested of me, Miss Sparkle? I am not sure if I heard you properly. I would hate to act on some whim driven by misconception.”

It only took one backwards glance at Celestia’s broken form for Twilight to gulp down her fear and look directly into Nightmare Moon’s smiling face.

“I asked you to please not hurt Princess Celestia.”

“Ah.” Nightmare Moon turned away sadly. “So I did hear you correctly.”

The black alicorn was staring down the pulsating hallway, and the corridor soon was illuminated by her cold blue light as her horn sprung to life.

Then, Twilight was flung backwards, crashing against the stone wall of the tunnel. Nightmare Moon did not turn around, even as she shifted her magic to Twilight’s neck, pinning the unicorn with her legs flailing just above the ground.

“How much of an idiot are you?” When she finally turned, she did so slowly, watching Twilight writhe and squirm with a passive expression. “I truthfully wish to know. What did you seriously expect my response was going to be?”

“P...please!” Twilight sputtered, her hooves prying uselessly at the magic lifting her above the ground. “Just listen to me, please!”

“Oh, of course,” Nightmare Moon finally turned around. Her magic cut out, and Twilight fell roughly onto the floor once again. “I am earnestly curious to see how you aim to justify such a ludicrous request. Oh, and if I wish, I can rend her in two and then drown you in her blood. So don’t test me.”

“Okay,” Twilight said simply. It was the most she could manage between her gasps for breath. Fortunately for her, Nightmare Moon waited patiently for her to catch her breath. It seemed as though the ferocious alicorn was genuinely curious.

“You shouldn’t have diluted your magic with Celestia’s by the way,” Nightmare Moon spoke as if she were giving polite advice during a chess game, peering down at Twilight’s wheezing form. “I wouldn’t be able to harm you, otherwise.”

“The surface,” Twilight managed. “Please. We’re just trying to get back to the surface.”

“I gathered. Then, go.”

“I’m not leaving Celestia to die!”

“Well, that is your prerogative. I doubt you can comprehend how long I have been waiting for an opportunity to end her worthless life.”

“Please. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

Nightmare Moon’s face twisted into a snarl before Twilight could even finish her sentence. Once more her magic was focused around Twilight’s neck, so that she could only breathe through quick sips of air.

“Deserve?” she barked, her shockingly calm disposition gone, replaced with abrupt and violent fury. “You freakish, friendless little rat! Do you seriously think you can understand what Celestia deserves?”

Twilight could hardly breathe, let alone answer Nightmare Moon’s retorting question, as she tried desperately to free herself from the alicorn’s dark magic grasp.

“I said don’t test me,” Nightmare Moon only intensified her magic, cutting off the last of Twilight’s air, enveloping the rest of her body so that she could not even squirm. “You’re about to find out what the cost of failure is.”

The magic gripping her remained fast, impeding all possible physical movement, but even through the fog of fear Twilight’s mind was churning wildly, searching for a solution.

And then, a glint of gold in the corner of her eye provided one.

Her body may have been in Nightmare Moon’s grasp, but with a sudden flare of her own telekinetic magic, the Sunstone flew from where she had discarded it. The stone was forcibly wrenched from the crown as she carelessly grabbed it, and it cut through the musty air with alarming speed, so that even Nightmare Moon looked surprised by the sudden glowing object separating her from the squirming and weak unicorn.

Then, looking amused, Nightmare Moon let her magic taper off just enough to let Twilight speak.

When she did, her voice was weak, raspy, and without a single trace of the confidence she was attempting to radiate.

“This is why you should leave us alone,” she said. “This is what me and Celestia came down here to find. Recognize it?”

Nightmare Moon only looked more and more entertained, and did not answer.

“It’s called the Sunstone,” Twilight proceeded, brandishing it like a dagger. “And if it so much as touches you...”

Twilight’s voice was a cracking and wavering mess no matter how much confidence she attempted to radiate. She was hardly familiar with speaking in threats.

“How very convincing.” Nightmare Moon grinned, taking a step closer to examine the hovering stone pointed like a blade in her direction. “Forgive me if I seem a little pessimistic.”

“Are you willing to chance it? A thousand years waiting for revenge, only to get beaten by a nerdy little mortal? Because this stone has a sliver of the one thing Celestia says would be able to destroy you. Princess Luna. Is that something you want back?”

A shadow of uncertainty danced for a split-second in Nightmare Moon’s reptilian eyes. It was a fleeting glimmer of hope, but even so Twilight knew her pathetically expressed threat had brought doubt into Nightmare Moon’s resolve.

She did not know entirely how Nightmare Moon functioned, but if what Celestia had told her had indeed been true, then Nightmare Moon was a parasite that had completely destroyed its host and was now residing in its empty shell.

And then again, even that had been destroyed, Twilight reasoned. The Nightmare Moon before her was only a result of Celestia’s magic stream still fused with her own.

“You’ve got guts, my chubby little unicorn friend,” Nightmare Moon cracked a grin. Her magic ended completely, and she pushed Twilight against the stone wall, where she fell to her hooves beside Celestia. The Sunstone clattered, inches from Celestia’s splayed hooves.

Her aching head was forcibly jerked upwards by foreign magic, with the same warmth as Celestia’s. Nightmare Moon was looming over her, like a stern schoolteacher.

“You’re making a big mistake putting your trust in that prudish white-coated bitch of a sister, but I’ll let you see that for yourself. Then, I’ll be back for you, Twilight Sparkle. And I swear to the stars above, I will tear you apart limb by bloody limb, like a young colt would a spider. I am going to make your final days absolute hell. And when I’m done, I’ll drive a sliver of my soul into your own, as I did with Celestia, so that even with death you’ll be unable to find a release. Until then, good luck saving Celestia. I’ll make sure it’s not worth it.”

In a burst of yellow light, Nightmare Moon vanished.

Closing her eyes, Twilight let out a long, drawn out breath. Her heart was still thumping—she could not recall when it had ever raced so fast.

“Twilight.”

She opened her eyes again, unable to muster any urgency into the groggy action. Celestia was struggling to her hooves, wearing a small frown.

“You spoke with her?”

“Y… yes…” Twilight breathed, hardly believing it herself.

“You fused our magic streams.”

Any of the weariness that had brought the princess to her fallen state of unconsciousness had vanished. She spoke in cold statements of fact that she hardly bothered phrasing into questions.

“I had to, princess. You were dying.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” Still the calmness in Celestia’s voice was bewildering. “We could have both died, Twilight. Then what?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Do I need to tell you?”

“No.”

“Then you do know.”

It wasn’t a question, and this time Celestia made no move to express it as such.

“I couldn’t let you die,” Twilight whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Celestia repeated, cocking her head. “No, no, no! You misunderstand me, Twilight. You saved my life! Don’t be sorry for that! But you cannot keep risking your life for my benefit. You are young, and I am not. When an old mare dies, it is not a tragedy. When a young mare does, it is. Every time.”

A splitting repeat of Celestia’s incoherent sobs—her choking pleas to her long-dead niece—echoed in Twilight’s mind. She could find no objection in Celestia’s statement, nor a trace of courage to question her even if she did. Experience on the matter was something she did not have, and Celestia most certainly did.

In her magic she grasped the Sunstone. Some ways down the path she found the crown, too, and once more she clipped the precious gem into its comfortable place, resting gently above Twilight’s humble and hung head.

Behind her, Celestia’s horn was burning with a dim yellow light, and the princess was smiling a distant smile.

Twilight wondered whether she had any memory of her delusional breakdown.

Then, she wondered why she would ever wish to know.

Lighting her own horn, Twilight led the way back to the surface with her steady lavender glow, the Sunstone humming warmly as it crept comfortably into her magic’s flow while stretching its tendrils to the gentle calling of the overdue sun waiting for them above.

iii

The sound of distant rolling thunder, and birds calling out a confused and disjointed dawn chorus.

Celestia perked her ears at the sound and smiled. Her horn had already shown signs of resuming its persistent tug for the sun several minutes earlier, and the two had continued down the tunnel with newfound urgency.

She’d collapsed twice more since the first incident, never as severe either time. Her vision had become so cloudy that she could not even make out the details on her hoof outstretched directly in front of her. Instead of letting unconsciousness or delusions sweep over her once more, however, she immediately locked into urgent conversation with Twilight as she rested. Her lucid mind knew that they were the only ones in the tunnel, and Twilight’s nervous voice was an anchor that confirmed such. And so, even through the cooing threats muttered by voices from her past brought back to life by the tunnel’s enchantments, and even through the sharp pain and dripping of blood through her makeshifts bandages, she kept herself as rooted in reality as she could.

Both times, she had risen on her own accord and proceeded forwards with whatever pinprick of strength she had regained. Twilight had grown distant and nervous, leading Celestia to believe that in between bouts of dizzy weariness, her own wavering and incoherent thoughts had left her tongue without leaving an imprint on her memory. Their eventless trek down a featureless tunnel had become a hellish fever-dream.

Now, though, she could feel the sun and hear the world above. And Twilight was still wearing the Sunstone and keeping her head ducked low as if in shame from doing so.

When they reached the surface they were not immediately outside.

Instead, they emerged into a tiny stone building, completely featureless save for the staircase they had entered. There was not even a door or opening to the tiny room.

“The hell…?” Twilight muttered, looking around.

Celestia, too, was confused, for a brief moment, before chuckling to herself as she realized what they had emerged into.

“It’s a mausoleum,” she explained. “Empty. Looks as though my dear sister desecrated some poor noble’s resting place to make her secret exit from the Catacombs.”

“Huh. Creepy. But that means we’re there? We… we did it?”

Celestia rested a wing on her back and smiled warmly. “We did it, Twilight.”

Contrary to what she had admittedly been expecting, Twilight did not immediately shirk away from the embrace. Still, the inside of a crypt in the Everfree Castle’s overgrown cemetery was hardly an ideal place for such a moment, and Celestia was quick to break the embrace. She gingerly removed her wing, took a breath, and then violently blasted a hole through the stone with her newly regained magic.

The air was thick and smelt of distant storms as she stepped out into the drizzling morning sky, her horn still alight as she raised the sun. The lighting of the morning sky remained unchanged as the sun struggled to force its way through the dark and brooding rainclouds.

“I would like to thank you,” Celestia said once Twilight, who had been gaping at the blasted hole in the ossuary, finally caught up with her standing in the graveyard and staring upwards unblinking at the rain streaking down her face.

“Twilight, not only have you proven yourself to be a quick-thinking problem solver and gifted spellcaster, you have also shown that you are a loyal and caring friend.”

“Y… you too, Princess Celestia,” Twilight said after a pregnant pause and a glance around at their surroundings. Indeed, a graveyard seemed an odd place for such a conversation.

Silence. The rain fell onto the tombstones. Celestia outstretched a wing to keep Twilight and the Sunstone dry.

“Thank you, Princess,” Twilight whispered.

“For?”

“For what you said earlier. Or, rather, what you made me say. Getting this stone… you’ve really made me feel like… like I matter.”

“I cannot express how pleased that makes me,” Celestia said, her lack of enthusiasm somehow failing to contradict her words.

Her eyes swept over Twilight, staring at her hooves. The Sunstone crown had begun to glow with its contact with the sun restored, but Twilight did not seem to notice.

Celestia let out a long breath from her nose. Unsure of whether or not she truly knew what she was doing, she proceeded anyways.

“Twilight, how familiar are you with Equestria’s political arrangement?”

“Uh… not very, I’m afraid.”

“No matter. It is something we will discuss in time,” Celestia said. “I will give you the fast version. Centuries ago, I used to have a pony who assisted greatly with ruling my kingdom. Making important decisions and presenting them to me for approval, speaking with my subjects when I could not. Second to the Crown. At one point, it was my sister. After her, I changed the title to Crown Minister, but the concept was more or less the same. I selected them, and they represented my word to the ponies.

“In truth, I only did this because I needed to recover. I’d lost my immortal companion, and the way I saw it, there was a chance that I perhaps would have to face eternity alone. I did not trust my broken self autonomous rule over a kingdom. But of course, as is with any tragedy, one moves on. Over the decades I gradually retook my place on the throne. I dismissed Equestria’s final Crown Minister one hundred and sixteen years after my sister’s fall.”

Stopping to gauge Twilight’s expression, Celestia could already see that bewildered anticipation had already crept into the mare’s visage. She suspected what Celestia was about to say, but did not quite believe it all the same.

Celestia grinned as she said it anyways.

“If I really do succeed in retaking my throne… I would like for you to be my next Crown Minister, Twilight Sparkle. Second to the Throne.”

Twilight gawked. Her internal predictions did not matter, it hit her with the force of a train all the same.

Finally, when she could speak, she only did so in disjointed syllables.

“Wow… I… I mean, Princess—”

“Please call me Celestia. It has been so long since somepony has simply called me by my name, without any utterings of status before it.”

“I… okay,” Twilight stuttered feverishly. “Uh… but don’t you think… I mean, it’s not like I’m qualified or anything.”

“Twilight, qualified is an invention of Flim and Flam’s rule. Not mine. You are smart, competent, and caring. You do what is best for everypony no matter where it places you. That is all the qualification I need right now.”

“That’s a big offer, Pr… Celestia,” Twilight ground over the word like it tasted strange coming off her tongue. “I don’t know if I’m ready to give you an answer.”

“That is perfectly alright. I cannot expect you to answer me on the spot. Until you are ready to answer, this conversation never happened.”

A playful smile diffused the majority of the situation’s tenseness, and a rustling of Celestia’s wings filled it with action instead.

“Well, I see no reason why we should dawdle in this humid graveyard.” Celestia yawned. “And I would like to make trails before that storm is upon us. You are content taking the train once more?”

“Uh, yeah,” Twilight blinked, looking a little taken aback by Celestia’s sudden activity. Surely it must have been odd for her to reconcile the smiling, cheery mare with the wretched and fragile wreck she had seen in the tunnels. “What about the Sunstone?”

“I think wearing the Element of Magic is bound to catch attention,” Celestia nodded. “Keep it hidden. I trust it with you. As for the scrolls and gemstones, we would do good to dispose of them before we leave this forest. I can take care of them if you wish.”

Both mares emptied their saddlebags, and Twilight stuffed the Sunstone into the now spacious area. Under a heavy armoured hoof Celestia crushed most of the gemstones to dust and scattered them about the damp overgrown grass where graves grew from the twisted and gnarled earth, and then stuffed the remainder of their scrolls into her own saddlebag and clasped it shut.

They shared an optimistic farewell, and bade each other cheerful promises for safe returns. Feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off her back, Celestia took off with a few dainty flaps of her wings. She wore a smile as she flew on through the morning skies for Canterlot.

A glance behind her. The Everfree Castle, standing alone and forlorn in its cage of electrical wires and blazing artificial lights.

Her smile fell, just a little.

“I will see you soon, Luna,” she muttered. “Eventually.”

The words felt right, but her smile did not return from its melancholic edge, as though she were still unsure whether it was the proper thing to do.

A few more dainty flaps of her wings, and she carried on towards the rumbling clouds over Old Canterlot. Now that the Sunstone was in the hooves of a mare who she trusted, she truly felt as though she had reason in believing she had returned. It would take a little more than electricity torture, security cameras, and Sun Trotter 2000s to stop her now.

Finally, her smile was back.

Hello again, Equestria.

Author's Note

Semipalatinsk (Pt. I) [VII]

Twilight sighed.

And then, she sighed again as she illuminated her study with her magic.

“I knew I felt something,” she grumbled, fiddling amongst her disorganized affairs for a lighter. She offered a cigarette to Celestia, who responded wordlessly with a disapproving glare.

“We’ve had company.” Twilight motioned to her horn and by extension the overhanging enchantments.

“Figures,” Celestia said through a yawn, unclipping her regalia and carelessly kicking it into the corner. “Familiar magic streams?”

“Nah, it doesn’t feel like they were here for long enough to leave any.”

“Does this happen often to you, Twilight?”

Twilight shrugged, recalling her initial hostile greeting of the trespasser in her library that had ended up being Celestia herself. “From time to time. For a while now, they’ve been looking to demolish this place to make way for a department store. I made it pretty clear I’m not budging.”

“You’re treading on thin ice there,” Celestia warned. “I’m surprised they do not remove you by force with the justification of some legal nonsense. Worked for me, after all.”

“Mmhm. Well, they tried, but turns out they don’t actually have the deed for this place. I do. After your government fell it was auctioned off to the public.”

Celestia frowned. “Surely that was quite expensive for a struggling freelance journalist?”

“Eh, not really,” Twilight said. “I was sitting on a college fund I never ended up using, and with everypony flocking down to New Canterlot, the demand for property up here was pretty low—especially ancient, derelict property.”

“Huh,” Celestia mused. “Then technically, they have trespassed.”

Twilight snorted. “Yep. I have no idea what they expected to find in a condemned library.”

“Probably some manner of arcane doomsday weapons. They probably left when they realized that—to their certain chagrin—we have absolutely nothing to hide.” Celestia rolled her eye.

Then, she coughed and gingerly fanned at the air with a hoof.

“Uh… sorry.” Twilight instantly snuffed out the freshly-lit cigarette in the gutted carriage of a derelict typewriter. “It’s… um, a stress habit.”

“I’ve heard those are not healthy, Twilight Sparkle.” Celestia pointed at the still smoldering bit of paper, frowning like a stern mother.

“I know, I know…” Twilight blushed and looked away, turning her attention to her desk, and more specifically the golden crown that had been stashed out of view inside a hollowed-out section of the underside.

Celestia had been lingering just beyond the entranceway, but she made her way into the study proper the moment Twilight withdrew the Sunstone.

With her regalia gone, Celestia next stepped out of her hoofguards and carelessly let herself fall onto the sofa.

Not wanting to disturb the tired princess, Twilight drove back her own desire to bombard her with questions regarding their future plans. Instead, she wished Celestia a good night and Celestia wished her the same with a pleasant smile.

However, just as Twilight was making her way to the sorting room, Celestia called after her.

“It has been an eventful evening,” Celestia said, once again hovering in the entranceway and staring straight up at the murky yellow night sky bleeding through the roof’s lantern-light. “And you appear quite in need of a long and uninterrupted rest, but would you be interested in a little magic lesson come dawn?”

Twilight scratched an ear and yawned. Celestia was indeed correct about the tired part. “What… what kind of magic lesson?”

“Involving that.” A mischievous glint flashed in Celestia’s expression as she pointed at the Sunstone without turning her gaze from the sky above.

In a moment, much of Twilight’s exhaustion vanished. Magic lesson involving the Sunstone? Come dawn? Surely Celestia didn’t mean—

“Would you like to try lowering the Moon in the morning, Twilight?”

Silence. Twilight could hardly believe her ears.

“With my help, of course!” Celestia added hastily. “Although I understand if you do not wish to right now.”

“Right now?” Twilight repeated. She was still dumbfounded and shocked, but her intuitive curiosity hardly ever rested even in the presence of confusion and surprise. “What do you mean, right now?”

It seemed as though Celestia was proposing it like an eventuality, despite already having claimed that the Sunstone was a contingency plan and nothing more.

Even Celestia’s attitude seemed strange for a moment—she was quick to give a patient smile, but not before her eyes widened like a young filly being caught stealing candy.

“I simply think it would be a good way of showcasing your skill in this place and time,” Celestia said innocently. “And… perhaps helping an old mare out every once and awhile in the future?”

“Uh… okay.” Twilight was still not entirely convinced. The flash of guilt in Celestia’s face had been too pronounced to simply ignore. And yet at the same time, the thought of actually using the fabled Sunstone… on the very moon itself, no less!

Instead of digging into Celestia’s proposal any further, Twilight nodded and accepted it for what Celestia was claiming it to be. A magic lesson. Nothing more.

When Twilight had made her way back into the sorting room and laid on her bed, she was almost cursing Celestia for giving her something to be so anxious for—how was she expected to fall asleep now?

Nonetheless, her exhaustion seemed even greater than her anxiety, and when she next opened her eyes it was due to something gently prodding her back into wakefulness.

“I am extremely sorry,” Celestia offered as Twilight blinked back into consciousness, before starting in surprise at the sight of the princess looming above her sleeping form, a candle hovering in her magic. “I truly did not wish to wake you so early… but you said you wanted to help me, and I figured...”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Twilight was on her hooves in a moment, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “I’m just… it’s dawn already?”

“Yes. It’s a little past seven.”

“Huh.”

Normally, she’d have risen half-a-dozen times between evening and morning. A full night’s sleep was something her perpetually active mind did not often grant her.

They travelled together to the roof of the library, where the night was already bleeding into day and the sun was waiting patiently some ways below the horizon. Twilight brought the Sunstone to her head, the thing wavering a little in her telekinetic grasp, but Celestia drove her forwards with a patient and encouraging smile and Twilight felt some semblance of confidence return.

“Now, I will handle the Sun,” Celestia said. “Normally I raise the Sun while extending my reach to the Moon at the same time. It can be… tiresome, especially when the Moon... fights back. So this time, I will simply raise the Sun and you can keep your focus on the Moon.”

“Wait… the Sunstone works with raising the Moon? How does that make sense—” Twilight hadn’t even finished the sentence before she remembered what Celestia had told her about Luna and the Sunstone. The small fragment of Luna’s magic still living within. “Uh… never mind.”

Celestia pretended she hadn’t spoken at all. “Are you ready, Twilight?”

“Not really. I don’t get what I’m supposed to do.”

“And I don’t know how I can explain it. It is like explaining levitation. Were you taught step by step how to levitate objects, Twilight?”

“No. I just sort of… felt it. If that makes sense.”

“It does. And if you can believe it, raising and lowering the Sun and Moon is very similar. Just on a cosmic scale. Reach your magic out to the Moon. Feel its reply. Let your instincts do the work, and the Sunstone fill the remaining gaps.” Celestia frowned. “And close your eyes. I find that helps.”

With a deep breath, Twilight obeyed. Her eyes closed. Her horn flared to life and the Sunstone joined her magic stream.

She shot her magic into the empty sky blindly, but the vibrating Sunstone on her head gave it direction. Like in the Catacombs, Twilight focused not on her situation or her magic or the Moon, but simply on invisible and imaginary threads. She could clearly feel her own thread of magic, and the Sunstone’s thread was wreathing around hers. Somewhere, Celestia’s was nearby, but weak and distracted, focused elsewhere. Twilight ignored it.

After a bit of searching, she found another thread of magic in the cosmic expanse. Warm, like Celestia’s, but with a sense of distant coolness as well—like a deep lake with warm beaches but frigid depths.

“I… I think I found it,” Twilight said, breathing heavily.

“Good. Stay focused, Twilight. You’re doing fine.”

She cracked open an eyelid and turned her head slightly. Celestia had already dropped the Sun, and was now watching her with a patient smile.

Still panting, Twilight squeezed her eyes shut again as she let her magic leap the rest of the distance and latch itself onto the overhanging moon. Her horn crackled and sparked violently and she let out a pained yell. She was forcing her eyes closed so tightly that they had begun to tear up. As the Sunstone pulsed, she found herself unable to distinguish where her magic began and ended amidst the streams of the rock on her crown and the other far above her head. Twilight felt as though her entire world had been reduced to this one event, any semblance of past or future now condensed into one sparking spell—

A cold, skeletal wing rested on Twilight’s back. Her focus on casting the spell evaporated and she felt her blood curdle in terror. Without any particular reference point, she knew exactly whose wing was presently resting on her back. It was not thanks to her senses, but rather thanks to some metaphysical awareness of something else’s presence.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

The icy words were breathlessly cooed into Twilight Sparkle’s ear. She dared not open her eyes, but Nightmare Moon’s voice was unmistakable.

In an instant, Twilight severed her link with the moon. She ripped the Sunstone off of her head and let it clatter onto the stone roof as she kept her eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you,” Nightmare Moon whispered gently. Twilight felt a cold hoof travel down the length of her horn. “And if you ever touch my moon again, I will use your own horn to gouge out your eyes. Am I clear, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight could only nod rapidly.

“Good. I appreciate your understanding.”

With Celestia undoubtedly staring at her in perplexed silence, Twilight dared not offer a reply. As if sensing her thoughts, Nightmare Moon took a step back as if she were about to offer a polite apology.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re wondering why I’m not killing you?”

Twilight gave a subtle nod.

Nightmare Moon chuckled—a mirthful one, with the malice that normally grazed her words seemingly abandoned.

“Because I like you. And I respect you. We’re quite similar, you know. Aside from the whole ‘killing my sister’ thing. Hey, perhaps one day we can be friends!”

This time, Twilight did more than nod complacently. She opened her eyes and without giving herself any time to contemplate the decision she gave Nightmare Moon a disapproving and confrontational glare.

Nightmare Moon laughed again. “Ooooh! The chubby little kitten has claws! Y’know, I’m really curious to see how you react when your beloved Princess Celestia is dying and you find out you really can’t save her.”

“She’s your own sister,” Twilight whispered, low enough that Celestia would not hear above the howling wind on the library roof.

Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes. “First of all, so what? Second of all, no she isn’t. I’m not Luna.”

The cold wing was removed roughly. Nightmare Moon seemed… irritated. Not the screaming fury from the catacombs, but instead a sort of passive annoyance, like she was watching approaching stormclouds from a picnic mat.

Twilight closed her eyes expectedly, but nothing came. After several seconds, it became clear that whatever magic or hallucination which brought about their confrontation had already passed. When Twilight opened her eyes again, she had to blink several times to clear her face of sheer terror, before turning around to face Celestia who was peering curiously, looking absolutely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“I can’t.” Twilight sunk her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you alright?” Celestia took a step closer. “You look as though you just saw a ghost.”

“I… I’m fine.” Twilight gulped. “I just don’t… I can’t do it.”

Nightmare Moon was dead. Celestia had said so, and history had proven so.

And yet the beast who had twice now crossed through Twilight’s mind as a conscious night terror was hardly mistakable. She had only wished to save Celestia’s life, but in the fleeting moment of doing so she had given Nightmare Moon yet another life to terrorize.

Twilight swallowed again. Celestia could not know. It was a confession Twilight could not even begin to think of expressing—how would Celestia respond to the knowledge that through having her life saved, she had inadvertently allowed her friend to be tormented by some extraphysical demon?

“Are you quite sure?” Celestia cocked her head. “I know fear when I see it.”

“I let you down.” Twilight could hesitate no further, and she instead lied without delay. All she could do to explain her evident fear was to blame it on something else.“Please don’t be angry with me.”

Celestia blinked. Guilt flooded into her frown, and at the very sight Twilight felt a guilty flurry in her own stomach.

“Never.”

Her horn began glowing its regal yellow light, and she gracefully lowered the moon, keeping her head low and her eyes closed, not telegraphing the pain it was certainly causing her.

“I’m sorry, Twilight,” Celestia said. She lifted the discarded crown, evidently taking great care not to touch the Sunstone in the middle, and passed it to Twilight, before slinking back down the steps and into the library without another word.

After Twilight made coffee and instant oatmeal for Celestia and herself, she took their breakfasts back onto the roof. Together, they sat listening to the radio and watching the sun stain the sky red.

The library’s back wall dropped off, becoming cliff. New Canterlot lay far below. On the roof of the library on the edge of a mountain there was hardly any interference, and Twilight could even pick up Ponyville’s radio station with a little effort.

Princess Celestia was, unsurprisingly, the preferred topic of discussion. Never before had Twilight seen so much consistency across the wavelengths.

“...in other news, an interesting update in regards to the unexpected return of Princess Celestia, former ruler of Equestria. We’ve got permission from NCPR to re-air an interview with her from last night. That’s coming after these messages, as well as her initial return speech at the end of the hour—”

Abruptly, Celestia lazily rose a hoof and turned the dial a little, the radio host’s voice first growing distorted and then dissolving into static, before the sound of upbeat jazz came from the radio instead.

“You’re… not curious what they think of you?” Twilight asked.

“Not really.” Celestia shrugged. “I am simply glad to hear that they actually did broadcast our exchange.”

The question had not been without Twilight’s own personal ulterior motives—she’d been explicitly identified by Celestia herself and she had directly rebutted Florina’s points, and now she felt selfishly curious as to how her new position in the center of the infamous Celestia’s life would be seen.

Still, Twilight did not object and listened to the jazzy music without question, munching on her porridge thoughtfully.

“Red sky in the morning,” Celestia mused, pointing with her spoon. “Mariners say that is a signal for an incoming storm.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. Then, with playful confrontation, she added; “Y’know, the weather stations can say that, too. I thought you were trying not to be a relic, Oh Goddess of the Seven Seas.”

“Glad to see you have inherited your brother’s scathing wit,” Celestia chuckled, although Twilight’s head sunk and her smile vanished at the mention of Shining Armor. Unfortunately, while the conversation was thrust into somberity, Celestia had decided to pull the thread instead of leaving it be.

“What precisely happened between you two?” Celestia asked. “It always troubles me greatly when I see siblings fight.”

Twilight used a sip of coffee to justify a pregnant pause in order to grant herself a moment’s thought.

What had happened between them? It all seemed trivial, but a culmination of so many trivial battles hardly failed to grow into something greater. Combined with Shining’s delicate emotional state following Cadance’s death and Twilight’s own shortcomings in helping him through…

Nothing in particular had happened between them to drive a wedge through their siblinghood, and yet so much had happened between them that it had been shattered without remorse.

“I... guess we just grew distant,” Twilight said. “He always seemed paranoid to me, going on about how I was putting myself in danger. I thought he was exaggerating, but after hearing about what they did to you…”

“Twilight, you must understand that your brother was only trying to protect those he loves. You must consider how much he has lost.”

“Well, he acts like he’s the only one! Cadance was important to me, too! And to you!”

Twilight had spoken in a frustrated half-yell, but as an echoing repeat of Celestia’s delirious pleas in the Catacombs bounced through her head she instantly regretted bringing Cadance up.

“I would like it if you made an effort to reconcile,” Celestia voiced it like an idle comment, but to Twilight it was clearly a firm command. “Trust me when I say you will one day regret not repairing your crumbling relationship while you still could. After what happened with Princess Luna and myself, I hope you take what I am saying very seriously.”

“I will,” Twilight assured.

“Much appreciated. I only wish for the best for the two of you,” Celestia said warmly. “In other news... perhaps we should start considering preparations for my hearing. I know now why they called for my radio interview so swiftly, and it isn’t a mistake I intend to repeat.”

Twilight nodded. It had been on her mind as well—they had been completely on the spot when they had faced off against Florina Harshwhinny, and the petulant young harpy had torn into them appropriately. They had been ill prepared—as though Celestia were counting on her charm alone—and while she had adequately refuted every objection Harshwhinny had launched at them, Twilight knew such a debate would not have ended well for them if Celestia had not cut it off short.

In a formal hearing, they would be slaughtered without proper preparation, and as such they would be fools if they did not do so accordingly.

Fortunately for them, Twilight had no shortage of ideas for sources of support that they could reap for their benefit. In between mouthfuls of porridge, she echoed them to Princess Celestia: the working class would undoubtedly have plenty to tell her, as would those displaced from their rural homes. They could gather testimonies from former members of Celestia’s guard as well as perhaps her maids and her—

“Raven,” Celestia breathed abruptly, interrupting Twilight. “Of course.”

The name seemed familiar, but Twilight could hardly remember from where. Thankfully, Celestia quickly elaborated.

“I told you about her. She was my assistant when I was on my throne, and my—admittedly quite timid—voice during my imprisonment. Last we spoke, she thought I was going to be put to death in a few hours after we parted ways. I would’ve been, had my escape not succeeded.”

“That means she can testify so.” Twilight nodded, jotting the name down into her notebook. “Awesome.”

“Indeed.” Celestia peered at Twilight’s notebook. “Although it would be nice if we could avoid the topic of my imprisonment altogether.”

“Wait, what?” Twilight blinked. “Why would we do that?”

Certainly, it made very little sense to her. Flim Flam Industry’s terrible treatment of her seemed like an ample source of exploitation. It proved that the smiling, happy-go-lucky twins on every cigarette box, electric appliance, or home radio were figureheads of a corporation that had carried out alarming levels of mental violence to an innocent mare.

“I do not want to seem like I am pleading for sympathy,” Celestia said.

Twilight had half a mind to raise an eyebrow and dig into the pathetic justification further—it made no sense, after all, and Celestia’s refusal to provide a proper one seemed rather strange. Indeed, it was the same fleeting millisecond of self-doubt that had flitted through Celestia’s face when Twilight had asked her if Flim Flam Industry had any justifications towards imprisoning her.

Then again, whatever darker justification Celestia had for not mentioning it, Twilight decided she trusted the princess enough to blindly agree that it was better left covered.

Flim Flam Industry would surely wish to leave it buried, and whatever reason Celestia had for denying compensation and shovelling blame, Twilight knew it was mutually beneficial for both of them not to dig it up.

So they wouldn't.

“The ‘working class’ intrigues me as well.” Celestia broke the silence with evident caution. “I would very much like to speak to them. We can call Florina and request permission to do so.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then it would look very poor on Flim Flam Industry. She will not. Besides, she seemed rather reasonable.”

Twilight was not convinced. “You’re putting a lot of faith on the kindness of ponies who betrayed you, Celestia.”

“I have found that treating ponies with compassion and respect makes them act more compassionate and respectable,” Celestia replied. “Perhaps I am a foolish optimist, but I would prefer to be a foolish optimist to a bitter pessimist. Heaven knows I’ve spent too long as the latter.”

With a shrug, Twilight made a mental note to find Florina’s number in the blue pages when she headed back inside.

“Well,” Celestia said, taking a final gulp of her porridge and with a flare of her magic teleported it back towards the makeshift kitchen Twilight had constructed in one of the library’s public bathrooms. “I’d better go make my mane somewhat presentable and get my regalia on. Would you like to accompany me to the industrial district today, Twilight?”

Twilight scratched an ear. The thought of supporting Celestia almost felt like a duty to her at that point, but the factories…

“I’m… not exactly on good terms with most of the management there,” Twilight confessed, her head sinking.

Celestia blinked. “You’re… not on good terms...”

“Yeah. I… may have broken in one night to take chemical samples. I got caught and the result was a sort of ‘we’ll let you off the hook with a fine but only if you don’t publish your findings’ deal.”

Celestia frowned.

“I published my findings anyways.”

Seemingly conflicted between both pride and disappointment, Celestia thankfully did not pursue the matter any further. Twilight was hardly ready to recount the harrowing night she’d spent in a New Canterlot jail amongst drunken vagrants. She’d learned the hard way that Flim Flam Industry were not ones to make idle threats, and it was hardly a lesson she needed a review on.

It certainly did not help matters when Shining Armor had arrived to bail her out. Nor when he had threatened to tell their parents just what kind of mare their estranged daughter was turning into. A ‘petty, bitter little anarchist,’ he’d called her, and truly Twilight did not quite see herself as much more.

Either way, Twilight knew better than to test Flim Flam Industry’s threats again.

“I’m really sorry, Celestia,” Twilight said. “But, like, court orders say I’m not allowed to go there.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Celestia said. “But unpreventable, I suppose. I wish you’d take a little more care of yourself than you do, but that’s in the past. I will be sad not to have you to help, but I also don’t want to put you into a compromising or uncomfortable position.”

Twilight could only nod and thank the stars Celestia trusted her enough not to dig into the unspoken details of her story.

“In the meantime,” Celestia said. “Could you perhaps get a hold of my former assistant, and arrange for a meeting? We don’t have long before this… this hearing, and I’d like to cover all of our bases while we can.”

“Of course,” Twilight said. “Raven, right?”

“Yes, that is her. And... Twilight?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you are suspicious of me,” Celestia said. “Specifically, about my actions during my imprisonment. I realize there are things I’m not telling you. It is my hopes that she will.”

“Am I… am I going to like what I hear?” Twilight gulped.

“No,” Celestia said. “You will not. But I trust you know me well enough that you will understand.”

iii

There were plenty of empty compartments on the train snaking its way into the industrial district outside of New Canterlot, but Celestia had already spent the walk to the station with her thoughts and was already tired of their presence. Speaking with one of her former subjects seemed like a welcome alternative to a long and silent train ride.

And, with the train inbound for the factories, Celestia figured that most ponies riding it would be those commuting to work—the same ponies she was travelling out to talk with anyways.

Indeed, she certainly looked out of place—a towering alicorn in polished regalia amongst grizzled and scruffy stallions and mares toting hardhats and metal lunchboxes. Celestia supposed that her crippled wing and missing eye lessened her projected regality at least a little bit, but nonetheless she was clearly a stranger in strange lands and every pony she passed turned to stare accordingly.

Arriving at a compartment empty save for one other pony, Celestia hesitated for a moment with her hoof hovering over the door’s latch.

One glance at the mare’s cutie mark, and Celestia knew that if there was any existence of good luck, she’d be squandering it to not speak to the mare within. She brought her hoof onto the latch properly, smiling a satisfied and grateful smile and thinking a thankful remark to whatever force was pulling fate’s strings.

Life worked in strange ways sometimes.

Celestia eased the door open.

The earth pony mare was sitting lengthwise along the chair to her left, with several bundles of bills arranged in two separate piles before her and an abacus in the middle of them. She was muttering to herself, lost in thought and calculation.

“That’s eighty for home…” she was saying under her breath. “Twenty for me… eighty for Apple Blo—”

The compartment door creaking on its hinges was enough to silence the mare, and she whipped around in confused surprise.

Her surprise certainly did not evaporate as she beheld the mare standing in the entrance.

“Good morning!” Celestia greeted, smiling. “You do not mind if I sit here, do you?”

Silence.

“I quite like your cutie mark,” Celestia said, pointing at the three red apples. “A proud member of the Apple Family, I presume?”

More stunned silence. The mare blinked, looked to her cutie mark as if for confirmation, and then took a nervous gulp.

“...Woah nelly…” she breathed. “Princess Celestia…”

“You don’t need to call me ‘princess.’”

“Ah reckon I will, if it’s all the same with you.”

Celestia grinned as she sat in front of the mare, who straightened up herself, her attention on the piles of bills instantly dismissed.

“I earnestly appreciate it,” Celestia said. “Some feel I do not deserve that title. Now, forgive me if I am mistaken, but your name is Applejack, am I correct?”

She nodded, looking surprised. “That’s right, Your Highness. I wouldn’t of imagined you would’ve remembered the name of a mare like me.”

“Ridiculous.” Celestia waved a hoof. “The town of Ponyville owes its existence to your grandmother, and its continued survival to her livelihood. ‘Mares like you’ are the backbone of Equestria.”

Applejack muttered a humble thanks, but Celestia was no such fool as to miss the spiteful flare in the mare’s expression—detectable even with a subtle little glance in the direction of the train’s destination.

“Of course…” Celestia said. She had no motivation to be subtle or carry anything out longer than she had to. “...I would be a liar if I said that is the only reason I recognize you. After all, in my mind, Equestria’s fall began the moment your family lost your orchard to Flim and Flam.”

Applejack nodded, gritting her teeth a little at the mere mention of their names, like they produced a foul stench. “Them two-bit cons took my family for all we were worth.”

“I know,” Celestia said. “That was just before the Crystal War. They’d bought it to make bottled cider but ended up cutting down the trees to turn it into a munitions factory instead.” Celestia sunk her head. “On my orders.”

Celestia had been expecting some sharp remark—if there was one thing she’d come to learn from the Apple family, it was that they were prideful, especially to their land—but such a remark did not come.

“Apple Cider doesn’t win wars, after all,” she said. “Those brothers would’a done the same if you didn’t say a thing. ‘Cept they’d do it for their fancy profit opportunities.”

“I am very sorry you lost your farm, Miss Applejack. It was my failure to pay attention to your affairs that gave them grounding as an industry, and not as mere…”

“...Two bit cons,” Applejack finished for her as she trailed off.

“Indeed.”

“With respect, Princess… seems to me like ya would have had bigger fish to fry than dealin’ with an apple orchard.”

“Perhaps,” Celestia said. “But to me, that is a poor justification. A good ruler looks out for their country, a caring ruler looks out for their ponies. I try to be a caring ruler, but sometimes I fail, and ponies like yourself suffer the consequences.”

Applejack was silent, and in the conversation’s lull, Celestia glanced at the piles of bills more curiously. They were divided carefully, as though Applejack were frightened of cross-contamination, and judging by her abacus it seemed as though she was taking great care to be precise.

As much as she considered herself a thoughtful and intelligent mare—especially with the affairs of her ponies—Celestia was quite uncertain what exactly Applejack’s intentions were. She did, however, carry a prediction, but it was hardly one she was hoping was correct.

Still, there was no sense not asking.

“How long have you been working for Flim Flam Industry?” Celestia began.

Applejack grimaced, as though the question caused her physical pain. “Eight years.”

To Celestia, the two words had an accusing tone to them, as though it were in some way her fault. Which, Celestia supposed, it perhaps was.

The more she talked with this mare, the more she came to understand that as much as Applejack respected the lost princess, she by no means liked her.

That was alright, though.

“And this?” Celestia pointed at the piles of bills. “For home, I presume?”

Applejack glanced at the bills, back to Celestia, and nodded. She said nothing further, but Celestia did not need to hear anything else.

This mare’s grandmother had more than likely passed away in the past ten years—Twilight had already made it quite clear how endangered ponies living close to the factories were, and an older mare so accustomed to fresher air would be impacted all the more.

Still, Celestia knew there was another. A younger sister, likely in the middle of her teenage years now.

She’d met them both at the Crystal War memorial.

The more Celestia considered it, the more she realized how much this mare’s situation was an eerie echo of Shining Armor and Twilight Sparkle’s. The older sibling forcing themselves through hell in a fruitless bid to save the younger from danger. In Shining’s case, it was perpetual anger at Celestia and at himself and a job that forced him against both his desires and his former princess, and in this mare’s case it was literal dangerous labour in the factories.

Thankless jobs for both, but at least Applejack seemed to have a somewhat healthy relationship with her sister when compared to Twilight’s borderline hostility at the mere sound of Shining’s voice.

“I am to be put on trial in several days,” Celestia declared abruptly. “My rule is being weighed against the present one. I have praise for some elements of it and a large amount of criticism as well. I am not fond of ponies such as yourself being forced to work jobs that run contrary to their desires, lest they face poverty and starvation. I think all ponies should be both happy and well-fed, and certain groups of ponies should not have to sacrifice their own happiness for that of their ‘superiors,’ and not be remotely acknowledged or rewarded for their efforts while those who do little by comparison are. I suppose I am asking you whether or not I am justified in believing this.”

Applejack frowned. “Normally, I always say hard work is good work, but… if you’re asking whether I’m happy working for Flim Flam Industry, I reckon I’d have to say no. Beyond, the… y’know, personal reasons.”

“Is it dangerous? Unpleasant?”

“Sure, but that ain’t ever much reason to complain,” Applejack said. “But getting paid a couple bits a day for sixteen hours of work ain’t exactly fair, in my mind.”

“Indeed.” Celestia agreed. “My friend calculated the average weekly pay rate as a little over fifteen bits a week. Hardly enough for food.”

“Your friend’s mathematics seem a tad steep,” Applejack motioned at the pile of bills. “This here is three months, and a little over a hun’red bits. And it might as well all be goin’ to my little sis.”

“That’s…” Celestia ran the number through her brain quickly. When it came after a pause of less than a second, she did not bother hiding her disgusted scowl. “That’s only a bit a day! That’s enough for a… a cup of coffee and a sandwich! How in the name of sanity are ponies satisfied with such wages?!”

Applejack snorted rudely—Celestia did not imagine she had much capacity to have reservations for how she acted to authority figures anymore. “Ah reckon it’s ‘cause shit wages are better than none.”

This time, Celestia didn’t so much as flinch. “Sink or swim, essentially?”

Applejack nodded. “I can’t account for anypony ‘sides myself, of course. After we lost the farm, I needed work. And I needed it fast. We moved to Old Canterlot ‘cause living was cheap there, and I started work in the factories.”

“I see,” Celestia said simply. “Life has dealt you a poor hand, Miss Applejack. I aim to correct all of this. You have my word.”

“Ah reckon you should look a little harder than at mares like me if you want to see a poor hand,” Applejack replied shortly.

Celestia cocked her head. “Oh?”

“’course, I bet they won’t be workin’ today,” Applejack said. “With you showin’ up and all, can’t imagine they’d be stupid enough not to let ‘em have a day off. But any other day you’d see little squirts short as a stump workin’ their little hooves to the bone.”

Another bristle of fury.

“Child labour…” Celestia growled. “In my country.”

“Not somethin’ Flim Flam Industry would be proud to boast in newsprint,” Applejack said.

Celestia’s mind had already begun churning wildly and she settled with a grim nod as an answer.

Child labour.

The very thought sickened her more than anything she had thusly seen. She’d willingly take a thousand electrodes to her skull and would be more than happy to admit that the experience was more pleasant than the thought of some young filly or colt working in conditions she wouldn’t have advised for any pony. The thought of a childhood lost to labour in filthy conditions for rubbish pay nearly made her consider simply storming her own castle and declaring herself their Queen or else, peace and her ponies' will be damned. No subtlety or compromise, simply a violent but quick re-seizure of her power.

It was foolish, unethical, and impossible in her current state of weakness, and Celestia hated herself for even considering it.

Flim Flam Industry had reasons behind their actions. Celestia knew they did. And justifications, surely—they’d have plenty of those, too, in the event that she drudged such a truth out for the complacent, public fools to see. They hadn’t forced these fillies and colts to work, after all! They had come on their own accord, excited to enter a world of opportunity! Young ponies without homes were sheltered, those without anything to eat were fed!

She’d seen it before. In the pre-war Crystal Empire, during the growing twilight preceding Sombra’s desire for bloody global conquest, the tiny nation had started to rapidly militarize. It had been a less-than-subtle sign of greater things to come.

But she had never allowed such a thing in her country—ponies worked for themselves and their family and did not give a damn about their wages so long as there was food at the table. In many cases, there were no wages—they performed a duty for their community that they enjoyed doing, and it was its own reward, and the debate began and ended there.

Even when she herself had been faced with quite the same task of rapid militarization when Sombra’s invasion ended its thousand-year-hiatus, she never would have forgiven herself if she’d brought her ponies so low as to force ponies to work, or else suffer starvation and homelessness.

To see such a thing happening not against the backdrop of war as justification, but instead against claims of peace, Celestia had trouble even fully articulating her own disgust.

“I will fix this,” Celestia said, if only to hear it for herself. “I will.”

It was an earnestly expressed promise, but Applejack seemed fairly ambivalent towards it. “Alright.”

With a weary smile and most of her questions answered, Celestia rose and thanked the mare for her time. Then, not wishing to subject anypony to her undesired presence any longer, she left to find an empty compartment and brood in silence over what she had just heard.

Twilight Sparkle was sitting in the same scummy café, idly spinning a circular orb of coffee in her telekinesis, when the bells at the entrance announced somepony’s entrance. She looked up, and a wide smile split across her face as she saw Celestia approaching her table with a polite grin of her own. The princess’s mane was slightly more dishevelled than it had been when she had left for the factories, but she looked quite happy all the same.

“Hello!” Celestia greeted, sitting. Twilight slid a cup of cooling coffee towards her, and she gratefully accepted it. “How are you doing?”

“Can’t complain,” Twilight said. “Actually, y’know what? I definitely can. I talked to Florina, like you asked.”

“Oh?”

“She’s a bitch. She told me what to expect in the hearing; said she’d fax me the proper documents.”

“What in heaven’s name is a fax?”

“Something I couldn’t possibly afford,” Twilight replied. “Thankfully, I remembered the gist of it and wrote it down, and we’ll be getting it through snail-mail in a few days regardless. I’m not sure how much you’re going to like their ‘hearing’, though.”

“It’s a trial organized by a corrupt corporation bent on providing justification to reimprison me, or worse. I wasn’t expecting a surprise party.”

“That’s true.” Twilight couldn’t help but grin, partly thanks to Celestia’s own contagious smile. “Basically, what’s happening is that they’re mounting a full-assault against you and you carry the burden of proving it’s hogwash.”

“That’s almost laughably corrupt,” Celestia said. “My goodness. I’m starting to wonder if Equestria is even worth saving if they are unable to see that.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Twilight replied. “I’ve been living here, after all.”

Both mares laughed despite themselves and despite the cruel and somber nature of Celestia’s joking remark.

“What about you?” Twilight asked. “How’d it go at the industrial district?”

“Very well,” Celestia said, taking a hearty sip of the coffee. “I answered more questions than I asked, but that is all well by me. Oh, also!”

Celestia dug into her saddlebag and withdrew a fresh-looking polaroid.

“Instant camera,” she mused as she slid the photograph across the table to Twilight. “Interesting device. A journalist took this picture of me with promises of front-page billing.”

One glance at the photograph, and Twilight understood why such a picture would be deserving of a newspaper cover. Princess Celestia was standing proudly with a large group of rugged looking factory workers against a filthy backdrop of industrial machinery. Celestia was in the center of the photograph, a grimy hard-hat on her head and a small smile on her face.

“These ponies… liked me,” Celestia said it like it was an incredible feat. She took the picture back and stuffed it into her saddlebag. “I am still rather amazed by how I was received.”

“You publically called out the ponies who are using them like tools.” Twilight pointed out. “I can’t say I’m surprised. But I sure am thankful.”

“You and me both,” Celestia grinned. “They were all so keen to know what I had planned.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Oh, plenty,” Celestia said. “I spoke about wages and working conditions, and how both are evidently subpar in relation to their own personal interests and living requirements. I also said that accidents should not occur as frequently as they presently do—especially ones that claim lives.”

“Good,” Twilight growled. “Accidents happen, I guess, but I don’t get the impression Flim Flam care much about trying to prevent them if it's not worth their while. Hell, most times they blame them on employee negligence anyways.”

“Indeed,” Celestia said. “I said that in my rally, actually. I have ponies on my side, Twilight. I feel considerably less pathetic, and all it took was a half-hour train ride.”

Twilight giggled. “That’s good to hear.”

“It is,” Celestia agreed, scratching at her mane with a coy smile. “Not to imply I feel pathetic with you, of course. Quite the opposite.”

Twilight’s face redenned in a blush and she took a sip of coffee to disguise it.

“Did you manage to get a hold of…” Celestia began, but she broke off as a bell above the door signalled somepony’s entrance. Both mares turned and watched as an aging snow-white unicorn with a well-kept brown mane and tail entered. She was wearing massive eyeglasses and looked positively out of her element in the Old Canterlot slums, with her eyes locked on the ground as she navigated towards an empty booth.

“Speak of the devil,” Celestia breathed. And then, to the confused looking mare; “Raven!”

Raven perked up at the familiar voice, turning swiftly in Twilight and Celestia’s direction. A wide smile split across her face and she trotted over to them.

For an older mare, Twilight was surprised by how swiftly she moved.

“Princess Celestia!” she exclaimed. Celestia accepted her with an outstretched wing and did not hesitate to give her old friend a quick and delicate hug.

Raven detached, and as her euphoria died down she instead gave Celestia a cold glare.

“You’re the worst,” she chided. “Seriously.”

Celestia chuckled. “I know, I know. I should have said something to you, but I couldn't risk it with the cameras everywhere.”

“I thought you were going to be killed! I saw the firing line and everything! You scheming bitch.”

Twilight blinked in shock, but Celestia let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh, one which Raven promptly broke her stoic frown to echo.

“Seriously though,” Raven said when her laughter tapered off. “When I heard you on the radio… I think my heart stopped for your whole speech. I couldn’t believe it. I’m… I’m so happy you’re alright.”

“Me too,” Celestia replied. “Why don’t you sit, Raven? This is my friend Twilight Sparkle. She’s the one who called you here.”

“‘I’ve heard about you,” she offered a hoof, which Twilight sheepishly shook. “And I heard you on the radio, too. Guess I wasn’t expecting ‘interview’ to translate to ‘reunion’. What paper do you write for, Twilight?”

Twilight scratched an ear shyly. “I’m freelance,” she said, wishing desperately to be anywhere else. She’d grown quite comfortable around Celestia, but now seeing this mare so casually interacting with the former princess, Twilight fully realized how unskilled she was at any level of friendship.

“Oh, okay. My name is Raven. Celestia’s former assistant, and long-time friend. Pleased to meet you.”

For a good while, Celestia and Raven simply chatted. Despite only several weeks having passed, they had hours of stories to share. Raven spoke ponies’ names and Celestia giggled at them merely upon mention, while Twilight had no idea what faces they could possibly correlate to.

Feeling completely isolated as the two friends talked about matters she couldn’t possibly join in on, Twilight instead passed her time stacking sugar cubes. With her attention completely diverted, when Celestia excused herself, Twilight had no idea why.

Although, one glance at Raven’s quickly dissipating mirth, and Twilight knew that whatever reason Celestia had given, it was an excuse to simply get the two of them to talk.

“So, you’re Celestia’s friend?” Raven asked, glancing at Celestia’s tail as she left in the direction of the bathroom.

“Uh… that’s what she calls me,” Twilight blushed.

“Then that’s what you are,” Raven said. “You want me to give you a testimony for her hearing? Specifically regarding her imprisonment, correct?”

“I figured you’d be a reliable source,” Twilight said. “Shouldn’t we… uh, wait until Celestia gets back before discussing—”

“No.” Raven narrowed her eyes. “How much did Celestia tell you about her imprisonment?”

“Enough to convince me that Flim Flam Industry hardly have any justification against her,” Twilight said.

“Then she hasn’t told you enough at all.” Raven let out a long sigh. “Celestia is the most caring and compassionate pony I’ve ever seen, and she is the warmest pony to call a friend, but… her life during her imprisonment is full of… uh, controversy.”

Twilight felt a ripple of fear creep through her. “What do you mean?”

“Did Celestia tell you about her escape attempts?”

“Uh… vaguely. Just that they happened, and they failed.”

“Alright, well…” Raven brought a hoof to her snout and breathed heavily. “Look, let me just preface this by saying that I don’t blame Celestia for anything and I think she was perfectly justified. That being said…”

She trailed off, looked in the direction of the bathroom Celestia had disappeared towards, and then looked into Twilight’s eyes with alarming intensity.

“During her last escape attempt, she ‘failed’ on her own terms. She stopped fleeing because she seriously injured a guard during her escape. When we… when they caught her, she was trying to repair his wounds. They say it was one of the nastiest wounds they’d ever seen. They swore he lost more blood than he’d had in his damn body.

“Celestia herself was a mess, too. They said she kept calling him ‘Luna’ and begging him to get up.”

For a moment, Twilight felt dizzy, as though she was about to pass out. In a desperate bid not to, she quickly grabbed her coffee and took a violently exaggerated drink to try and calm her nerves.

“Did… did he die?” she croaked.

“No,” Raven said. “Thank heavens. For a while though, they told Celestia that he did. A nice bit of demoralization to keep her spirits low. She didn’t have much motivation for escape attempts after that.”

With nothing else to respond with, Twilight nodded grimly.

“I love Celestia,” Raven said. “She is one of my best friends. But during her imprisonment… she was terrifying. On several occasions, she tried to use ponies as… as hostages, in order to escape. On other occasions, she turned violent—I’ve never seen a pony just burn through a magic inhibitor like she did. She was cold, threatening, arrogant, and on rare occurrences, dangerous. And sadly, in her radio broadcasts I see that not a whole lot has really changed. She’s just gotten better at hiding it.”

Raven reached a hoof across the table and placed it onto Twilight’s. It was an awkward gesture in practice, but Twilight understood the comforting motif.

“I’m very happy that she can still find friendship in a pony like you, and I think you deserve it… but don’t get the idea that she’s some sort of saint. If she wouldn’t have hallucinated him as her sister, she would’ve let that stallion die if it meant escaping.”

For a moment, Twilight couldn’t think of what to say.

"When your best defense to third-degree murder is insanity," Raven said. "I'd consider not saying anything at all."

Twilight replied by muttering an incoherent ‘thank you’ to Raven, slapping a few bits onto the table, and then hastily slipping into her winter cloak as she fled from the diner entirely.

Author's Note

Inostrantsewa (Pt. II) [VIII]

Celestia was waiting in the library’s study when Twilight Sparkle finally returned home.

She had been staring directly upwards at the ceiling, laying lazily on the hideous but comfortable couch and watching the motes of dust dancing about and doing her best not to let sleep overtake her.

The ancient double doors to the library had not been properly cared for in at least a decade, Celestia presumed, for despite the cautious intent of the pony opening them, their creaking resounded through the library and acted as a siren to signal Twilight’s return.

Twilight, however, instantly began making her way towards the sorting room the moment the door was closed, evidently taking great caution not to make any noise as she did—like a mischievous adolescent sneaking out to go to some forbidden midnight gathering their parents didn’t approve of. Celestia watched her for several seconds from the study, before breaking her own cover as she stepped out of the shadows into the little pool of moonlight in the center of the library.

“Twilight,” Celestia said. She spoke softly, her voice almost drowned out by the hail pattering against the skylight, but it was the only other sound and Twilight heard her clearly nonetheless.

She froze, and then slowly turned to face Celestia, her head ducked in shame and fear.

“It is three in the morning.” Celestia began advancing towards her. She tensed a little, and Celestia frowned sadly. “Where were you, Twilight? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Twilight replied curtly, still staring at the cold library floor. “I was… I was just… uh, out.”

The distinctive bitter scent of alcohol and tobacco smoke was clinging to Twilight’s fur, and Celestia was no fool as to misinterpret just where ‘out’ was, but she saw no reason to drive the mare into a further state of fear and distress. Besides… Twilight was a grown mare, after all, and Celestia had to remind herself that she deserved no place in her affairs. If she wanted to cope with troubling news in a dingy Old Canterlot bar, that was her right.

Still, Celestia was at least permitted the right to be concerned for Twilight Sparkle’s well-being.

“You look greatly troubled, Twilight.”

Indeed, Celestia thought that her ragged and tired apperance was beyond one of mere exhaustion. In some places, Twilight’s mane was hanging in strands—a shadow of its carefully updone state. She looked through cold, scared eyes that spoke echoes of some dissipated fear, and Celestia had the impression Twilight had cried a great deal during some point of her long evening ‘out.’

Celestia frowned. Just what had happened to her?

Twilight rustled a little, as though preparing to turn and leave, and she spoke in a low mumble.

“I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“About me?”

“I don’t care about what Raven said you did,” Twilight replied. “I care a little that you wanna keep it a secret, but I guess that’s not my business, either.”

With a deep breath, Celestia let the bulk of her fear and uncertainty taper away into the near-freezing air of the library, and allowed herself a thin smile slightly weighed down by exhaustion.

“Firstly… thank you. I’m glad that our trust towards each other’s understanding is mutual,” Celestia said, and then yawned. “If you’re not troubled because of me, then what? You look unwell.”

“Celestia, I’m really tired. And slightly drunk,” Twilight replied after a short pause. “Can this please wait?”

To Celestia, Twilight’s real answer was just as clear from beyond her honest words.

“It’s not your business to know,” Twilight’s tired eyes said. “So I’m not going to tell you.”

Celestia smiled. That was alright. As Twilight trusted her despite her actions, she would trust Twilight despite her overprotective fear.

“Luna,” her sad, gnarled little brain reminded her. “Cadance.”

Not Twilight. She wouldn’t let it happen to Twilight. She was done losing those closest to her. She wouldn’t let fate tear her fleeting little promise of inner peace away this time.

“I understand.” Celestia shrugged. The battle could wait. “Then I bid you a good night sleep.”

In her time, Celestia had presided over her fair share of trials and hearings.

It hadn’t been often—crime warranting her unparalleled judgement hadn’t occurred often—but the judge’s bench was hardly an unfamiliar place to Celestia every time she stood upon it.

Sitting at the defendant's table, however, was an entirely foreign experience. When she sat down, she did so with an inhibitor on her horn. She still had an instinctive desire to melt the degrading thing into ash, but she knew it had no role in blocking her magic anyways. Instead, its purpose was to send off a less-than-discreet signal in the event that it detected any trace of dishonesty in her words. Celestia had seen them before and she knew they could be deceived, but nonetheless she found herself content with the knowledge that, to Equestria, everything she would be saying would be honest. She did not have to worry about Flim Flam Industry claiming that she was simply lying through her teeth.

In a way, their underhanded attempts to expose her had given her an advantage.

As Celestia had been expecting, the courtroom was brimming, on both the balcony and the benches. On the rare criminal trial she had overseen it had been considerably busy, but never so much as now. It was not often a princess was put on trial, after all.

Celestia was sitting alone at the defendant's table—Twilight had wished to join her but regulations of etiquette had prevented her, and now she was gazing ahead from the front row of the public benches wearing a cloudy gaze somewhere between terror and excitement. The bench Twilight was sitting at was one of the only sparse ones—it seemed as though ponies were deliberately keeping their distance, as though Twilight carried some contagious illness. As though the madness Equestria suspected of her was visibly clinging to the timid mare like a revolting parasite.

A sideways glance, and Celestia was hardly surprised by what she saw at the table of her opposition. Even now, Flim and Flam seemed to have regarded her affairs as trite and irrelevant, for her opposition did not include them in person. There were a number of ponies in suits who all seemed to be speaking to one pony in particular, and when they shifted Celestia realized it was one she was already acquainted with.

It was a pony she was fairly apathetic towards—Florina Harshwhinny was conversing with them in between subtle glances in Celestia’s expression. She looked rather annoyed with them, and apparently she had no reservations expressing such because they eventually gave her a curt nod and turned to leave while she continued barking rude remarks in their direction. The moment they broke contact, Florina turned and started towards Celestia, rolling her eyes as though she had just been conversing with a group of insolent children.

“Good afternoon, Celestia,” she said as soon as she was at Celestia’s table. “How are things?”

“Quite alright, Miss Florina. Are you… what exactly are you doing here?”

“Representing Flim Flam Industry.” She waved a hoof breezily, as though it were a minor hobby of hers. “Not really part of my job description to do so on a courtroom level, and apparently there are some ponies who think I need tutoring on the matter, but I guess being the first to make contact with you has granted me extra responsibilities.”

Make contact. As though she were some extraterrestrial. Surely Flim Flam Industry had seen how efficiently this mare had gotten under her skin during the radio broadcast, and were hoping for the same magic to be cast again.

“I mean, I’m not complaining so long as they keep bumping my salary.” Florina shrugged.

“So I take it you are to be arguing for a verdict against me?”

“Well, I mean, verdict sounds kinda harsh. You’re not being found guilty of anything, after all. Rather, I’m trying to prove to the public that you should be barred from any sort of democratic voting process.”

“I see,” Celestia said. “Florina… at the risk of sounding as though I am… uh, cajoling, I just wanted to apologize for my behaviour towards you last week. I was rude and confrontational when I shouldn’t have been.”

“Sure you were, but you were rude and confrontational towards a mare representing a bunch of ponies who treated you like absolute dirt. I didn’t take it personally. Dealing with belligerent ponies is basically my job, after all.”

The remark seemed caught in a limbo between good intentions and harsh judgement. Celestia hadn’t been belligerent had she?

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“Sure, sure. Anyways, I’d better hit it. I’m supposed to be making sure you’re briefed on court etiquette, but considering you’re the mare who wrote half of the book, I don’t see the point. Really, nothing’s changed… beyond the fact that I’m the Crown and not you. Also, any confessions you make that aren’t directly related to your rule aren’t going to land you in any criminal allegations.”

“That is an abrupt thing to suddenly be dropping upon me.”

“Yeah, well, take it or leave it, Celestia,” Florina replied, growing impatient. “Now, if that’s all, I’m not supposed to be talking to you outside of the hearing beyond etiquette briefing.”

“Ah. I understand,” Celestia said. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble. Good luck, Miss Florina.”

Florina nodded and left in the direction of her own table without uttering a ‘good luck’ of her own.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually the presiding judge entered—in terms of appearance and mannerisms he was as typical as they came, but nonetheless Celestia and everypony else in the court rose respectfully and stayed on their hooves as he scanned them thoughtfully for several seconds before sitting down.

And, abruptly, with a mere wave of his hoof, one of the first major turning points of Celestia’s new life began.

“Miss Celestia, you may proceed with your opening remarks to the jury.”

“Certainly,” she said.

Celestia rose to her hooves, and turned to face the expecting ponies who shirked a little as they locked eyes with the infamous princess. She met them with an honest smile, but it did not seem to matter.

She cleared her throat and began.

“Good morning, fillies and gentlecolts. I am here before you with the burden of proving my own adequacy to rule. But more so, it is my intention and desire to disprove what has been said against me. To some of you, I am a tyrant. A cruel and despotic ruler who has been hiding a selfish mare behind fake smiles. To some, I played you all for fools, having you bow to me as though I were some goddess, the whole while pretending to be some humble matriarch.

“Additionally, according to Flim Flam Industry my rule was one defined by absolute authority. What I saw fit, they claim, is what I subsequently exercised. According to them, I did not give a damn what any of my subjects wished in the event that my own judgement contradicted them.

“But that is not the mare I truly am. I love my ponies, I love my country, and I wish only for the best for everyone. I am not a tyrant hiding behind falsity. I am not indifferent towards the will of my subjects and I am not purposefully ignorant to their desires. Such has been claimed of me, but it has been done so without evidence nor confirmation, and yet it has been flaunted as factual. It is not. I do not deny that my position as sole monarch of Equestria placed me at an unmatched level, nor do I deny that my choices were not final by law. That would be a lie on my part.

“But this does not make me a tyrant. It does not make me indifferent towards the will of my subjects, and it does not mean that I did not consider them greatly before I made every single decision that I had ever made. Never before did I act without consideration of a pony’s best interest nor without letting ponies express their desires. During my rule, I held court for as much as forty hours a week—where ponies came to me with their issues and concerns and I listened intently. I can prove—not with baseless theorizing and slander, but with factual documentation—that these issues and concerns were almost always met, and that my final word, as evil as Flim Flim Industry claims such a thing to be, has ultimately helped Equestria to become a fairer and more just society than it presently is.

“To reiterate as clearly and simply as I can manage… no, I do not deny that my rule was one technically defined by absolute power. It was. However, I do deny that such a thing inherently makes me an evil and tyrannical mare, and that I exercised such power to any degree that could possibly warrant such claims. It is my belief that through careful analysis, you will find that my rule was not one defined by despair and oppression but by prosperity, peace, and freedom. I intend to show that Flim Flam Industry have failed to factually prove otherwise and have thusly failed to justify my unlawful imprisonment. Thank you.”

As she made her way back to her table, she allowed herself a quick glimpse at Twilight.

“Damn right.” The unicorn mouthed, giving her a supportive nod.

“Alright,” the judge said lazily. “But… uh, can you please state your name, age, and occupation for the record?”

There was a silent ripple of laughter in the court—Celestia included—but nonetheless she stood and spoke clearly.

“Celestia. Unemployed. Age: two thousand seven hundred and fifty nine. And still feeling quite young.”

Another ripple of polite chuckles, and Celestia sat back down feeling oddly thankful for the unnecessary interruption. If she could evoke playful cheerfulness in so somber a setting, perhaps her little glimmer of hope wasn’t as dwindling as she’d feared.

“Thank you. If that is all, then Flim Flam Industry are invited to begin presenting their case against Miss Celestia.”

Across the room, Florina stood up proudly once again. She locked her gaze first with the jury, then the judge, before finally resting it on Celestia.

“Let’s start right from the top,” Florina began. “Would you mind telling how you initially took the throne, Miss Celestia?”

“As in… how I took it twenty-five hundred years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Well, prior to my taking of the throne, Equestria—then called Erisia, mind you—was ruled by the Lord of Chaos, Discord,” Celestia said. “When I was twenty two, I defeated him with the help of my younger sister, Luna, then sixteen years old. In the wake of his rule of despair, Discord left few followers who represented a minority. Luna and I took on the duty of rulership.”

“Twenty two and sixteen. Those ages are…”

“In ordinary years, yes.” Celestia nodded.

“So you started ruling when you were twenty two.”

“Yes.”

“I presume that any system of training was never provided to you?”

“That is correct. Luna and I formed a basis of laws centered around basic moral principles.”

“Your personal moral principles?”

Celestia frowned. “I suppose.”

“What about your alicorn ascension, and the raising of the sun? Are those two events directly correlated?”

“I earnestly am not sure,” Celestia admitted. “My wings grew when I was entering adulthood, and I first rose the sun after attempting to wrench it from Discord’s grasp. A link between the sun and myself only grew out of decades of repetition. If my alicornhood and my status as raiser of the sun are directly correlated, it is by a system of fate I confess I do not understand.”

“So to reiterate what you just said, you don’t actually know why you are a princess.”

Celestia cocked her head. “I did not say that.”

Florina shrugged. If it was a point worth pursuing, she saw no reason to. “To summarize then; you took the throne fresh out of fillyhood with no experience solely because of the fact that you successfully carried out an act of regicide against the reigning king?”

The courtroom filled with sudden murmurs, and Celestia bristled as though the bluntly expressed question had physically hurt her.

And yet any denial on her part would have been a lie.

“Yes, I suppose that is an accurate summary. But I do not believe I need to point out the nature of this king. Discord was a spirit of pure chaos. Ponies lived in fear and misery under his rule, and were actively seeking ways to usurp his rule themselves.”

Florina smiled and glanced at the inside of a manila envelope om her desk. “According to your testimony.”

“You don’t seriously expect testimonies from twenty-seven hundred years ago to retain any significant level of accuracy!” Celestia protested.

Florina shrugged. “I’m merely pointing out the hypocritical fact that, after your adamancy regarding Flim Flam Industry’s lack of evidence, you cannot produce sufficient evidence yourself that your own rule is justly founded.”

Another bout of murmuring, this time heavy enough to warrant a gavel slam from the judge. “Miss Celestia, do you have any objections?”

Celestia knew better than to tread onto ice she was unsure the thickness of. “No, I do not. Merely that such accusations are mere speculation.”

“Noted. Miss Florina, are you finished with your argument?”

Florina gave a snorting laugh. “Are you kidding?”

Turning her attention back to Celestia, she continued on with reinvigorated energy. “Alright, let’s move forwards to things we can prove with evidence, hm? Just so I’m clear, in your opening speech, you said you ‘consider the will of your subjects greatly before every choice,’ correct?”

“Indeed,” Celestia said.

“And yet you admit yourself that you carry absolute power. Meaning, any and all objections can be overruled by yourself, or simply ignored completely?”

“Yes, but I would by no means—”

“I’m not saying you would. I’m asking if you could.”

Celestia frowned. “Yes. As princess, I had absolute power.”

“So, to summarize, you carry absolute power, but you don’t exercise any of it until you have considered the will of your subjects,” Florina said. “Now, it posits that the more risky or intense the choice, the more consideration you would apply, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. Then I must ask what exactly happened to this thought process in regards to the Crystal War.” Florina waved a hoof, and suddenly, the slide projector whirred to life.

A flicker of light, a loud click as the carousel shifted, and Celestia felt her heart sink.

“Is that your writing, Miss Celestia?”

It was hardly a document she could have shredded or stuffed behind a potted plant—not that she practiced anything besides organization.

Especially in regards to a declaration of war.

How Flim Flam Industry had gotten a hold of it, she didn’t even bother speculating—they owned her castle now, why not everything that was within?

“Yes,” Celestia said, already knowing exactly what Florina’s attack was.

Florina grinned in preemptive victory. “Now, interestingly enough, you signed this declaration less than forty eight hours after the Crystal Empire materialized. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“I find it very interesting that your signature is all alone on this document. Did you hold a parliamentary meeting for this decree?”

“I held a meeting to announce we were going to war,” Celestia said. “But, since I know that isn’t what you asked…”

She let out a long sigh. The only way out was through.

“No. I did not allow this to be a matter of debate. But I had very good reasons for doing so. When the Crystal Empire emerged, it did so… ah, all cylinders firing, as they say. While I never recommend villainizing anypony or anything, dark magic corruption had disintegrated any equinity King Sombra possessed. He was willing to use mind-altering magic in order to twist ponies into thoughtless beings, instincts of violence and survival excepted.”

Celestia realized she had flared her wings proudly at someplace during her speech while twisting the direction of her words from Florina to the jury. It mattered little to her, so long as everypony in the room heard what she had to say.

“Immediately upon its emergence, this is what I was confronted with. My country was entirely peaceful—I have a plethora of evidence to support this but honestly, it’s common fact—and our armies were rather pitiful as such. Yes, I gave the order for war autonomously and quickly, but by the time I did, King Sombra had mobilized against Equestria.”

To Celestia’s barely contained delight, Florina frowned. A wordless telegraph that she had no more plans to keep tugging at the thread she had presented.

Celestia didn’t smile, but she only barely prevented herself. For the first time, she had gained a point in her favour. Still, there was no reason not to twist the dagger Florina had accidentally stabbed into herself.

“I realize it was a controversial decision, but seeing Sombra treat the Crystal Ponies like the expendable cannon fodder he saw them as, I do not regret trying to turn the tides at the first opportunity I had.”

Perhaps Florina had been trying to flee from the thread she had presented, but now she had no choice but to confront it once more. “I simply mention your swift decision to highlight the fact that you made no attempts for a diplomatic solution.”

“A diplomatic solution,” Celestia repeated bluntly. “With the stallion who had no moral quandaries emptying out the minds of his own subjects in order to rewrite them as violent animals.”

There had been much worse examples Celestia could have provided from a thousand years prior to drive forwards her point—ponies… her ponies, hung from street lamps in Neighagra Falls after it had been taken by Sombra’s forces, the sad faces of slaves peering at her on the decks of ships sailing north…

Celestia shook her head clear. She’d already made her point, there was no sense nullifying it with what might be seen as melodramatic hyperbole.

“My actions, autonomous as they had been, managed to move a peaceful nation to a state of total war swift enough to even out and then ultimately win a war seriously skewed against us.” Celestia waved a hoof. “If that is somehow a sin on my part, I can do little else but confess.”

“Perhaps, from a tactical perspective,” Florina mused. “But what about the individual ponies you sent to fight? I understand that you refused to have a conscription and took the front-lines yourself in order to make up for your smaller army, but regardless is it false to say you sent ponies into battles they had no idea the scope of?”

“Not ever against their will,” Celestia replied. “But, yes, to be realistic… as long as I’ve been on the throne, violence has never been the norm. To say that everypony was completely prepared for what they saw is indeed untrue, but I do not quite see how a populace more accustomed to peace than war reflects poor leadership on my part.”

“Okay,” Florina said simply. A one-word admission of defeat.“Truthfully, full-scale war is a complicated issue, one that we cannot possibly hope to blame exclusively on you personally. I admit that your leadership decisions seem to be consistently in the right from what the Crystal War has demonstrated. So let’s move to a different aspect of your rule.”

Celestia shuffled a little.

What was Florina leading to?

It was unmistakable—her trademark knowing grin was back and her gaze frequently shifted from the jury to Celestia, as though she had just done something considerably impressive and was hoping everypony in the room had witnessed her.

“Tell us about Nightmare Moon, Miss Celestia,” Florina said.

And then in an instant, Celestia knew.

She’d been fearing it for nearly a week and yet it had lapsed her mind the moment she had stepped through the double doors into the courtroom. Obviously, Nightmare Moon would be Flim-Flam Industry’s royal flush.

“Of Nightmare Moon...” Celestia began. “...I can explain very little. Of my sister, Princess Luna, I can explain anything you need to know. She was my sister by blood, my equal by power, and my best-friend by relationship. But she had little interest for politics and was always content leaving such affairs to me.”

“‘Always content.’” Florina repeated. “Then where, exactly, did the fearsome ‘Nightmare Moon’ come from?”

“The twilight over our relationship grew after the first war with King Sombra. My position at the head of the public eye as well as my insistence on not putting my younger sister in the front lines of battle... it was done with good intentions, but it gradually twisted the public’s perception against my sister. Already she had been growing cold in the shadows.

“After the war ended, we were both quite aware of the jealousy that she was harboring—in an effort to mend fences, I spent a summer away and left the nation in her hooves, but it did not help.”

The memories felt cold and foreign to Celestia, like a half-remembered storyline to some book she’d forgotten she had read.

“The rest plays out quite like how the history books claim,” she continued. “In a hasty moment of jealousy and desperation, she meddled with dark magic she truly should have left be. It twisted her mind and transformed her into Nightmare Moon and with the promise of power she did little to stop the magic’s influence on her. I attempted to reason with the beast but it was to no avail. My sister was gone and it had no future intentions beyond a quick death for myself and a slow one for my ponies. I was forced to use the Elements of Harmony against her.”

“Huh,” Florina said. “How did that make you feel?”

“How did that make me feel.” Celestia repeated.

Apparently, hearing it twice wasn’t enough, for she felt a strange compulsion to say it again, to keep saying it over and over and over like a madmare. How did it make her feel? How did it make her feel?

“How did it make me feel?” Celestia rose to her hooves again, with enough intensity that Florina actually tensed a little. “There do not exist words to adequately describe how it made me feel. There is no comparison I could make that anypony in this room could possibly understand in order to explain how it felt. I know loss, I am sure many ponies here know loss. I know guilt, and I am sure many ponies here know guilt. But those sensations are nothing when weighed against the emptiness of knowing one’s immortal companion is gone, perhaps forever, and now one has to face etern—”

“Alright,” Florina cut in abruptly. “So it made you feel really bad. Thank you.”

It took all of Celestia’s willpower not to put the insolent mare in her place with some furious retort, but in the delicate context of Luna’s death Celestia knew it would be a poor decision to allow any room for error or mixed messages.

“I didn’t know Luna would return in a thousand years,” Celestia spoke softly and carefully instead. A cautious tone one might hear an old mare tell a bittersweet story in. “I had only used the Elements of Harmony on another creature once before—Discord—and I had no way of knowing how they functioned. I did not know if they had vaporized her and carved her face into the moon as a reminder, or if she truly had been transported there. To keep myself sane, I began telling myself the latter, but I could never truly convince myself it was not a lie.

“So when my sister did return, my emotions were perhaps blinded by my own relief. I guess I foolishly assumed a thousand years had allowed the dark magic around her to evaporate, but to her it was an instant since we had done battle...”

She trailed off. A feeling like a chill wind crept down Celestia’s spine as the rest of her confession reverberated through her mind without leaving her lips.

Perhaps through deceit and lies, she could twist Nightmare Moon’s fate to her advantage. Spin exaggerated tales of her crimes, tales that nopony could disprove. And while she could not prove them herself, they would at least add credibility to any plea of sympathy she could make towards forgiving her own act of fratricide.

After all, it was the one crime that no amount of political justification could ever provide any level of equinity to. Even if what she had done had been ‘right’, she could never convince anypony it had been good, for truly it was on the opposite end of the spectrum. And Celestia herself knew that the only pony worse than one guilty of terrible crimes was one who believes they were not crimes in the first place.

She could drag Luna’s name and transparent image through the dirt and nopony would be able to prove otherwise. It would at least grant her a bit of immunity from any cries of heartlessness against her.

With a deep sigh, Celestia knew she had only ever pondered the thought for the satisfaction of denouncing it.

“My sister’s death was my doing,” Celestia said. “It was my fault, and I make no effort to deny it. I merely ask that everypony understand that of all the difficult things I have been forced to do, this choice was one I would trade my own life to never have to make. It is my greatest shame.”

“Ah,” Florina mused. “But is it your greatest regret?”

Celestia nearly grinned—this mare had a diabolically smooth way with words. “No. I do not regret the decision I made. I merely abhor the fact that it is one I had to make.”

Florina’s response was one word, spoken as a command.

“Elaborate.”

“With pleasure,” Celestia replied. “Nightmare Moon may have been my sister in blood, but that does not change what her desires were. And those desires were eternal night—which would be catastrophic to all living things. Furthermore, your criticisms of my alleged tyrannical nature would look quite humorous when weighed against what her prospect of leadership was.”

“You didn’t answer my question at all.”

“I believe I did,” Celestia replied. “Nightmare Moon wished to bring about slow global extinction framed by a rulership based entirely around ensuring she is pleased—the happiness and will of her people be damned.”

Florina rolled her eyes. “Once again, Celestia, you didn’t answer me. I understand that Nightmare Moon was a fearsome foe, but I do not understand why you do not regret taking her life.”

“Because I did so to save my country.”

“You mean you did so to keep your throne.”

“That’s not true!” Celestia protested. “Are you suggesting I care so little about my own kin that I would—”

“I’m suggesting that no matter how important you see your sister as, you see keeping your ponies safe and happy as more important,” Florina cut her indignant reply short. “And, you also see your rule as superior to that of your sister, which according to your testimony is indeed a tyrannical one. Therefore, keeping your throne is more important to you than your sister.”

“That reasoning is flawed and you know it,” Celestia growled. “A child could easily see that.”

The long-dormant judge narrowed his eyes as he addressed Celestia. “Miss Celestia, please keep your responses civil and collected.”

“This is ridiculous,” Celestia said. “I suppose my battles with Tirek and Chrysalis were both desperate attempts to keep my throne, too?”

“At no point did I say keeping your throne is deserving of condemnation nor that it was not for the best interest of Equestria,” Florina said. “I merely said that it is the consistent reason behind your actions. You see fit to keep your rule in place, which in turn keeps peace in place. You also do not allow any of your personal feelings to impact doing what is fair. Is that incorrect?”

“It is…not,” Celestia sighed, although it was perhaps an over-generalization. “What are you attempting to suggest I am?”

“You’re assuming the worst of me.” Florina smiled. “All I am attempting to do is highlight the direction of all of your actions. You act without a tinge of personal interest. Hell, one perusal of your treasury spending and we would see that you hardly lived life like the privileged monarch you actually were—excluding the wages for your cleaning staff and meals, the majority of your monthly treasury was spent on books and knitting wool.”

Even amidst the intensity, Celestia almost broke her stoic frown with a chuckle.

Almost.

“You’re not a mare interested in benefitting herself,” Florina summarized. “Your interest instead lies on your nation.”

To Celestia’s great surprise, Florina’s argument seemed to end at that. On the surface was no dagger that had been brandished in her direction, and no presumptuous claim regarding her subtle tyranny. In fact, Florina’s overgeneralization seemed to be a… rather kind one.

A glance behind her, and Celestia saw that Twilight, too, seemed greatly confused, but she did not seem to possess any actual suspicion.

Celestia, however, was frightened. For Florina’s argument may have been smiling at its surface, but she was no fool.

No personal interest. All the will of her nation.

No personal interest….

Luna’s death. Her throne. Her ponies. Her rule. But all for them.

Every one of them, and yet not a single one.

Slowly, Florina’s true intention reared its ferocious teeth. She had just told the jury and everypony watching from the benches what Celestia herself could hardly convince herself was a lie. Her actions spun in favour of her ponies, and she didn’t give a damn how it made her feel. She would sacrifice every bit of herself for everypony else.

But it was hardly a compliment.

Because it made her inequine. A machine. A cold, calculated ruler who saw her ponies as a whole and not a single one as different. No exceptions, no mercy for any outliers. Not even her own sister.

A good ruler.

A tyrannical one, too.

Perfectly fit to rule, and still perfectly deserving of the gallows or the guillotine, too.

“I love my ponies,” Celestia whispered. The words sounded distinctly conflicted, and she was well-aware of the wavering in her voice as she spoke. “...And I love my sister.”

“Noted,” Florina said bluntly. “And never questioned. Can I bring up the topic of your mental health?”

Celestia had little choice but to answer with a grumbled ‘yes.’

“Do you consider yourself a violent mare, Celestia?”

“Certainly not.”

“But, in times of provocation, you have acted with violence?” she pressed.

“Why not provide me with an example?” Celestia challenged, unsure whether it was annoyance or desperation feeding confrontation into her sharp voice.

“Sure. How about Queen Chrysalis?”

“If you are asking me whether or not my assault was one fueled by emotion…” Celestia had a denial churning through her mind, but she trailed off the moment she remembered the device on her horn, monitoring her fluctuating pulse and searching her consciousness for lies.

“Yes,” Celestia confessed. “Queen Chrysalis had violently murdered my own niece before me, laughing whilst doing so. Princess Cadance was losing blood, there was an active foe before me… I took immediate action to both eradicate a present threat and thus allow myself time to turn my attention to healing my dying niece.”

“Okay,” Florina said. “Two additional questions, then. Firstly, when you were imprisoned and you saw your niece preparing to attack Queen Chrysalis, why did you not take action to prevent a confrontation?”

Celestia stared blankly, wordlessly prompting more explanation.

“I mean,” Florina continued. “You were trapped, sure, but you still had the capacity to interfere with a confrontation before it occurred.”

“Alerting Chrysalis to Cadance’s presence would only get my niece killed.”

“Are you completely sure of that?”

“Yes,” Celestia said firmly. She worried as the word left her lips that the device on her horn would ring out, but then again in her mind it was miles away from a lie.

“Well, whatever,” Florina shrugged. “The point is, you saw Cadance was about to engage Queen Chrysalis, and you let the confrontation occur so that you could use the distraction to escape.”

“Yes,” Celestia said again.

“You knew as you let this happen that your niece was being placed in a position where her likelihood for survival was minimal.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t do anything to interfere.”

“What are you accusing me of?” Celestia growled. “Letting my fellow princess defend her country? Trusting another pony to do the right thing? Not ‘saving the day’ when I was physically unable to do so?”

“You confessed that your country’s well-being is more important to you than your own sister’s well-being, right?”

“At no point did I say that,” Celestia said. “I said my own emotions should not be used as sole justification to allow massive despair to be carried out.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” Florina waved a hoof. “My question is if this same philosophy applies to your niece.”

Celestia growled out a guilty “yes” with her head sunk low.

“I understand your impatience,” Florina responded to her sharp angry confession with sickening mirth. “But I’m far from done. Let’s move on to a topic that I imagine you were hoping we would guiltily tip-toe around. You, during your imprisonment.”

Indeed, Florina was not necessarily wrong. Celestia had been greatly convinced that Flim Flam Industry would not so much as mention her imprisonment unless she mentioned it, but it seemed as though Florina did not care much about dragging her superiors’ names through a bit of mud if it meant an eventual victory.

“My unlawful imprisonment.” Celestia clicked her tongue.

“Indeed. It was unlawful, and now that you’ve spoken it to the public, I assure you that the ponies responsible will be punished.” Florina grinned. “Don’t worry, princess, we’ll make sure everypony who ever set foot in that facility loses their jobs.”

It was a petty attempt to inject a little more guilt into her testimony, and Celestia was well aware. Nonetheless, part of her was already cursing herself for adding that one word for no reason beyond pride.

It was an odd sensation, feeling guilt for the mercilessness of a faceless corporation.

“How were the average living conditions during your imprisonment?” Florina asked.

“Initially? Luxurious,” Celestia said. “Of course, that was only after I’d endured excruciating torture in an attempt to make me surrender my own free will.”

“Go ahead.” Florina waved a hoof. “Elaborate. Not my job on the line, after all.”

“After my fight with Tirek, I was practically at death’s door. Additionally, involuntary magical discharges from his influence made me a danger to other ponies, so I placed myself in self-imposed isolation. I was lucid enough to write my will and last words to Equestria, but I instead passed into unconsciousness. These were ultimately modified and then read to Equestria following my alleged suicide. Meanwhile, I was taken underground and imprisoned. I awoke with an inhibitor on my horn in a brick room with all manner of devices attached to my skull. They administered electric shocks directly to… um, whichever part of the brain registers pain.”

“The thalamus. Also, hold up.” Florina cocked her head. “So you’re saying they tortured you ‘just because?’”

“Certainly not.”

“Well then what? As far as keeping you imprisoned, yes, your logic makes sense. They took your throne and had to keep you outta the picture. But you’re basically asking us to believe that Flim Flam Industry were carrying out brutal acts of torture against you because they’re ‘really evil.’”

“That would be hyperbolic, yes.”

“So what is the reason?”

Celestia hadn't even considered the possibility of them justifying torture, but here was Florina doing just that. “I refused to raise the sun.”

“Ah.” Florina scratched an ear. “A sort of ‘release me or no sun for you’ deal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good job using the entirety of planet Equus as your hostage,” Florina said. “Real righteous. Can’t even say I blame them; from what you said it sounds like you were acting like a spoiled child.”

A glance in the judge’s direction, and Celestia saw he had no intention of telling Florina to ease back her personal remarks. Celestia was hardly surprised.

“Anyways,” Florina said. “In regards to them using such… negotiating techniques; I’ve got tons of confessions concerning the ethics of all of that.” Florina held the heavy envelope of documents up for proof. “Whatever figure the jury decides, Flim Flam Industry are more than happy to pay it as compensation for your trauma.”

“That is hardly necessary,” Celestia replied. “And are you honestly telling me that, as long as you give them a nice little sum of bits, it is perfectly acceptable to treat ponies atrociously?”

“Unless you have the ability to fiddle with time, there isn’t a whole lot else we can do,” Florina replied. “Can I continue with my questioning, or are you going to keep interrupting me?”

“Go ahead,” Celestia growled.

“You describe your living conditions as luxurious. Why did you try to escape, if this is so?”

“Because my country had been unrighteously stolen from me, I was dying due to being kept away from the sun, and I had done nothing wrong to warrant imprisonment in the first place. Attempting to reason with anypony rewarded me with nothing,” Celestia said. “There is no high road you can take here, Miss Florina.”

“Then why don’t you explain to the entire court why, during one of your righteous escape attempts, you nearly took the life of one of our guards?”

Silence.

“I… was not expecting to be accused of attempted murder tonight,” Celestia breathed. “But I know well the incident you are referring to.”

“Tell it to the court.”

“Okay,” Celestia said bluntly. She met the jury’s eyes directly, her own expression a calm and collected sadness. “It was during my final escape attempt. I had managed to bypass the horn inhibitor and was freely teleporting through the security checkpoints. I believe I was in the final corridor before the surface when I felt as though I’d been shot from behind. The bullet grazed my neck.

“I turned, and I did not think. I was panicked, and I was closer than I’d ever been to freedom. I let loose with my magic in an attempt to subdue my target but I grossly exaggerated both his distance, and my own power.”

Her gaze fell. “When the rest of the pursuing guards found me, I was attempting to stop his bleeding with my magic. I suppose I could have continued my escape, but I had no drive to. Some sort of substance was injected into my neck and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I woke to a smaller and more barren room that became my new home for the remainder of my eleven year imprisonment. The guard did not die, but I do not deny the intensity of my violent act of self-defence performed during my escape. I was more violent than I am presently proud to admit.”

Celestia squeezed her eyes shut as the court let out another rumbling murmur, as her confession reverberated through every attentive mind. The matriarchal princess of the sun, bluntly admitting to an act of violent self-defence that had nearly resulted in the death of an innocent pony.

Once more, an act perfectly justifiable to anypony with a shred of common sense, that shattered her reputation all the same.

Still, Florina continued. “For the record, I would like to state that the ‘bullet’ in question was a harmless tranquilizer bolt. Something which had been made clear to Celestia before.”

“I was frightened,” Celestia repeated.

“Uh huh. So frightened, you used lethal force on an attacker who was simply trying to subdue you.”

“He had no right! I’d done nothing to deserve being kept prisoner in the first place! It doesn’t matter whether—!”

“You’re shouting,” Florina said passively. “Stop it. Listen to what you’re saying, and ask yourself if it’s a route you really want to take in a national hearing.”

Florina’s threat wasn’t one Celestia felt intimidated by. “It is. The fact of the matter is, I was not convicted, I was not tried, I was not ‘imprisoned.’ I was kidnapped. If you didn’t wish to see me defend myself, you should not have placed me in a situation where I saw fit to do so.”

“Have you ever experienced hallucinations, Celestia?”

It was an abrupt transition, but Celestia saw the purpose quite clearly. What did it matter what she ‘saw fit’ if she were a madmare anyways?

“On occasion,” Celestia admitted. “Of my sister, and my niece. Relatively vivid, but never lasting much longer than several minutes.”

“You’re insane,” Florina translated.

“No, I am not.” Celestia objected softly. “Don't apply your perception of how a proper mind should work to one that has been functioning for more than thirty generations. My visions are driven by a sense of loss you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Got it.” Florina smirked. “You don’t think nearly the same as us ‘puny little mortals.’ With that established, I’m actually done, Your Honour. Nothing else to say; ready to deliver my closing statement.”

“That is fine,” he replied. “But Miss Celestia must deliver hers first. And we’ll do so after a short recess of ten minutes.”

Ponies shuffled about, some leaving to catch a fleeting breath of fresh air. A glance to the side and Celestia saw Twilight staring wantingly after them—Celestia saw a lighter being waywardly turned over and over in the mare’s magic—but she could not seem to break contact with Celestia as soon as their gaze had met.

She rose and trotted in her direction.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Twilight whispered. “I can barely think, my heart’s pounding like crazy!”

Celestia chuckled despite herself. “Our situation has certainly taken a confusing development.”

“I don’t get it at all! Why would she go on about how selfless of a ruler you are? She seemed to be complimenting you.”

“Keyword: seemed,” Celestia replied. “A subtle insult. For an entirely selfless ruler is not an entirely good pony. Sometimes, they may make a decision based on universal benefit but not individual morality.”

Twilight tilted her head questioningly. “What? Like a genocide?”

“Or a war,” Celestia nodded. “Unjust arrests. Executions without trial. A ruler without personal influence is not always a perfect ruler. A perfect utopia can be a state of complete oppression. What if a ruler or government gets it in their mind a truly terrible thing is for the benefit of all, and morality isn’t around to make them think twice?”

Twilight scowled. “But that’s not you!”

“Then explain Luna’s death,” Celestia sighed. “Or my… violent response to my niece’s death. Or… or the other incident. It might be a baseless claim against me, but it’s still a convincing one. They've given me two options: admit I am a poor leader to prove I am a good pony, or admit I am a cynical and uncaring pony who is an excellent leader.”

Twilight swore bitterly and sunk her head.

"The first is an instant death," Celestia said. "I'd have to change my tactic to one of force—something I have neither the desire nor capacity to carry out. The latter, however, will destroy whatever shred of equinity that my ponies still think I possess."

Twilight did not reply. In fact, for the rest of the short recess, they did not speak again. It was only after the benches had refilled and the gavel had been slammed and she had been asked to deliver her closing statement that Celestia finally spoke.

And it was to the jury, not to Twilight, who had already sat back down a row behind her.

Celestia rose as she began.

“I will be brief. I, Princess Celestia, am no tyrant. Nor am I some cynical old relic who sees Equestria like a chessboard and you all like pawns. I consider myself a happy mare and it makes me even more happy to see my ponies safe, content, and smiling. That is how I rule. Not with desires for conquest or profit, nor for any malicious intent. I rule because I enjoy ruling, and because I enjoy spreading happiness and friendship. Unlike Flim Flam Industry, my ambitions are not driven by a desire to turn a cynical profit.

“I beg you all to keep in mind the speculative nature of what has been presented against me. Nothing factual, merely unfounded assumptions of my personality that I believe anypony who knows me as a friend would agree are incorrect. My rule, autonomous as it was, was a just and fair one. I listened to the problems of any individual and I always did everything in my power to assist them. With my throne back, I would be more than happy to resume my life as a servant to the comfort and happiness of my ponies.”

There was no real reason to say much else. She gave the court her thanks for their attention and sat back down, actively averting her eyes from lingering on any one pony, and especially on Twilight Sparkle.

Florina rose in a mirrored image, her smug smile an inversion of Celestia’s stoic frown.

“Well, for convenience and for the record, I’ll go ahead and reiterate what the entire objective of these proceedings was,” she began. She cracked a document before her, but clearly she did not actually have any use for whatever was written down. “It was the point of this hearing to determine whether or not Miss Celestia’s status as a ruler is acceptable considering her own personal history. And, it is my personal and unbiased opinion that her ability as a ruler has been confirmed to be quite competent.”

A surprised murmuring erupted through the courtroom, enough for Celestia to glance behind her. Twilight had cracked a wide smile, but it was quick to shatter as she saw Celestia’s own somber expression.

“This all maintained, while Princess Celestia’s rulership abilities have been confirmed, her own personal mentality has been called into serious question. I ask the public to examine her controversial actions carefully, and I believe they would find that, while they have been carried out in the best interest of Equestria, they represent the mindset of a mare who has little to no regard for the well-being of any individual pony. They are borderline sociopathic tendencies, likely harboured by centuries of seeing ponies as…”

Florina broke off momentarily. She glanced at her document again and smiled.

“I’ll use the term mayflies to describe Celestia’s projected viewpoint of them. Perhaps the most glaring example can be observed during the events of the Second Longest Night, where Princess Celestia carried out a violent act of fratricide against her own sister to protect the well-being of her nation. She acts out of interest to the population but without any perceived sense of moral direction.

“Likewise, Princess Celestia has admitted to experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, as well as being skillfully manipulative and at extreme moments considerably violent.

“Therefore, I’m forced to recommend that her eligibility for candidacy be approved, but I don’t believe I need to point out for the court her own sociopathic flaws that would make such a candidate a poor one. Had it not been for the previously established conditions of this hearing and with the intent behind and outcomes of her actions considered, I would advise immediate commitment of this mare. I’m no doctor, but it seems pretty clear to me that she’s suffering from some manner of severe mental illness. She is a morally and emotionally empty pony, who views her populace in one shade, without deviance, and without specific tolerance given, even to her own blood. Such a pony is dangerous to our state of peace, and it is my belief that we were all much safer when she was beneath a thousand feet of rock.”

Florina leaned back into her chair with a satisfied smirk. “That is all, no further statements.”

The entire room was silent. Florina rose, stuffed her paperwork into her nearby briefcase, and smiled first at the jury and then at Celestia.

“So… you are forfeiting your own legal assault against her?” Even the judge looked confused.

“I believe I’ve proven what I was sent here to prove,” Florina replied.

“What about Twilight?” Celestia whispered.

“I beg your pardon, Princess?” Florina cocked her head innocently.

“Twilight. I was told her eligibility for Crown Minister would be likewise approved, if my own was.”

Regardless, it hardly mattered to a single sane pony in the room, and Celestia knew it. She had waltzed right into a trap—Flim Flam Industry had dangled her rulership worth as a taunt when they knew themselves they would never be able to disprove it. They lured her into a hearing they never suspected they’d win, only to spread out her own justifications and testimony as an assault against her.

The jury hardly mattered now, but even so Celestia knew what their determination would be. She had just been legally proven as a completely contemptible mare with no regard for equine life.

That made Twilight a supporter of an officially classified mad-mare.

Her throne would only be provided to her through the decision of her ponies, and any chance of such was a laughable notion, now.

Florina let out a rude chuckle. “Yeah, why the hell not? I say she’s got it. Nice image: Celestia and her Crown Minister with the criminal record. Congratulations, Princess. You’ve won.”

vii

In grim silence, they returned home.

Celestia excused herself to the study with a murmur. Twilight did not dare follow her. The sun had been set hours earlier and Twilight could only assume Celestia was attempting to give her broken mind a break in the recluse of sleep.

Twilight's own head was still a flurry of confused thoughts.

She hadn't expected Flim Flam Industry to take such a gamble, but they had. Challenging Celestia to prove her leadership worth, only to throw the challenge entirely. Instead of taking assault on one element of her rule, they’d carried out another devastating assault of a battle they’d been fighting for a decade.

Without a word against her rule or politics, they’d managed to sink her character a little further. And it had already sunk so low.

The morning would bring conversation between them—Twilight had no idea how she was ever going to comfort Celestia or think of some lie that proved that they were alright. The ice below them had only gotten thinner, and there was no safe shore in sight.

By her bed in the sorting room was a jar of sleeping pills. Twilight swallowed a few and lazily slumped against her bed. There were a few drops of red wine in a discarded bottle underneath, and she swallowed some of that, too.

In mere minutes, the shamanistic combination of substances had taken its numbing effect and Twilight felt her senses blurring with incoming unconsciousness.

On the other side, Nightmare Moon was waiting.

“Should’ve taken a few more of those pills,” she said cheerily. “Then maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about Equestria burning you and my sister at the stake tomorrow morning.”

Nightmare Moon was watching with a playful smirk as Twilight groggily took in her surroundings—the dusty room in the Catacombs where they had first found the Sunstone. “It was certainly satisfying hearing Celly finally admit how little she cared about me.”

“What do you want?” Twilight growled. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Nightmare Moon replied. “And don’t blame me for that, either. If you wouldn’t have merged magic streams with Celestia; I’d have had no way of tormenting you.”

Straightening herself up and feeding light magic into her horn, Twilight gave the alicorn a small sneer. Nightmare Moon had already confessed her lack of desire to hurt her, and this time Twilight knew damn well she was dreaming anyways.

“As long as you’re leaving her alone, then whatever,” Twilight said. “You don’t scare me.”

“I would hope not!” Nightmare Moon looked offended. “I’m not trying to! My goodness, you attempt to have a civil conversation with somepony and they call you a murderous, fearsome beast! How rude!”

Twilight stared.

Nightmare Moon gave an echoing cackle. “You know Twilight… I’ve been thinking. About you. Specifically, about you raising my moon.”

“I already promised I wouldn’t touch it again,” Twilight growled. “Heavens forbid I try to help Celestia not go through excruciating pain just to respect your memory.”

“And I love her ever so deeply for it.” Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean: go ahead. Raise my moon. I apologize for my outburst last week.”

Twilight blinked.

To her dumbfounded amazement, Nightmare Moon… seemed to be speaking in earnest.

“But I will teach you,” Nightmare Moon added. “Not Celestia.”

Suddenly, the landscape shifted. No longer the Sunstone room, Twilight instantly recognized the sprawl of Equestria from the roof of the library where she’d tried raising the moon a week earlier.

The sky looked fake, like cardboard, but the moon shone clear, if only as a rippling and unsure projection behind paper clouds. It was as though the great celestial body was cooing insults in the same smug tone as Nightmare Moon, but with wavering moonbeams instead of a cold and taunting voice.

“Why?” Twilight whispered. “What changed?”

“Nothing changed,” Nightmare Moon replied. “I guess I just always wanted a student of my own. I’m not ready to kill you and Celestia is too stubborn to just die, so… I might as well occupy myself somehow. Plus, I guess Celestia’s contingency plans aren’t as foolish as I’d like to admit. When she croaks—which will be soon, for us immortals at least—I would like to have confirmation that my moon has been passed on to a darling little unicorn like you.”

Twilight continued to stare. Every word that came to her mind was merely a stunned expression of confusion. Nightmare Moon, offering to help her… and, to help Celestia… merely because she was bored…

A life of logic and of making truth from lies had shaped a mind that was now screaming insult at Twilight for even hesitating. She should be fleeing, she should be spitting in the black alicorn's face—to even contemplate trusting her was simply madness.

Wasn’t it?

What was it that Celestia had said to her? Treating ponies with compassion and respect makes them act more compassionate and respectable.

Despite all of Twilight’s calculated instincts telling her such a thing was foolish, Twilight felt a tinge of compassion that bled into a pinprick of trust towards Nightmare Moon’s words.

She had always wanted a student?

Hadn’t this same mare gone mad with jealousy and feelings of isolation? Would it truly be so odd to see her attempting to make a connection with another pony close enough to her sister to relate but not oblivious to her flaws?

As much as Twilight did not like to admit so, she did carry similarities to Nightmare Moon, or at least this recurring hallucination of her. She knew what it felt to be isolated, to be lonely, to feel so much self-hatred she dared not show…

Celestia excepted, Twilight did not have a single pony in her life who she could admit to having any measurable level of friendship with. And while Nightmare Moon’s remarks towards the concept were surely some sarcastic jibe, Twilight couldn’t chase away Celestia’s description of Princess Luna; a sad, lonely mare trying desperately to claw her way to some heightened level of respect in the eyes of at least one of her subjects. To be anything beyond a lonely little freak, or in Twilight’s case a lonely and pudgy freak.

Nightmare Moon was dead but not gone. Perhaps Luna was, too.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay a bitter pessimist.

Perhaps that was Celestia’s fault.

And what was there to lose, truly? Nightmare Moon was a danger, certainly, but she had shirked away from the Sunstone the last time Twilight had threatened her with it. There was no reason such an encounter would go any differently thanks to a change of scenery.

“Fine,” Twilight said eventually, rushing over the words before her mind changed. “But just the moon.”

"Of course," she cooed. "Just the moon. See you tomorrow morning, my dear little student."

Author's Note

Incurably Optimistic! (IX)

Twilight and Celestia traveled as far as the rails could take them.

Then, they travelled the rest of the distance on hoof, taking turns pulling a small carriage bearing an array of long-distance radio equipment Twilight had managed to scour from a junkyard outside of Neighaghra Falls. Along with the complex-looking bundle of wires, dials, and antennas, the carriage was also bearing several heavy and bustling packs perhaps better suited for homeless vagrants or refuges from the law.

…Both of which, Twilight reasoned, weren’t exactly too far off from what they truly were.

Still, Twilight could hardly complain. Train tickets typically asked for more bits than she was willing to pay, but without wings she had no real way of leaving the city of Old Canterlot. Even though their road was paved by their own sorrow and fear, Twilight felt a little content trotting down it if only for the clean air and blue skies above that were such a rarity within the stacks. At night, while Celestia slumbered against the carriage, Twilight stood awake marvelling at the stars above that she could never have known while marooned in Old Canterlot.

Celestia had woken her early the morning after the hearing—hours before she had even raised the sun. Twilight had been startled not by Celestia’s gentle prod, but rather by the look of sheer defeat in Celestia’s expression.

“I am truly sorry for waking you,” Celestia had said. “But I’ve decided I would like to leave this hopeless and dirty slum of a city. I… need to breathe clean air and collect my thoughts after last night. I did not wish for you to wake up and worry about me, nor did I wish to leave without properly saying goodbye and thank you… running, of course, on the assumption that you do not wish to follow me into the literal unknown.”

And now, here they were, wandering alone together down a long-overgrown road. Perhaps decades or centuries ago, it had seen the revolving life of many a carriage’s heavy wheels, but now the town it led to was no more than some footnote on an ancient map—unnamed and unknown to the vast majority of Equestria.

Celestia, of course, was an obvious exception.

In another time, Celestia had explained, life along the North-Eastern Coast of Equestria had been a very different one. Small towns had been spread across the entire coast, most of them fishing-settlements or ship-building harbours.

Now, though, nearly all of the towns along the Eastern Coast were memories, and towering cities lay in their place.

The long expanse between Manehattan and the Crystal Empire, however, was an empty ribbon of untrodden warm beaches, and the two mares did not meet a soul as they travelled along them. Wild geese returning for the summer or cawing albatross foraging for fish became their company.

Twilight had been pulling the carriage when she felt it grind over something other than dirt and grass. Her eyes had been locked on her hooves, but nonetheless the object the carriage had ground over seemed to be buried underneath a dirt covering that time and neglect had provided.

She stopped, digging idly at the earth and parting the dirt below her hooves to look closer at what lay beneath.

It appeared to be a sign, but most of the letters were so discoloured that they might as well have been in a different language. The occasional letter was legible, but Twilight could only guess what ‘W—ome to D—k —lls!’ was intended to mean. Celestia, however, certainly seemed to. Despite the grim silence that had hung over her for the duration of their three day travel, she smiled wistfully at the sign, clearing it a little with her own hooves and letting out a long, nostalgic sigh.

“This must be the place. We’re here.”

The overgrown path branched in two directions and Celestia did not hesitate to lead the way to the left. Twilight, however, took a moment to look in the opposite direction. What looked like the ruins of an old tourist town existed only as ghostlike images. The frame of a Ferris Wheel and carousel seemed slightly more preserved compared to the cheap houses and lonely wooden posts of some long-destroyed boardwalk, but Twilight had no doubt that in its heyday, whatever forgotten tourist settlement she was beholding had been a proud and wonderful one indeed.

Celestia, however, seemed to have her mind set on some other point, for she was standing in wait some ways ahead, staring intently forwards in the direction of the other path stretching on unbroken for some distance, surrounded on both sides by an odd blend of both pine trees and palm.

Still lugging the carriage behind her, Twilight trotted after Celestia down the other path.

To Twilight’s right, past the sand dunes and wispy bushels of ammophila, Twilight could hear the sound of the ocean’s waves lapping gently against rock and sand. It was a repetitive but soothing song, and Twilight found herself casting the occasional glance to her right, trying in vain to catch glimpses of the ocean from beyond the sand dunes. For the most part, however, she walked with her eyes locked on her hooves trudging through the dirt and sand.

She did not see the beach house before her until Celestia spoke again.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Twilight Sparkle.”

Looking up, Twilight had to blink several times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden assault of unsullied blue sky. Framed within was a tall but humble beach-house that had most certainly seen better days. Still, it was a great palace compared to the rest of the ghost town—beyond a few holes in its A-Frame roof and a largely paint-less surface, the signs of former beauty still shone as clear as day. The rear of the house was held up on sturdy wooden stilts, where come high-tides Twilight presumed the ocean would be directly beneath the rear porch.

Still, despite its rustic beauty, it was still a humble beach-house in the middle of nowhere, and yet Celestia had just identified it as her own.

“You… this is… this is yours?” Twilight blinked.

“Indeed,” Celestia said. “It is my beach house. A very, very old house at that… much older than it may appear. You aren’t the only pony to protect her dwelling with enchantments.”

Shaking her way out of the carriage’s harness, Twilight followed Celestia onto the front porch of the old house. Celestia was waiting in front of a large round door, and the moment Twilight was beside her she turned and without any further hesitation fed magic into her horn and eased the old oak door open.

The rusty hinges showed initial signs of resistance, but Celestia’s magic was firm and she managed to open the door gracefully nonetheless. She proceeded into the house at a crawl which Twilight had no choice but to echo.

The inside of Celestia’s beach house was as underwhelming as the exterior; a beautiful home for any typical pony—especially ones with the benefit of living so far from the stacks—but a humble affair for the princess of the sun. The house was for all intents and purposes three rooms. The living space made up more than two thirds of the house, with a woodstove and cooking area on one side and a cozy little study in another. Celestia’s bedroom and the house’s bathroom were both faintly visible through half-closed doors, looking equally as humble as the rest of the beach house.

Even with a tiny sliver of reference, Twilight could see that Celestia’s bedroom was decorated with several ancient paintings of Princess Luna.

“I apologize for the lack of space,” Celestia said, fanning her hoof against the dust swirling like snow. “You can have the bedroom if you wish. Or we may alternate nightly, if you would prefer that.”

“It’s your house. You should sleep in your own bed,” Twilight replied. “Besides, with a view like this, I don’t think I’d really mind sleeping on the floor.”

Indeed, the view was nothing short of stunning. The entire back wall of the house was dominated by a window that stretched across the entirety of the wall and the height of the towering A-Frame. The ambiguous line of horizon blurred between blue sky and ocean was visible from anywhere in the house.

“Indeed.” Celestia shuffled off the straps of her saddlebag. “Despite the… poor memories this house evokes, I always find myself happy to return.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Twilight agreed.

Scratching an ear, Twilight was rather tempted to add a great number of additional questioning remarks as to why they were there, of all places. Surely, with so much pain and fear on her mind, the very last place Celestia would think to flee would be a place with so many memories?

Such questions had been an ever present chorus in her mind during their three-day pilgrimage from Old Canterlot. While she had grown accustomed to Celestia’s cryptic behaviour, and while she had not lost any of the unwavering trust she’d placed in Celestia, their defeat at the hearing had added a certain layer of emotion Twilight had thought they’d buried when they had recovered the Sunstone.

The gaze of melancholic disappointment that Celestia had kept reserved for the lights of New Canterlot was now perpetually plastered on her frowning face. And once again, Twilight knew it was all directed inwardly, at her own shattered self.

Of course, Twilight could hardly fault Celestia’s desire for a moment to catch her breath, to evaluate her situation, to simply have her mind to herself without having to ward off an onslaught of slanderous claims about how much of a horrible monster she was. Twilight only hoped it was so simple, and that Celestia’s intentions to return to save the universe in some interstellar burst of incurable optimism were still a guarantee.

Even if Celestia hadn’t uttered a word expressing her desire to return.

Just as likely, a nagging voice in Twilight’s mind pointed out... Celestia had accepted her verdict at the hearing as her final defeat, and she had decided that living the rest of her days in isolation was only befitting of a failure such as herself.

The final hours before sunset passed in a strange, trance-like blur. Celestia had spent an alarming portion of them simply staring at her hooves on the porch, lost in thought and lost to the beautiful blue ocean before her. Not wanting to interrupt Celestia’s reverie, Twilight had packed a saddlebag with food and had ventured off exploring the beaches of the isolated Eastern Coastal ghost-town. Yet when she returned she was troubled to find Celestia in the same place, wearing the same expressionless frown directed at hooves fiddling with each other and with bits of the porch’s cracked white paint.

After she had sent the sun on its sinking course beneath the calm evening waves, Celestia excused herself to her bedroom in a murmur, leaving Twilight by herself on the darkling porch.

The moment she was alone, Twilight was fumbling in her saddlebags for her lighter, and the moment she withdrew it alongside her pack of cigarettes, a familiar voice rung out.

“You stood me up, you little brat.”

Without breaking her gaze towards the last traces of dying sunlight, Twilight lit her cigarette. “I’m really sorry. Something came up.”

“Well, whatever,” Nightmare Moon crossed the porch until she was standing next to Twilight. She frowned at the horizon line; as though it were familiar to her.

“Surprised to see that Celly’s come back here,” Nightmare Moon said, confirming Twilight’s suspicions.

“Where?” Twilight asked. “Where is this place?”

“Wow... you really are a mindless little slave to Celestia, aren’t you?” Nightmare Moon sneered. “You honestly don’t know where you blindly followed her to?”

Twilight sunk her head and muttered that she did not.

“She mentioned it at that little kangaroo court,” Nightmare Moon explained. “When Luna and her were having their little spat, she moved here, thinking distance would actually make a difference. And guess what? It didn’t.”

“Wait… this is…”

“It’s a nice place,” Nightmare Moon shrugged. “Did you bring the Starstone?”

Twilight was tempted to offer a growling correction, but she knew better. “Yeah. I did.”

“Well, that’s insulting,” Nightmare Moon said. “You completely forget about me, but you remembered a freaking rock. Although I guess your feeble unicorn magic needs a little boost, huh?”

“I guess it does.”

“Well at least you’re aware of your boundless shortcomings,” Nightmare deadpanned.

Silence, for several seconds. Somewhere above the waves, a seagull was howling a disconcerted protest against the falling dusk.

To Twilight’s legitimate surprise, Nightmare Moon seemed content waiting patiently, as though she were earnestly intrigued by the familiar but half-remembered horizon before her.

“Well, are you going to raise my moon or what?” she eventually said. Like a candle being snuffed out, Nightmare Moon’s patience evaporated instantly and she gave her skeletal wings a peevish rustle. “While you’re young?”

In an instant, Twilight had flicked her cigarette into the ocean and was digging into her saddlebag in search of the Sunstone. A blush fueled by embarrassment and terror had spread across her face, and she stuck her snout directly into her saddlebag in a vain attempt to keep it hidden.

Withdrawing the Sunstone crown, she set it upon her head and instantly felt its magic fade into her own.

Nightmare Moon remained silent as Twilight hunted for the magical tug of the Moon, closing her eyes as Celestia had suggested. With the Moon below the horizon, its magical tug was less prominent, but after several minutes of searching and following the Sunstone’s pulses, she managed to locate it.

Once again, as Twilight took a deep breath and prepared to guide the celestial body through the humid early-spring air, Nightmare Moon rested a skeletal wing on Twilight’s back.

“I don’t know whether or not you have enough common sense to realize this yourself...” Nightmare Moon said. “But if you ever let Celestia find out what we’ve done, I’ll make sure the last thing she hears before I rip her to shreds is your screaming voice as I—”

“I get it,” Twilight growled, keeping her eyes squeezed shut and her attention on the tug of the Moon. “Can you please let me focus?”

For a foolish moment, Twilight had presumed Nightmare Moon’s strange and egotistical lust for her own moon would stave off her pride, but when she heard magic flare to life she knew had made a grave mistake.

Her eyes jerked open, her link with the Moon crumbled, and she felt Nightmare Moon’s magic envelope her body.

It was a terrifying repeat of her fury in the Catacombs, as Nightmare Moon once more lifted Twilight off of her hooves with magic centralized around her neck.

“Do you understand who you are barking orders at?” she spat. “For such an intelligent mare, I’d think you would not act like such an idiot perpetually!”

“I’m sorry!” Twilight shrilled. “I didn’t mean to…!”

“Have you forgotten that the only reason you’re still alive at all is because I decided it would be more interesting to keep you alive?!” Nightmare Moon said. “Whatever safety you thinkyou have over me is an illusion. For your sake, I wouldn’t forget that. So don’t ever talk back to me like that again—or I'll slit the throats of every single pony you care about."

Nightmare Moon let her her magic dissipate and released Twilight with a shove. Twilight fell backwards against the porch’s railing, and the ancient and delicate affair crumbled a little, sending bits of wood and paint into the ocean below.

“Now hurry up and raise my moon, you miserable little rat.”

Twilight rose to her hooves, readjusted the Sunstone crown, and once again closed her eyes in concentration. The Moon’s magic stream showed itself with ease, and Twilight began casting her own magic as though she were levitating a feather into the air.

The Moon, of course, was no feather. As much as Twilight could feel its tug, she could do little else but allow her own magic to rub idly against it.

She had closed her eyes, but she could hear Nightmare Moon tapping a hoof against the wooden porch nonetheless, undoubtedly rolling her eyes at Twilight’s aimless attempts at casting magic.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” Twilight confessed, after wasting nearly a minute trying to shift the Moon from its sub-horizon perch. “I can’t… I can’t do it.”

“Well, try harder!” Nightmare Moon barked, giving the back of Twilight’s head a stinging slap with an armoured hoof. “Good heavens, you’re worthless!”

“I don’t know what to do!” Twilight said again, wincing for another impact the moment the feeble words left her lips. “Can you please help me?”

“First of all, open your eyes,” Nightmare Moon said, fortunately not hitting her a second time. “I don’t know why you’re closing them, but it makes you look like an idiot. Second of all, stop trying to levitate the moon. You might as well be trying to lift the planet of Equus closer to the moon.”

“But… but then how do I—”

“Shut up!” Nightmare Moon snarled. “I wasn’t finished speaking! You’re trying to use your magic like the Moon is just a tangible object in front of you. It doesn’t work like that. It’s not a matter of magical strength, it’s a matter of magical connection. Which is what the Sunstone is for.”

Twilight racked her brain, trying in vain to rationalize some course of action using Nightmare Moon’s vague answer. Eventually, the black alicorn let out a feral growl and elaborated.

“Stop using your magic to physically raise the Moon. Instead, establish a connection with the Moon first. It’s not a feat of magical ability, it’s a feat of abstract thought. Hell, it’s basically meditation. Why do you think Celestia gets so bitchy when you talk to her while she’s raising the sun?”

Twilight nodded, driving back protesting remarks towards Nightmare Moon’s hypocrisy as she refocused on the Moon, instinctively closing her eyes once again.

The Moon was there.

Twilight felt her magic cling onto its cold but welcoming stream.

Then, she let her mind wander and calm. For a moment, her thoughts were merely a looping call to silence, and then after some time they slowed into actual silence.

She imagined the Moon rising. She felt her magic coursing, but she felt it as though she were an outsider to her own influence—it was as though she were watching herself on a videotape, oddly unsure of what actions she would undertake despite already having done them herself.

The Moon was there. No longer hundreds of thousands of kilometres away, and no more than a feather hovering in her magic, and Twilight guided it upwards without thinking.

Then, like a dam bursting above an unsuspecting village, Twilight felt exhaustion suddenly sweep over her.

Twilight opened her eyes and nearly closed them again as they were assaulted by colourful sparks shooting from her own horn. A splitting headache had overtaken her thoughts, yet even through the sound of her blood rushing through her ears, Twilight heard Nightmare Moon let out a sudden chuckle.

“Congratulations, Twilight Sparkle. You just moved the Moon by less than a dozen feet.”

Twilight squinted, struggling to return focus to her world. At first, Nightmare Moon’s statement seemed to be a lie, for she could not see the Moon. Yet as she continued to stare it eventually revealed itself—a sliver of white caught in limbo between ocean and sky.

As Twilight stood staring, another wave of painful exhaustion swept over her. War drums were pounding in Twilight’s head and horn, and a hollow sense of fear had crept into her heart.

Nightmare Moon yawned. “It’s a start. Albeit a dwindling and unimpressive one… a perfect reflection of the insignificant little mare who pulled it off. Make sure you lower it before dawn. Celestia cannot know.”

“I feel… I feel exhausted.” Twilight said in between panting breaths.

While she dared not express so to Nightmare Moon, the hollow fear was still present, too. Or perhaps, Twilight realized, it was not fear but regret. Indeed, she had only succeeded in moving the Moon a sliver, but it was still a step down a path that Nightmare Moon was leading her down.

Twilight could not help but wonder if it was a path she would still be able to follow Celestia down, as well.

“Well, you’ve got all night to keep trying,” Nightmare Moon said, and yawned again. “If that Moon isn’t back below the horizon come dawn, you’re a dead mare. Hopefully that’s enough motivation for you.”

With her final threat uttered, Nightmare Moon vanished in a burst of purple mist.

iii

Twilight awoke, lightly starting as her eyes flickered open to a starry sky and a cool breeze.

Rising groggily, she found herself still on the porch. Twilight could only guess what time it was from the starry sky—the stars themselves were an unfamiliar sight, after all, and she herself had banished the Moon below the horizon, leaving herself with no other reference point.

A soft blanket had been placed on her back, and as Twilight’s eyes adjusted to the darkness lit only by starlight, she could see Celestia nearby, wide awake but slouching against the railing, her eye trained on some point she could not see and her eyeglasses folded delicately beside her.

Wordlessly, Twilight rose and sat beside Celestia. In her telekinesis she carried the blanket Celestia had given her, and she unfurled it over the princesses back. It was large enough to cover both mares, but much of Twilight’s fur was now exposed to the chill wind blowing in from the foreboding darkness of the ocean before them.

Celestia telegraphed her thanks with no more than a small smile, but after a day of silence between them it felt as though she’d just read an entire novel’s length of grateful remarks.

Twilight realized she had instinctively leaned partly against Celestia, as if for warmth in a blizzard. Neither mare had spoken, but it seemed to Twilight like her subconscious mind had decided that Celestia needed consoling all the same.

“May I ask you something, Twilight?” Celestia’s voice sounded somewhat weary—undoubtedly thanks to spending almost an entire day without using it.

“Of course.”

“Do you believe there is an afterlife?”

For a moment, Twilight simply stared as her mind reeled. Why would Celestia be asking her about the afterlife? Why would the immortal princess of the sun value any fool’s incoherent philosophical ramblings, when she herself likely knew the answer a thousand times over?

Still, Celestia had asked a question and Twilight couldn’t find it in her to simply respond with a murmured ‘I don’t know.’

Besides, Twilight had her doubts Celestia was looking for a mere yes or no.

“I think everypony likes to believe there is,” Twilight said. “I don’t know to what extent I do. I guess I just don’t like thinking about it much. The afterlife doesn’t really seem likely, but the thought of dying also terrifies me.”

Celestia did not respond beyond a slight nod of her head. Twilight scratched an ear, before awkwardly turning the initial question back towards Celestia.

“Is there an afterlife, Celestia?”

“I do not know,” Celestia replied earnestly. “Death is something I’ve only experienced externally.” Celestia frowned. “Although I do believe you are starting to become wary of my position there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not believe it would be a great surprise to you if I were to confess that I am dying, Twilight Sparkle.”

Celestia’s words sent Twilight’s mind into a reeling spiral, even if they were indeed true—it had been a taunting suspicion at the edge of Twilight’s mind no matter how hard she tried to keep it buried. Nightmare Moon’s snide remarks regarding Celestia’s fate had only further deepened the gash, and only now did Twilight realize that, as villainous as she had acted, Nightmare Moon had yet to expose herself as a liar.

“Gradually, of course,” Celestia continued. “With alicorns, I don’t imagine it is quite so simple. I imagine we take decades… perhaps even centuries to die. Even now, I don’t feel as though I am dying so much as I feel like I am... ah, falling apart. Like an old carriage. I couldn’t tell you how much longer I have, but either way I know that my days are numbered.”

The tempest of terror and dread that had sprung into Twilight’s mind only grew in intensity, but when Celestia next spoke it was in a trained and comforting calm.

“That said, it is a high number. High enough that I have a few decades before it’s a pressing concern.”

For a mare who had lived long enough to be numb to any concept of mortality, Twilight found herself taken aback by just how calmly Celestia seemed to be facing the prospect of her own death. As though it were no more than a minor little deadline that she had to accomplish all of her goals before.

Twilight wondered if Celestia’s mindset truly was so streamlined. A simple matter of making sure Equestria was safe and peaceful before she left it forever.

Shaking her head clear, Twilight instead confronted the more important question. “Is there a way we can… we can save you?”

“Save me?” Celestia cocked her head. “I am not frightened, Twilight.”

“Well, I am! I don’t want to lose you! Equestria can’t afford to lose you!”

“Which is why we must take action to ensure that it can. Besides, I am ready to die, Twilight.”

“How can you say that?” Twilight could do little more than whisper the question, although hearing it out loud filled her with enough confidence to repeat it again with stern firmness. “How can you be okay with dying?!”

Celestia’s answer was a perfect calm, as though she were praising the weather. “Because at this point, I am simply exhausted. I miss my sister and my niece, and I wish to apologize to them both. Indeed, that is the only reason I have to fear death—I fear that there truly will not be a chance for me to tell Luna and Cadance just how sorry I am, and just how much I love them both.”

Shuffling a little and slightly removing her wing from Twilight’s back, Celestia frowned. “At the risk of you seeing me as a selfish old harpy, may I confess something to you, Twilight?”

Twilight’s voice had left her again, and so she settled with a vigorous nod instead.

“...I don’t want to go back to Equestria. I have no real motivation to retake my throne, and especially not to deal out any punishment towards those who have wronged me. I would prefer to simply live the rest of my life in peace here, instead of in crosshairs back home. Life has no value to me when nopony believes I deserve it anymore.”

Even within such a hurricane of somberness, Twilight felt a lump of optimistic emotion catch in her throat. A pulsing feeling of warm compassion brought her further into Celestia’s withdrawn wing, and she peered up into Celestia’s cataract-flooded eye screaming warnings of incoming blindness.

“Princess… that’s not selfish of you at all!” Twilight said. “You have every right to ditch Equestria. They’ve beaten you down and dragged you through dirt, and now they’re blaming the mess they made on you. If you don’t want to go back—”

“I don’t,” Celestia interrupted suddenly. “But that doesn’t mean that I will not. Those fools at the trial got one thing about me right: I’m going to save my dear ponies, and I don’t give a damn how much I need to tear myself apart in order to do so. Call it optimism, if you like.”

Twilight thought it more akin to suicide, but she kept silent.

“How about now?!”

Silence, for several seconds.

“No,” Celestia replied, audible through a small hole in the decaying roof. “Just static.”

Twilight blew her mane out of her eyes and fiddled with a sparking wire. She had foolishly figured that dragging the radio equipment to the beach-town all the way from Neighaghra Falls had represented the easiest part of setting the affair up, but as she attempted to configure it on the roof of the beach-house she’d quickly realized that the equipment had been left for dead for a reason.

She'd gotten it working twice before, but only questionably so. They'd sacrificed accuracy for range—giving them access to stations as far as Baltimare, but actually tuning into any station became a shamanistic affair of tedium. Over lunch and once more over dinner, Twilight and Celestia had fiddled with the dials of the radio, selfishly hunting for stories about themselves being relayed across the radiowaves, but if any were being told they were unable to tune into them. Instead, they only found jazz music, advertisements, and at one point a Prench talkshow that Celestia had lazily translated out of boredom.

Now, once more as the sun was setting, they were carrying out their fruitless scouring of the bandwidth.

“Alright…” Twilight raised the angle of the dish so that the long antenna was pointing West, at the moon rising over the heart of Equestria. “How about—”

“Stop! There! I just heard music! Move it back a little!”

Quickly but carefully, Twilight eased the dish back down. Below her within the house, she heard the radio flare a little with static as Celestia fiddled with the tuner. The harsh white-noise quickly broke away to a voice only slightly distorted by static.

Then, Twilight nearly fell off the roof of the beach-house when Celestia let out a surprised cry.

“Blueblood?!”

Twilight wasted no time scaling down the roof and instead teleported directly into the beach-house in a flare of urgently cast magic. Celestia was still fiddling with the dials of the radio, and soon the last of the static distortion dissipated and a stallion’s voice cut through clearly.

“—frankly, a selfish and batty old harpy who’d be better off dead...”

Twilight recognized the first voice instantly, even if it was one she had only heard once before. Prince Blueblood was hardly a pony easily forgotten. Despite never having crossed paths, Twilight and Blueblood shared similar goals and mindsets—both offered vocal opposition to Flim Flam Industry’s rule, although Twilight was lacking in both the respect and the wealth that Blueblood had in abundance. He’d benefited greatly from Celestia’s alleged passing and the will she had left behind.

Prince Blueblood had been opposed to Flim Flam Industry since Celestia’s suicide, but Twilight had always known it had been for his own selfish reasons. After all, in his eyes, Celestia and Cadance’s passing meant that Equestria rightfully should have belonged to him, and his refusal to drop his royal title seemed to prove that he felt so, too.

A second, more forgettable voice next rung out after Blueblood finished his brief tirade. A radio host, Twilight figured, or perhaps some representative of Flim Flam Industry, judging by how he spoke of them.

“I hardly think Flim Flam Industry expressed such things.”

“You did, though,” Blueblood responded shortly. “You didn’t say it like that, but you still said it. As if you’re in any way qualified to talk about a mare you know literally nothing about.”

A glint of something Twilight had never before seen in such visceral intensity had begun to glow in Celestia’s barely visible smile.

“I find it absolutely hilarious that nopony saw a problem with complete strangers passing judgement against my aunt’s personal character, without actually giving a shred of testimony from anypony close to her,” Blueblood continued. “But then again, I don’t like to think Equestria is so stupid as to not see a problem with that.”

“What exactly are you trying to suggest?”

“Pretty sure anypony with a brain can see what I’m trying to suggest. But whatever, I’ll spell it out; Just because you only broadcast opinions that support yourselves doesn’t mean every bit of public opinion supports yourselves. I know this, because the only reason I got this interview at all is by waving a chequebook for you gentleponies. You seem to be quite on edge since that hearing, and I believe the public’s eye on your actions is the reason why.”

“With respect, Prince Blueblood, Flim Flam Industry won that hearing.”

“Oh did you? Because I seem to recall Celestia’s rulership competence was proven to be strong, which was the whole point of the trial. You’re suggesting you had unspoken ulterior motives?”

For several seconds, static was the only reply to Blueblood’s snidely spoken rhetorical question. It was enough time for Twilight to look over at Celestia, a grin now quite visible on the old mare’s face.

Twilight had only just opened her mouth to speak when Blueblood’s voice crackled through the radio instead.

“I mean sure, you claimed my aunt to be some monster at that hearing, and I guess in the general sense you indeed ‘won’, but you raised quite a few eyebrows as to how you pulled it off. Ponies aren’t as complacent and stupid as you were hoping they’d be.”

“Never before did any of us say—”

“Well no shit you didn’t say that,” Blueblood cut in. Even with just his voice, Twilight seemed to know that he had rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Prince Blueblood, for the third time, I need to remind you that this is a public broadcast.”

“Oh, fuck off. Like you’re gonna stop me.”

Celestia let out an audible and uncharacteristic snort of laughter.

“Oh, Blueblood,” she whispered again. “I forgot how much I missed his charm. I’m so happy to hear that it hasn’t faded.”

Twilight was unsure if Celestia had even uttered the phrase for her to respond to, and so she remained silent.

Through the radio, Blueblood was now arguing with the other stallion about Florina’s behaviour during the trial. The other stallion was offering objections in between his own assertions that Florina represented an outlier in Flim Flam Industry’s mindset, and indeed that her actions should not be taken as an exceptionless representation of Flim Flam Industry.

In retrospect, Twilight reasoned, it should have been predictable that Flim Flam Industry would confront controversy by throwing Florina before it. Then again, her own morbid pessimism hadn’t considered the possibility of controversy even existing to begin with.

“That poor mare,” Celestia said passively, as though reading Twilight’s mind. “She said herself she wasn’t qualified to deal with a criminal trial, and now she’s facing condemnation from the very ponies who put unreasonable responsibility on her shoulders. I hope she does not lose her job because of me.”

Twilight had half a mind to grab Celestia and loudly remind her that she was sympathizing with the unpleasant mare who had indirectly brought about their temporary exile in the first place, but she stayed her tongue.

After all, wasn’t she the one doing the same with Nightmare Moon?

Shaking her head, Twilight refocused her attention towards the radio receiver.

“Well…” The stallion was saying. “I believe that is most of the time we have. Have you anything to add by way of closing remarks, Prince Blueblood? Perhaps to the listeners directly, or to Princess Celestia directly?”

“Sure, why not,” Blueblood said. “To Equestria: good for you. You raised your eyebrows at a shady trial, instead of blindly taking it as fact. And, earnestly hoping she’s listening, to my aunt...”

Blueblood paused. Twilight saw Celestia visibly tense at her name, spoken not with boastings of status but instead with the distant and alien mention of kinship.

“...Princess Celestia... please don’t freak out when you find out what I did to your personal airship. I assure you it was an accident, and nopony was hurt.”

“Duly noted,” Celestia replied aloud, wearing a wide smile hiding a barely-contained chuckle. “I lost the ownership to that airship when I delivered my will and died.”

Rising to her hooves abruptly, Celestia made her way towards the front door of the house without uttering a word. Twilight listened dumbly to her hoofsteps descending from the porch outside for several seconds.

She looked to the radio, which was now playing some syncopated showtune, and found herself unable to fully understand what her present emotions truly were. While they hadn’t the benefit of context, Blueblood’s speech and mannerisms seemed to suggest some distant inkling of optimism laying in wait for them back home.

An inkling echo of an Equestria that Twilight had long thought dead.

Perhaps Equestria still distrusted Princess Celestia—Twilight did not hope for that to change over the course of several days—but they were not as foolish as she had believed. Flim Flam Industry’s shady nature had been exposed in the limelight, and their actions had reverberated further than Twilight had suspected they would.

By the time Twilight had collected her thoughts and trotted after Celestia, she was momentarily surprised to see that the clearing before the beachhouse was entirely deserted, as though Celestia had simply vanished into thin air.

Then, a clinking of what sounded like glass against glass resounded to Twilight’s right, and Celestia emerged from subterranean steps with several dusty and ancient looking glass bottles hovering in her magic. She carried them proudly back towards the house, giving Twilight a playful smirk.

“Scotch,” she gave one of the bottles a playful shake. “I presume you’ve never tried magically aged, century-old scotch before?”

Twilight stared, dumbfounded.

“We’re relaxing,” Celestia elaborated. “That’s why we came here, after all. One of the benefits of long life is you eventually become an expert in the art of fermentation. Even if it sometimes occurs by accident.”

Twilight continued to stare.

Celestia cocked her head innocently. “I presume you’re more of a wine mare? That’s fine, I have a few tankards of that, as well, although I cannot vouch for its taste.”

Twilight followed lethargically, glancing behind her at the still-open trapdoor to the cellar and back at Celestia’s energetic stride. She crossed the front lawn and porch as though in a trance, a vivid contrast to Celestia’s abruptly acquired enthusiasm.

It was not until after a fire had been lit in the decaying fireplace and Celestia had wrenched the cork off of a bottle of liquor did Twilight finally break her silence.

Twilight cleared her throat. “Is everything alright, Princess Celestia?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You… nothing, I guess. You just seem…”

Stuttering into silence, Twilight found herself unable to articulate precisely how Celestia seemed to be acting.

“I’m celebrating, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia finished for her, taking a sip of the scotch as if to prove so. “I just had my nephew who I assumed would despise me instead vouch for my rule and character. Indeed, he vouched for me before all of Equestria. Prince Blueblood said what I myself have been too frightened to say ever since I returned. I’m celebrating, because when I return to Equestria I am doing so with newfound optimism.”

“Heavens know you deserve it,” Twilight muttered, finally taking a bottle for herself and popping off the cork with her magic. “I’m just… after that talk about... you know, having no motivation to go on…”

“I know,” Celestia said. “But I’m here right now. I’m alive now, and for once I feel optimistic about the prospect.”

Twilight shrugged. It seemed like a good enough thing to drink to, and so Twilight and Celestia did long into the growing night.

“You certainly didn’t stay here long.”

Twilight did not turn to face Nightmare Moon, instead staring at the smoldering tip of her cigarette hovering in her telekinesis parallel with the ocean’s horizon-line. A sight that, come dawn, she would be putting behind herself.

“Can I ask you a question, Nightmare Moon?” Twilight asked, ignoring the black alicorn’s statement.

“I’m gonna assume you’ll ask no matter what I say. So whatever, go ahead.”

“What will it take for you to forgive your sister?”

Twilight braced herself as the words left her lips, fully expecting an armoured hoof striking her head, or some screaming insult of white-hot fury.

She certainly was not expecting a calmly-spoken counter-question.

“Forgive my sister for what?”

“For… for sending you to the moon.”

“Good heavens, you’re an idiot,” Nightmare Moon growled. “Do you seriously think my contempt towards Celestia comes from that?”

Twilight remained silent.

“Seriously. Let me ask you a question; were you dropped on your head as a filly or something?”

“I don’t understand,” Twilight said, ignoring Nightmare Moon’s jibe. “She loves you, even after everything that’s happened between you. She raises your moon even though it’s literally killing her. She waited a thousand years just to apologize. What more does she have to do for you to realize that neither of you have to be monsters to each other?”

“You’re wrong. Celestia doesn’t love me,” Nightmare Moon said. “Celestia hasn’t forgiven me, and Celestia hasn’t apologized to me, either. She’s done all that for Luna, but Luna is dead! I don’t care about Celestia at all!”

“I know that you’re not evil,” Twilight insisted. “You didn’t hurt me in the Catacombs, even when you could’ve. And you could’ve killed Celestia right then, but you didn’t. I know that some part of you doesn’t want to.”

Nightmare Moon hung her head and laughed. “Oh do you now? How heartwarming. But to answer your question: nothing. Nothing you or anypony else can do will change Celestia’s fate.”

Twilight continued staring spitefully at the horizon, running fruitless denials through her head.

Then, she snuffed out her cigarette, put the Sunstone on her head, and set to work on raising the Moon.

Author's Note

Razlagayushchiysya (Pt. III) [X]

viii

It was the last evening before the first day of spring, and it was pouring rain.

Celestia, however, paid no attention to the rain streaking down her snout nor the distant rumbling of thunder, and she instead frowned at the blurry lines before her.

Even with her glasses perched on her snout, the typewritten words on the crumbled up take-out menu were illegible.

...Even more so than they’d been in the recent weeks. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Celestia knew that her ancient, lone-surviving retina had been doing the involuntary work of two for far too long, and with far too little medical attention.

It was a terrible truth, but Celestia knew that total blindness was a daunting truth on her horizon. The last thing she needed was to have to inform Equestria that they were now following a blind mare.

Even telling Twilight was a daunting prospect. She’d already described her current physical state to the young mare as one of decay back in Dusk Falls, and flooding Twilight with even more dread seemed like it would be counter-productive to the infinite optimism she’d been attempting to radiate.

Shaking her head clear, Celestia let her mind wander to the blur of blended city lights below her. She was sitting on an eighteenth floor hotel room balcony, relishing in the cool wind blowing through her braided mane. Compared to the rest of the metropolises Celestia had seen since her return, the northern-eastern city of Neighaghra Falls had a comforting scent of pine, and calm starry nights.

Not that she’d had a chance to see the stars through the stormclouds overhead.

Before her lay a city that was both old and new, with tall skyscrapers rising alongside ancient gothic buildings. While it was true that she was only there because she and Twilight had run into the last of their bits trying to return to Old Canterlot, it was not a place Celestia necessarily minded being stranded in.

Now that Old Canterlot had been reduced to a near-bankrupt slum, Celestia had begun to consider places to make her new home. Someplace she could rule out of in relative peace. Neighaghra Falls hadn’t been on her list, but passing through the town on their pilgrimage back to Old Canterlot had brought it to her attention. It would be a good place to make Equestria’s capital once she retook her throne, she figured. Old architecture and plenty of parks and trees made it a welcome place for an archaic old harpy such as herself.

Regardless, she was damn certain it wouldn’t be New Canterlot.

Shaking her head, Celestia outstretched her magic to the sun and sent it on its way towards the horizon, before reaching for the Moon to raise it in turn.

For a moment, her near-sightless eye grew wide with shock as she found her magic unable to establish a connection with the Moon. It was as though the great body were in a different place from where she had left it.

Then, she found it again, and sent it into the sky. Any of her concerned thoughts were driven away by the sudden stabbing pain in her chest as Luna’s magic tore into her once more. For several minutes, she simply slumped against the balcony railing, breathing heavily, feeling as though her heart were ready to stop beating in her chest.

By the time her chest resumed any semblance of tranquility, the pouring rain above had turned to a steady and soothing drizzle.

Folding the rain-soaked takeout menu, Celestia began to stuff it back into Twilight’s saddlebag, which the unicorn had left on the balcony. As she opened the clasp, a glint of gold from within caught her weary eye, and she levitated the bag closer to investigate.

The object which had caught the glint of the moon was a familiar one, and one that Celestia removed with great caution, taking care not to let her magic touch the gem encased in the center of the golden crown of the faux-Element of Harmony.

Examining the Sunstone carefully, Celestia could see strands of purple hair clinging to the decorative golden swirls of the crown. The saddlebag itself had a distant odor of cigarette smoke, but Celestia thought it to be particularly poignant around the Sunstone’s crown.

Twilight had been wearing the Sunstone quite frequently as of late, it seemed.

And yet Celestia couldn’t recall having seen the unicorn with the golden crown above her head at any point during their rocky pilgrimage back to the heart of Equestria.

Overhead, the clouds parted and the Moon once more cast its silvery light onto the gold hovering in Celestia’s aura. She winced as her insides once again churned with abrupt pain, and she dropped the Sunstone onto the balcony floor with a clatter as the gem began glowing with warmth and the familiar aura of Luna’s late magic.

For one painful moment, Celestia felt a stabbing tinge of excitement at the sight—she had not seen Luna’s light blue aura for a thousand years, but she recognized it without her mind having to contemplate for more than a moment.

Then, as quickly as her illogical excitement had sprung to life, it vanished into smoky disappointment as she remembered the very explanation she’d given to Twilight in the catacombs; Luna’s soul, wedged into the Sunstone, infusing the ancient gemstone with her now-corrupted magic.

An echo of her sister. A ghost.

Despite the disappointment that had settled into Celestia’s heart following her illogical moment of wayward relief, Luna’s glowing magic refused to fade. The Sunstone kept glowing as though her younger sister were carrying it in her telekinesis.

A ghost, perhaps. Still, Celestia reasoned, it was her sister all the same.

And so, Celestia cradled the golden crown closer to her heart, ignoring the feeling of burning pain growing in her chest, and ignoring the distinctly sharp scent of her own smoldering fur.

A loud thumping was resonating in Celestia’s ears—her body instinctively panicking as foreign and certainly hostile magic flooded through her mana stream—yet Celestia drove it back and soon relished in the ensuing silence her trained and meditated brain provided her.

Still, something was wrong. The silence was not one of soundlessness, and Celestia’s meditated state was not one of calmness. Rather, it felt more akin to being kept in a trance.

From Celestia’s experience, trances weren’t normally safe states of mind to be under.

“You look terrible, Auntie.”

With surprise akin to receiving an electrostatic shock, Celestia jerked around to see her niece settling down onto the balcony beside her, giving her wings a small shake as if to stretch them after a long flight.

Cadance was still covered in every scratch and open wound Chrysalis had inflicted upon her. Sharp indentations lined Cadance’s neck—ghostly reminders of Chrysalis’s sharp teeth tearing out her beloved niece’s throat. What was left of her straggly mane hung as grey, discoloured strands.

“I mean, damn,” Cadance said, in a voice that sounded as though she had swallowed a glass of nails. Still, even through the fog of distant injury, Cadance’s joking tone was clear as day. “Can you even see out of that eye?! It looks like a freaking blizzard in there.”

Celestia blinked, but nonetheless answered. “It’s… ah, been doing the work of the other for too long, I suspect.”

“Yeah, so it seems. Although, I guess the same could be said about me, of course,” Cadance chuckled.

Silence, for several eternal seconds.

Then, without further hesitation, and without a moment’s communication, the two alicorns abruptly embraced. They both wrapped their skeletal and decomposing wings around each other. Celestia leaned into Cadance’s warmth, but there was no warmth to be found in the lich-like shadow of her niece. Cadance was as cold as death, the scent of perfume fruitlessly trying to overpower the more prominent scent of decay looming over her.

Cadance detached when it became clear that Celestia would not.

“You’re not here,” Celestia whispered, her gaze falling as her mind finally caught up with her. “I am sorry, Cadance, but you are dead. You have been dead for a long time.”

“Yes to both,” Cadance nodded. “But since when is that a reason for us not to talk?”

“I’m so sorr—”

Cadance rose a decaying hoof. “I know, Auntie. You should know thatyou don’t have to say that to me.” Turning her head, Cadance focused her iris-less eyes on the city before her. “Hey! Neighaghra Falls, right?”

Celestia nodded.

“Wow. I remember Shining taking me here once, when he went on vacation with his parents.”

“That’s when he introduced you to his little sister.” Celestia nodded again. “You met Shining and his family at the Neighaghra Falls Museum of Art. You were worried they’d try to adopt you—thus throwing a wrench in your ‘dating their son’ plans.”

Cadance giggled. Celestia laughed too—Cadance’s laughter was indeed a comforting sound. Even as a living corpse, Cadance had a voice like a song.

“I guess I did tell you that story,” Cadance said.

“You did.” Celestia smiled. “For such an old mare, I have a dreadfully acute memory.”

“So, why are you here now?”

“I am here with Twilight Sparkle, coincidentally,” Celestia said, motioning towards the hotel room. “We’re trying to make our way back to Old Canterlot.”

Cadance cocked her head. “... Old Canterlot?”

For a moment, Celestia, too, cocked her head in curiosity. Surely Cadance should—

The confusion passed. The realization set in.

In one wayward slip of words, Celestia had let Death creep back into their previously innocent conversation.

For Celestia, the world around her was becoming a familiar one, but to Cadance it was an empty void she had no knowledge of.

Instead, the unexplored and unknowable plains of death had become Cadance’s to waywardly trod through.

“I guess I’m… uh, behind on things,” Cadance sighed. She looked to her hooves. As her neck lowered, Celestia caught a glimpse of city-lights shining through the starry sky of tiny holes dotting Cadance’s neck.

Even with her eyes trained on her hooves, Cadance seemed to catch Celestia’s eye scanning the evidence of death hanging over her.

“I don’t want to go back alone,” Cadance whispered.

Celestia’s answer was instantaneous. “Then stay.”

“You know I can’t, Aunt Celestia. I have to go back.”

Celestia took a step closer. “What was it like, Cadance? Did… did it hurt? Were you scared?”

Finally, Cadance brought her sightless eyes back up to sweep over Celestia. She analyzed the taller alicorn carefully—taking in the mismatched patch of perpetually injured flesh on Celestia’s thigh courtesy of Discord, her gnarled left wing from Chrysalis, her jagged horn from Tirek. Finally, she settled on Celestia’s good eye—tired and afraid.

“Auntie…” Cadance spoke cautiously—a strange sounding affair, with her pained and deceased-sounding voice. “Do… do you want me to say something to numb your own fear?”

“I want you to tell me what you wish to tell me.”

“Then I’ll tell you the truth,” Cadance said. “It’s cold, Auntie. It’s like… like you’re freezing, but it’s not an actual cold so much as it’s emptiness. And it just keeps getting colder and colder and colder…”

Cadance stopped as her empty eyes began to water, her tears a thick and flesh-like slurry.

“And then?” Celestia pressed. She hated pushing her niece—or whatever hallucination was before her—through so much sorrow, but some primal fear seemed to be driving her own selflessness down. “Is there anything beyond? All of those stories about paradise…”

Cadance laughed despite her watering eyes. “Auntie… do I look like I’m running amok out of paradise?”

“No,” Celestia said, her gaze falling. “But death is my one final chance to see you again.”

“Then come with me. Trust me when I say I don’t want to go back to the cold all by myself. I know, I know… I sound incredibly selfish, but maybe if we both look, we can find some warm place instead.”

Against every conscious and selfless thought, Celestia found herself being swayed by Cadance’s words. Hadn’t Twilight already explained it to her? She had every right to leave Equestria in hooves other than her own—she’d done her fair share helping her ponies, she’d killed herself too many times for their benefit to ever be asked to do so again.

Would Equestria be so doomed, if Celestia left her trust in her ponies to fix it? Did she truly have so little faith in those she loved?

If ponies like Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, or Raven existed, how doomed could Equestria possibly be?

“I know it’s hard, after all you’ve done,” Cadance said. “But just for once, Auntie… do something for yourself. There isn’t shame in every defeat. Trust me, I know—I already died.”

Outstretching a skeletal hoof, Cadance smiled at Celestia—a smile so familiar it could have been plucked right from a pleasant summer memory. Her niece’s hoof was as cold as death, but even the iciness of the touch had a distant, melancholic comfort.

Celestia’s time in Equestria was limited. At the touch of her deceased niece’s hoof, and at the gaze of her empty but emotional eyes, Celestia was beginning to lose sight of whatever reason she had to continue delaying what would eventually happen no matter what she did in between.

Still, some desperate fragment of sensibility was clinging to Celestia’s consciousness, and it bade her turn her head one final time, back in the direction of the hotel room.

Twilight was laying on her back on one of the two beds, frowning at a notebook with a pen twirling in her magic.

A lump caught in Celestia’s throat, and when she made to address Cadance again, she found she was incapable of much more than a sobbing gurgle. Cadance smiled patiently and remained silent. With a nod, she wordlessly prompted Celestia to try again.

“I’m s-sorry, Cadance” Celestia whispered, once more staring at her hooves. “But I know you aren’t real. I do not know if you are my own insanity or a vision brought about by touching the Sunstone. Either way, you are no more than a siren in my mind, and I can’t leave Equestria behind to follow you.”

“Hey, no problem. Can’t blame a mare for trying.” Cadance shrugged and grinned—a mischievous yet innocent grin that showcased a maw of jagged and decayed teeth. “I hope you find peace, Auntie.”

Celestia nodded and said nothing, her gaze falling again.

In the silence, Celestia supposed, the trance ended and her delusions of Cadance followed. Once more, the logical and calculated part of Celestia’s mind ended Cadance’s life, for when she looked up, she saw no more than the night sky over Neighaghra Falls, and the Sunstone glowing slightly on the ground before her.

Shivering a little, Celestia turned back and headed towards the hotel room, as though fleeing from the balcony would allow her to flee from the troubling truth that she had exposed to herself with vivid clarity that she was a madmare.

Even her mind was betraying her, now. Just when she’d assumed it was the only immovable thing on her side.

Still… some lonely part of Celestia’s soul didn’t quite seem to care. Was it truly such a harm to her ponies that her mind decided to give her a few fleeting moments from the endless solitude fate had dictated for her?

Twilight Sparkle was still laying on her bed and scratching away at her notebook, but she perked up as Celestia slid the door open and entered.

“Hey, Celestia. I grabbed your mail from the post office while I was out,” Twilight said. Celestia heard a flutter of pages and dull thump as Twilight set down her book, before shaking a bundle of paper as if to prove something Celestia had not denied.

“Thank you, Twilight.” Celestia smiled without opening her eye. “Did you enjoy the museums?”

“I did,” Twilight confirmed. “You should’ve come.”

“I should’ve,” Celestia agreed. “To a pony like me, museums are kind of the same as Lost and Found boxes.”

Twilight laughed, and Celestia heard the cacophony of springs as she leaned back herself on her bed. “What about your mail though? You’re not going to read over it?”

“I seem to have misplaced my glasses,” Celestia lied.

“Uh. Okay. Just, there’s one from your nephew, so I figured…”

“From Blueblood?!” Celestia opened her eye—not that it changed her surroundings much—and darted up in her bed.

“Yeah. And two from Flim Flam Industry,” Twilight said. There was another rustle of pages. “Also, hey, a letter for me! That’s surprising, I never get mail!”

Celestia smiled, the subtle shift of her lips causing her to break out in a mighty yawn. There was the loud sound of a tearing envelope as Twilight opened her letter with fervour.

Then, after a brief rustling of paper, the unicorn let out a long sigh of disappointment and fury.

“It’s a court summons,” Twilight grumbled. “I’m being accused of felony tax avoidance. Marvelous.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia sighed. What taxes were required of a unicorn who was for all intents and purposes a homeless vagabond was beyond her. “I don’t imagine their letters to me bear much better news.”

“Probably not,” Twilight said dejectedly. “Want them anyways?”

“I do,” Celestia nodded. “But I cannot read them without my glasses, remember?”

“No problem,” Twilight said. “I can read them aloud for you, if you’d like.”

Celestia smiled warmly, although the nature of her lie had begun to cast her thoughts in a dark light. The thought of losing her sense of sight was a daunting one, and her continuous denial offered no solace.

“I would very much appreciate that, Twilight.”

Nodding, Twilight cleared her throat, unfurled the letter, and began.

“To the desk of Miss Celestia,

Your presence is cordially requested with a representative from Flim Flam Industry’s board of directors, in a private location and setting of your choosing.

We wish to discuss plans to move forwards in harmony and cooperation, with the hopes of seeking a solution that benefits both of us. We wish to discuss plans of ascending you to an advisory position in the Equestrian Government, as well as providing appropriate compensation treatment for emotional trauma caused by your imprisonment.

Please respond with haste, by return address.”

Twilight breathed deeply after she finished, setting the letter down. “This bullshit again. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Celestia was silent.

“‘Advisory position,’” Twilight repeated. “What a worthless thing to dangle in front of you. ‘Hey, we know we tortured you and stole your throne and have been called out for lying to the public about you, but maybe if you’re allowed exclusive access to our government’s freaking suggestion box, you’ll—!’”

“Twilight,” Celestia cut in. “There is no reason to grow upset at this.”

“You’re not impatient with them?!”

“They seem to realize now that they cannot simply… ah, ‘snuff me out.’ Their request for a ‘private’ location, for example, is particularly intriguing. They don’t hope to win by publicly humiliating me anymore. They know that they cannot win without first bargaining with me. Do you know what this letter tells me?”

Twilight turned, facing the wall before her instead of Celestia or the lights of Neighaghra Falls beyond. “What?”

“It tells me that they are becoming afraid of me,” Celestia said. She let out a long breath from her nose. “I just wish they’d stop giving me reasons to be frightening. It is beginning to wear me out.”

Twilight mumbled some indignant insult towards Flim Flam Industry that Celestia only partially heard. Celestia rolled over, her weak eye closed to the dimly lit hotel room. She listened to Twilight shuffle about with her notebook for several more minutes, before eventually shutting it and violently striking her pillow a few times as she prepared for sleep.

They laid in silence in the dark hotel room, both mares listening to each other’s breathing—Celestia’s peaceful but wary, and Twilight’s shaky and nervous. Somewhere outside, far beyond the lights of Neighaghra Falls, a faint-yet-long roll of thunder echoed across the north-eastern sky.

By the time the thunder finished its harsh song, Celestia had worked up the courage to pose one final question, before sleep tore it from her.

“Twilight… recently, I’ve been thinking—have you ever seen Flim or Flam?”

“Mmm. Whaddayamean?” Twilight said, exhaustion slurring her words into one.

“I mean… in the flesh, have you ever seen them?”

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

“Have you ever met anypony who has?”

“Uh… I imagine I probably did,” Twilight said, sounding quite unsure and quite eager to return to trying to sleep. “I think. Why?”

“I… don’t know,” Celestia said, and let out a long breath from her snout. “It seems strange, that’s all… that they haven’t confronted me yet. That… that trial with Florina… they must have been afraid that they’d project a horrible image of themselves by not showing up—if even just to watch. Yet they did not show up, anyways.”

“I doubt they actually do much for the actual industry anymore. I think they’re more of an image than anything.”

“Mm.” Celestia rolled over again, straightening her pillow with a flare of magic. She did not reply further, and soon Twilight’s breathing had lapsed into obvious unconsciousness.

It was a rather unsettling thought—if Twilight was correct, then her opposition truly had no face to reason with—but it was a thought that seemed to explain just why her return to Equestria had been met by representatives of something larger, instead of the large thing itself.

She doubted she’d be given the truth forthright the next day nor any day beyond, and some part of her was hoping for more lies. If Blueblood’s claims held any water, it seemed she was no longer the only mare who saw them as such.

When Sombra’s army had fallen, Celestia’s troubles with the Crystal Empire had hardly vanished. Instead, they bared their teeth once more, not as a violent problem but as a sociological one.

When Celestia had pardoned Sombra’s brainwashed populace and invited them into Equestrian soil, her problems once more resurfaced as she was criticized by the tongues of her own ponies.

She could hardly blame them. In less than a year she was giving Crystal Pony refugees homes and jobs in Equestrian soil. The same ponies who had killed her own were now being welcomed into her very country. They were being given jobs alongside members of an army that, twelve months prior, had been at the height of war with them.

It was a time Celestia had dubbed the Bloody Peace.

Racism was rampant in her country—a thing Celestia would never hope to see in her ponies was violence towards each other, but when the Equestrians refused to see the Crystal Ponies as a component of each other, such hopes became obsolete. Still, Celestia had remained firm. The Crystal Ponies were seeking reconciliation and safety. They’d lived in fear even long before the war, and Celestia wasn’t about to let a few insults launched at her overly-soft rule dilute her desires to help.

Now, walking through the Crystal District of Neighaghra Falls, Celestia saw that the division between her ponies was still present—albeit not nearly as violent as it had been in times past. Nonetheless, the Crystal Ponies had been shoved into one neighborhood of the city, one with bright and shining buildings that contrasted against the archaic gothic architecture of the rest of Neighaghra Falls.

Of course, Celestia was more surprised by just how many of the Crystal Ponies seemed to be bowing as she passed—as though she were some great hero to them. As though she were anything but the general to an army that had defeated them in the past.

A little voice in her mind reminded her that she had defeated Sombra and had liberated the Crystal Ponies, but her own pride towards war and victory was no more than a feeble little whisper. She ignored it with ease.

Still, the blurry forms of ponies in her peripheral bowing in her presence was something that, in ten years, she had forgotten how much she had despised.

The experience was made all the more unpleasant by Celestia’s relatively brisk pace—she had no desire to keep a representative of Flim Flam Industry waiting for her in a Neighaghra Falls park. Not when she herself held such a high regard for basic manners and professionalism.

As she approached the park, Celestia flared her magic around a paper bag she had tucked under her wing. She withdrew the small plastic device within, examining the large rings of thick black tape encased within the plexiglass. The shopkeeper she had purchased it from had shown her how it had worked, and she obeyed his teachings by pressing a button with a circle upon it. The reels began to turn, and she concealed the device in the feathers of her wing as she approached the park.

If Flim Flam Industry were allowed to weaken her using underhanded techniques, she hardly had any moral objections to recording whatever conversations they deemed so private that her ponies couldn’t hear them, too.

She met her pony in a park located on the outskirts of the Crystal Pony district. It was built across from the great Neighaghra Falls, and offered a clear view to the large shipping freighters below, and one great lumbering airship above. Across the wide river, Celestia could faintly see the cheap but tall hotel that she and Twilight had made their temporary home for the week.

“Good morning,” Celestia offered a hoof to the pony sitting at a bench and facing the falls. To her surprise, the mare was many years younger than even Twilight; she seemed to be in her early-twenties, and such was being generous. Nonetheless, she wore a rather earnest smile and shook Celestia’s hoof with grace and professionalism.

“Same to yourself, Miss Celestia. My name is Silver Spoon, and I’m here...”

“On behalf of Flim Flam Industry,” Celestia interrupted with a polite nod, smiling widely and withdrew her hoof. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Silver Spoon.”

“Likewise. What brings you to Neighaghra Falls, Miss Celestia?”

“Travelling,” Celestia replied. “Back to Canterlot, actually. I… ah, admittedly wanted to have some time to myself following…” Celestia broke off. She shook her head with a sheepish smile. “Uh… nevermind. I don’t wish to waste your time with pleasantries, since I presume you’re a busy mare.”

“Thanks, but I’m really just an intern, actually,” Silver laughed. “That’s flattering of you, but I’m only here because my supervisor didn’t wanna come himself—”

Silver stopped abruptly, much like how Celestia had moments before.

Celestia did her best not to become indignant that Flim Flam Industry had saw fit to send what was in essence a child to deal with her affairs. It was as though they saw her as no more than a pestersome old mare with petty gripes.

Of course, the other obvious option was that whoever Silver Spoon’s superiors were had been too afraid to come. It was a somewhat more welcoming option, although only slightly so.

Whatever they were playing at, Celestia had no doubt it was intentional, and she had no desire to reward them with any expression of annoyance or indignation at their treatment of her. The last thing she needed was some journalist watching her bark orders at a cowering young mare in a public park.

“Uh, anyways…” Silver Spoon scratched her ear. “You probably got the letter, right?”

“About my ‘advisory position.’” Celestia nodded. “I did. I wish for you to elaborate upon that, if you do not mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Silver Spoon said. She reached into a cluttered looking briefcase that looked too large for her, and withdrew a few pieces of paper. “Here, I even printed an extra copy of the Employment Legislation Report for you!”

“Employment Legislation Report?” Celestia cocked her head.

“Yeah. Highlights what’s expected of you.”

Celestia frowned as she examined the document further, only to realize it was completely illegible, even with her eyeglasses on her snout.

“I apologize, Miss Silver Spoon, but I cannot for the life of me make any of these words out. Please forgive my age.”

“Oh! I’m really sorry! Darn it, I should’ve thought to give you a large print version!”

“My dear, please don’t apologize for that. Now… please share with me what my position as an Advisor to the State entails.”

“W-well…” Silver Spoon scratched her ear again. Celestia figured the poor young mare had not been expecting to have to explain in detail what was expected of the very Princess of the Sun. Silver Spoon must have spent enough time obeying memos from ‘higher-ups’ to come to expect non-verbal communication as the norm. She surely would have been expecting some representative working for Celestia, instead of the princess herself.

Even during her rule, Celestia had hated communicating important events through other ponies. She liked to believe her ponies had the right to hear things directly from her. Even reading her subject’s letters to her had become an almost hobby-like fascination to her between court sessions, and certainly worth her own time.

“B-basically...” Silver Spoon began nervously. “You’re going to be given the right to voice your complaints directly to the heads of state. They will also request your opinions on complex situations, and listen to your suggestions for solving them or for benefitting Equestria. Your wage situation is to be calculated depending on your—”

“Wait a moment, please,” Celestia interrupted. “What power would this position grant me?”

“Well… a very vocal voice in the direction of leadership of the very country, and the economical…” Silver Spoon broke off, glanced at her document, and continued. “The economical situations of the country.”

“Mm. But no power to actually affect them myself?”

“Uh… again, communication is the power that this ‘advisory position’ presents you with.”

“I…” Celestia began, but sighed, bringing a hoof to the bridge of her snout. “Look, Miss Silver Spoon. I appreciate this offer and I appreciate you coming all the way here to tell me of it, but this is considerably insulting to me. What you are ‘granting’ me is the same right that your government flaunts in order to assert themselves ‘superior’ to mine. You’re treating the opportunity of public criticism and expression as though it is a gift to ponies. That isn’t a position of power in the slightest. It is a basic, fundamental right. The fact that Flim Flam Industry sees it as otherwise is rather frightening.”

“I’m… I’m only relaying what I was told...”

“I know you are, my dear,” Celestia cooed soothingly, already beginning to regret taking on such a sharp tone with the young mare. “I am not angry with you. I am not angry with Flim Flam Industry either, truly. I am merely disappointed that they refuse to treat me like anything more than a petulant child.”

Silver Spoon nodded, seemingly reduced to shell-shocked silence.

“Please, look at things from my perspective for a moment,” Celestia said. “I was unjustly robbed of my title, imprisoned, tortured, and condemned to death. I escape, seeking not revenge but instead a peaceful reconciliation, showing utmost transparency concerning my own actions and making no moves to blame Flim Flam Industry for their crimes. I have made it considerably clear that I wish to peacefully retake a country that was unrighteously taken from me. Now tell me, does this ‘advisory position’ truly make sense in that context?”

“N… no.”

“No, it does not,” Celestia agreed. “Actually, how may I go about speaking to your superiors? I have a great number of things I wish to tell them.”

“I can… I can deliver a letter to them.”

“Good. Then do so,” Celestia said. She stared expectantly, until Silver caught her cue and dug out a notepad from her notebook. “I want you to tell them that they’d better start treating me seriously and maturely. They’re forcing my hoof into action with their refusal to co-operate, but frankly I’m reluctant to do so. Nonetheless, I’m going to send you back to your superiors with a little synopsis of what I project is going to take place.

“Firstly, they are to publicly apologize for their crimes against me. I’ve proven that I am willing to confess to my past deeds and be completely open about them, but Flim Flam Industry have not given me nor Equestria such luxury. This needs to change, and I know that Equestria is beginning to see so, too. So, with this said, I wish to speak with Flim and Flam in person, and publically as before. I have a number of concerns, one of such is their refusal to confront me, and I want to address the ponies directly responsible. I believe they would agree that an affair such as that sham of a trial should never take place again, for the benefit of us both.”

Silver Spoon had developed a look of sheer and unadulterated terror, one that the mention of Flim and Flam in person did little to ease.

“Is there a problem with my requests?” Celestia asked, cocking her head.

“N… w-well… I don’t exactly think Flim and Flam are… uh… available. I don’t know of anypony who has spoken with them.”

“Wait a moment,” Celestia said, struggling to fight her indignation down. “Not available?! They are the heads of their government!”

“I… uh, think you… misunderstand. Flim Flam Industry are the head of the government, but Flim and Flam haven’t been affiliated with the company itself for some time.”

“Some time?” Celestia repeated. “Elaborate, please.”

“I... can’t. I don’t actually know with certainty.”

“Unbelievable,” Celestia said. “How out-of-the-loop is Equestria being kept?! Who the blazes is the head of power then?”

“I… I think it’s a… a sort of group committee. B-board of directors, I think.”

“This is… terrifying,” Celestia said bluntly. “You don’t even know, do you? You work for the bloody corporation, but you don’t even know who runs your own country. You just know the faces of the figureheads for a corporation.”

Silver Spoon sunk her head and mumbled something incoherent. Celestia truly did not care what she had said, anyways.

“Tell me, Miss Silver Spoon. When was the last time you have heard or seen Flim or Flam in the flesh?”

“I d-don’t know.”

“Are they even still alive?”

Even with her head sunk, Silver Spoon looked as though she was about to break down in tears. “I don’t know.”

“Unbelievable,” Celestia said again. “Twelve years. Twelve years, a few useless trinkets and promises, and one measly scapegoat named Princess Celestia is all it took to turn my beloved ponies into a bunch of blind sheep. Tell this… this ‘board of directors’, then, that I wish to speak with them. In person. And if they refuse again, if they send another child to collect me, I will march to New Canterlot and I will force them out of my throne with sunfire. Have I made myself quite clear? Will that letter be explicit enough for your superiors to understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Then do it,” Celestia said. “And, before I go, I’ll offer you a word of advice, Miss Silver Spoon. You are a polite and sweet young mare, and I imagine you will go on to do good things in your life. Still, if I were you, I would distance yourself from following this corporation too closely.”

Celestia did not say anything further. Instead, she turned tail to the speechless filly and started trudging across the park, back towards the city.

Once more, as Celestia was once more traversing the city streets, she became aware of nearly every Crystal Pony she passed descending into respectful bows. It occurred in such intensity that Equestrians began to as well, evidently seeing themselves as outnumbered.

Celestia was doing her best to once again respond to the bowing ponies with a simple grateful nod, when to her surprise a small gaggle of half-a-dozen Crystal Ponies actually approached her proper.

They looked quite terrified, and it took the encouragement of all of her friends for one mare to finally step forwards and speak.

“Your Majesty, it is a great honour to have you grace our community here. When rumors spoke of the great Princess Celestia being in Neighaghra Falls, we were all quite hoping for you to arrive. And now you have! If there’s anything we can do to help you in any way, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Oh my,” Celestia said, taking no action to disguise her surprise. “Thank you very much, my dear! I was not expecting such a warm reception to follow me—considering I am doing little else but making my way back to my hotel.”

“I believe I speak for most of us that we are greatly indebted to you. Your courage and mercy surely know no bounds.”

“Thank you,” Celestia said again, still quite taken aback at how she was being received. Then again, she supposed she should not have been so surprised to be praised by a generation of ponies that, a little over a decade ago, had been slaves to a nearly-merciless tyrant.

“Truthfully…” the Crystal Pony mare began, her voice little more than a nervous whisper. “It is a good day for you to be in Neighaghra Falls—it is the first day of Spring, and as such we are having our annual community feast to celebrate the melting snow and coming summer. We would be honoured if you attended.”

A wide smile split across Celestia’s face. “I… am nearly speechless. I wouldn’t want to intrude upon any previous plans.”

Despite her nearly overpowering nervousness, the mare smiled earnestly. “Your Majesty, with respect, you freed us from slavery and from war, and welcomed us into your country in our time of need while even your own ponies were crying for our execution. Inviting you to a traditional annual gathering is a fraction of the reception you deserve.”

“Well,” Celestia said, smiling widely. “I would be very pleased by that indeed. I am very grateful for the respect and love you ponies have shown me.”

And truly, she was.

Celestia followed the group of ponies into the heart of the Crystal District, wearing a rare smile of genuine gratitude.

When Twilight awoke, Celestia’s bed was empty, and the princess was gone.

As the day turned to night, still, Celestia did not return.

When the Sun finally fell and Celestia had not returned, Twilight Sparkle made her way to the roof of the hotel to instead await Nightmare Moon.

She did so with a pot of boiling tea and a box of store-bought cookies floating in her magic.

“The hell?” Nightmare Moon growled as her chosen greeting. “Expecting somepony else?”

“No, I just thought…” Twilight sunk her head shamefully. “I just thought maybe you’d… uh…”

“How adorable,” Nightmare Moon said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “A thousand years ago I had madponies offering their own blood as sacrifice. Today, I’ve got a chubby unicorn freak offering me cookies.”

“I’m just trying to be—”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Nightmare Moon said. “But it’s going to take a little more than cookies and tea to make me respect you. So get that tiara on your ugly head and get to work.”

Twilight did not hesitate, and soon enough she was extending her magic to the Moon above.

The rest of Twilight’s night passed in a blur of repetition and ferocious focus, as she raised and lowered the Moon again and again at Nightmare Moon’s command. The whole while, the midnight alicorn was watching her with a stern glare, one contradicted by her occasional nibbles of the cookies that Twilight had brought with her. Despite Nightmare Moon’s ridicule and vitriol upon her arrival, she seemed content to mostly watch Twilight and offer the occasional cold word of advice.

For the most part, Nightmare Moon remained silent for much of the night.

The Moon dipped below the horizon, and then was promptly guided back upwards again, a countless flurry of repetition. It was hidden behind a thick cover of rainclouds, and Twilight was thankful for their presence. The last thing she and Celestia needed were rumours of Discord’s return.

Twilight began guiding the Moon upwards once more, and she almost failed to hear Nightmare Moon over the course of her sparking magic.

“Huh.” Nightmare Moon had said, although her attention seemed to be directed at the streetcars weaving through the streets twenty-floors below. “Good work, Twilight Sparkle.”

For a moment, the Moon paused its ascent as Twilight’s mind reeled in surprise.

“Did you j-just s-say—”

“I didn’t say stop, shitwit,” Nightmare Moon snarled.

“Sorry!” Twilight squawked, hastily guiding the Moon the rest of the way. The Sunstone was glowing frantically, as though struggling to keep up with Twilight’s own rapidly flowing magic. Twilight knew with a sort of morbid pride that she was no longer relying solely on the strength of the Sunstone—every time the Moon ascended, it did so thanks to a bit more of Twilight’s magic and a bit less of the Sunstone’s.

When the Moon was once more at the peak of the midnight sky, Nightmare Moon spoke again.

“Yes, Twilight Sparkle. You heard me correctly earlier. You are treating my Moon with the respect it deserves. I am…” Nightmare Moon trailed off, her head sinking as she nervously scratched an ear. “Referring to your training… I am proud of my achievement. It has not been easy.”

Twilight hid her smile with effort. She was hardly surprised that Nightmare Moon would try to take full credit for a compliment she had thoughtlessly uttered, but she was certainly surprised it had left the alicorn’s eternally snarling maw in the first place.

Seeing Nightmare Moon act like a stern schoolteacher caught in a moment of pride filled Twilight with a sense of optimism that Celestia’s incurable positivity had oddly failed to deliver.

“Thank you for teaching me, Nightmare Moon. I appreciate you granting a pony like me your time.”

Nightmare Moon clicked her tongue, grinning despite her apparent efforts not to. “Very good. I daresay I am starting to like you. You have a skill, but possess enough humbleness not to see yourself as anything beyond your own measly place. You’re a pawn and you see yourself as such.”

“T… thank you,” Twilight said again, not knowing how else to respond. Against her better judgement, she let emotion take control of her tongue. “I like speaking with you, Nightmare Moon. Sometimes I feel like Celestia is so afraid of making me feel inadequate that she refuses to really be honest with how she feels about me. It’s refreshing to speak with somepony who can respect me without treating me like some prodigal daughter.”

Nightmare Moon frowned. “I don’t think ‘respect’ is an accurate word. I think the word you are searching for is ‘tolerate.’”

Twilight sunk her head in apologetic shame, but Nightmare Moon did not seem to be very offended. Never before had Twilight seen Nightmare Moon with such a calm and thoughtful disposition. She had not even raised her voice once over the course of their mentoring session.

“Mmm,” Nightmare Moon hummed pensively. “You are using the Sunstone considerably less now, aren’t you?”

Twilight nodded.

“I must admit I am impressed,” Nightmare Moon said. “Take the crown off and make an attempt.”

“Raise the Moon… without the Sunstone?”

Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes impatiently. “Yes. I don’t see how that sentence could have been interpreted any other way.”

“I’m just… it’s… it’s two in the morning, and we’ve been going at it since sundown—”

“I’m not asking you to do it, you whiny brat.” Nightmare Moon rose to her hooves, her tone sharpening as her glare did the same. “I’m ordering you to do it. Don’t disobey me—ponies who have done that have exhibited a rather pathetic life-to-death ratio.”

“Okay,” Twilight sighed in defeat. “I apologize.”

“That is intelligent of you.”

Once more, Twilight turned her magic to the Moon, but only after removing the Sunstone from her head and setting it down at her hooves. Nightmare Moon watched passively as she struggled to find a connection with the Moon. Twilight tried not to be irritated by Nightmare Moon’s obvious impatience, considering Nightmare Moon had been the one who had demanded they continue in the first place.

Had it been Twilight’s choice, she’d be back in the hotel sleeping.

“Stay focused, Twilight Sparkle,” Nightmare Moon cooed. Even with her eyes shut in concentration, Twilight could feel Nightmare Moon approaching her—the black alicorn carried about her an ever present aura of dark magic that seemed to chill the entire immediate world around Twilight. It was an iciness akin to a crypt or a catacomb, and it hung over Nightmare Moon like cheap perfume.

Still, Nightmare Moon’s whispering remark was hardly the demanding tone that Twilight had observed when Nightmare Moon had first begun to terrorize her. Indeed, ever since Celestia’s beach house, Nightmare Moon’s abrasive attitude towards her had begun to diminish—although Twilight doubted anypony else would have noticed a change. Nearly every sentence Nightmare Moon spoke was still typically a patronizing or commanding one, but no longer was her every remark spoken as a barking order or retort. Indeed, she seemed to carry some thin level of respect towards Twilight, and even if it was only because of the usefulness Twilight presented to her, she found herself honoured it even existed in the first place.

Twilight had proven what Celestia had denied; Nightmare Moon was not an unchangeable, murderous fiend. She did not seem to be the simple black to Luna’s white, as Celestia claimed. She was a mare, with her own goals and fears.

The hotel roof was cast in a spectrum of purple as Twilight’s magic continued reverberating without direction into the black sky above, searching for the Moon’s tug with no assistance beyond Twilight’s own feeble attempts.

Abruptly, and without quite understanding how, Twilight’s magic strayed upon the Moon, for but a brief moment, before vanishing back into the night sky’s void. Still, in the split-second she had made contact, Twilight had pulsed her magic in the mad hope that it would somehow affect the great celestial body above her.

“Stop casting magic,” Nightmare Moon said abruptly. “Twilight Sparkle… the Moon just moved.”

“I… I’m trying—!”

“No, you aren’t trying,” Nightmare Moon interrupted, frowning. “You are succeeding. You moved the Moon on your own will. Without my assistance or the Starstone on your head.”

“I only moved it by a hair, though!” Twilight protested.

“You moved the bloody Moon, Twilight Sparkle,” Nightmare Moon said. Twilight cringed as Nightmare Moon’s painfully icy wing rested on her back. “You have my permission to be a little proud of yourself. You’ve proven my hopes. Now, go sleep or gorge yourself with pastries or whatever it is you do when you’re not benefiting Equestria in your own pathetic little way.”

Author's Note

The Ghost Inside (XI)

Celestia smiled at the young Crystal Pony before her as she refilled Celestia’s near-empty cup of tea.

“Kaniqsali,” Celestia said, lowering her head gratefully and sipping the expertly-brewed crowberry tea. She was slightly worried her fluency in the Crystal Empire’s ancient tongue had waned, but it seemed her language skills had not tapered away over the many years.

Against her own logical thought, Celestia had been surprised when she had learned just how predominant the ancient language had been. When Sombra had taken over the Empire over a thousand years ago, one of the first changes he had made had been to the Crystal Empire’s native tongue. He had encouraged his slaves began speaking Equish and not their ‘prehistoric nonsense’, although Celestia knew that his slaves had continued learning their own tongue in secret—a subtle and unspoken jeer against his tyranny.

When Celestia’s army had begun to overtake his, and when the Crystal Ponies had realized they were being freed and not judged by the Equestrian armies before them, the rejoicing of liberated slaves had been screamed to the swirling snows in voices once reserved to terrified hushes far outside the Empire's ears.

Celestia herself had known the language long before Sombra had control of the Crystal Empire. She had learned it out of respect and a strong desire not to be seen by the Crystal Ponies as some gaudy, bumbling tourist, but instead a wise and kind leader who valued their culture enough to be genuinely intrigued by their traditions.

And indeed, as she looked at the glimmering and shining hall of the Neighaghra Falls’ Crystal Pony Community Center, it was quite clear that the Crystal Empire’s traditional values were still held in high regard.

Celestia had hardly made an attempt to disguise how ecstatic she had been to see such a thing. In a world where arcane values were dying and ponies were beginning to cling more and more to symbols of planned obsolescence, it felt refreshing to see so much merit placed in simple traditions.

It certainly was of assistance that, less than thirty years prior for the Crystal Ponies—although much longer for Equestria—their own traditions were struggling in vain to coexist with tyranny and slavery. Sombra had tried his damndest to snuff out every smouldering ember of the Crystal Empire’s culture, and yet even through wars and blizzards and torture and summary executions, their culture had survived where slavery and brutality had eventually ceased to be.

Even amongst their frequent judgement from the tongues of Celestia’s own former subjects, it became clear to Celestia that optimism had formed the new doctrine of the Equestrian Crystal Ponies’ lives. Such was even evident in the humble little community affair Celestia had found herself attending. A hearty feast, celebrated more like a triumphant greeting to Spring, than an angry hoof shaken towards the Winter that had preceded.

Celestia had found herself quite fond of optimism over her life. It rarely disappointed, in the longer run.

She had been welcomed to the celebration with nary an officious remark to be heard. She was not seen as an outsider but instead greeted as the leader she had once been. A friend to the family—as though they were innocently intruding upon their own homes at the same time. Celestia could do little else but sheepishly smile and offer her thanks, wishing waywardly that her foolish repetition of ‘Kaniqsali’ could properly articulate how grateful she truly was.

It became increasingly obvious, as the evening drew to night, that in the long weeks to follow, Celestia had the nearly unwavering support of the Crystal Ponies. They seemed to feel indebted to her, and while Celestia blushed guiltily at the very thought, she could not deny feeling somewhat grateful that she had already secured such a heavy body of support merely by being herself.

While she had been ecstatic to see such celebrations in full-swing, Celestia had found herself content to silently watch the blurry outlines of dancing ponies, and occasionally tapping her hoof along to a lively tune played by some lute-like stringed instrument.

On occasion, some pony had nervously cleared their throat next to her, and she turned with a patient smile as they spoke—most often expressing thanks, but occasionally offering their condolences to Celestia’s own present state of affairs, telling her how sorry they were to see that the mare who had liberated and forgiven them was now left alone to fight for both her life and for her country.

Celestia had responded each time with a murmured ‘Kaniqsali.’

After dinner—and several glasses of vodka—she had been asked to give a short speech. A little taken aback, she had stringed something together regarding hope and the future, and her inexpressible gratitude towards the Crystal Ponies for their welcoming response. The speech, as perhaps haphazard as it had seemed to her, was expressed earnestly, and Celestia had only stumbled on her words once—as it turned out, there were no K’aniqutut words for ‘corporation’ nor ‘democracy.’

Not even a moment after she had sat back down to the tune of a symphony of clinking glassware, did a familiar voice shatter the comfort her own speech had given her.

“You always did have a thing for the garbage these unevolved snow-eaters pass as alcohol, didn’t you Celestia?”

Celestia bristled in surprise and terror. Her glass of vodka hit the table with a loud thud, the heavy crystal affair fortunately not shattering. Still, a few nearby ponies started in surprise, and Celestia tried her best not to show her terror.

And beside her, King Sombra gave a snorting laugh.

“Ta prze’ja,” Celestia murmurred apologetically to the few ponies still staring, quickly wiping up the spilled vodka with a couple of nearby disposable napkins.

“Still embarrassing yourself with that unevolved snowspeak?” Sombra sneered. “Goodness. By the way, and I mean no offense, but you look horrid, Celestia.”

Celestia did not reply. She knew better than to start talking to herself in the middle of a crowded community hall. Nightmare Moon’s presence had a logical explanation, but Celestia had no doubt in her mind that Cadance and Sombra were some product of her decaying mind. She did not wish to give Sombra the dignity she had given Cadance, for unlike her niece, it was a vision that offered her no solace.

“...And I don’t just mean the eye,” Sombra continued. “Although that’s disgusting in its own right. But when, precisely, did you grow so old?”

“Somewhere between age two-thousand and age two-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-two,” Celestia growled sarcastically in return, keeping her voice low.

“Well you’re a far cry from the Celestia I once loved.”

“The Celestia you once loved was a fool, Sombra,” Celestia replied. “A fool who never once returned your advances upon her. And that will never change.”

This time, Celestia had said the words with venom.

She instantly regretted doing so when she realized several nearby ponies had perked their ears in her direction, with their passive expressions quite deliberately trained away from Celestia—as though they were trying to listen closely whilst appearing otherwise.

“Considering you literally murdered me, I don’t think I have much ammunition to argue that,” Sombra replied. “I remember that clearly, you know.”

“I do too,” Celestia said. “I have nightmares about my actions from time to time. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Sombra replied. “Not for me. You’re only sorry for yourself. You’re only sorry your immaculate little ‘conflict-free-victory record’ was once again shattered.”

“That’s a lie!” Celestia growled, once more with a bit more intensity than she had intentioned.

“Ponies are staring, Celestia,” Sombra taunted, and Celestia could see that he was right. No longer a few turned heads; she had attracted the attention of most of the ponies near her lonely table. “The wretched, archaic, gibberish-speaking jewlery-ponies are staring.”

Celestia bristled at his insult, but she knew that he was not mistaken.

So, she looked to the Crystal Ponies gazing at her, gave them a small smile, and abruptly told them that she needed to go. She did not linger long enough to see if any concerned ponies had followed her, and instead quickly made her way to the ‘exit’ sign in the back of the community hall.

She trotted down a few metal steps that took her into a dimly-lit alleyway, where Sombra was already waiting.

“Couldn’t afford to dent your messianic image, could you?”

“Shut up, Sombra,” Celestia replied, trotting past him without turning.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? My ponies bowing to your glory? Equestria wasn’t enough for you, hrm?”

“Shut up!” Celestia said again. “I never wanted any of this! All I wanted was for things to be right!”

“Is that why you lied in all of the history books?”

This time, Celestia stopped in her tracks.

“I did not.”

“You did,” Sombra replied breezily, a small frown on his face. “A thousand years ago. You said that I threw the first stone at Equestria. I did not. You invaded us.”

Celestia’s maw twisted in a sneer, and she continued walking. “I tried to free a nation from tyranny, after your subjects begged me to do so.”

“By the non-existing gods, you’re a hypocrite,” Sombra said. “What makes you so sure that you’re right, hrm? What makes you think you’re right about this?!”

Sombra motioned wildly at the smog-filled-sky above them, at an Equestria that neither of them possessed now.

“Allow me to recap,” Sombra continued. “Your subjects turned away from you. They begged some other leader for a change. That other leader gave them their change, and they loved it. Now, you are back and trying to take back what is yours."

Celestia once more stopped, her eyes locked on the silent evening streets of Neighaghra Falls, her back stubbornly turned to the tall unicorn behind her.

“Don’t you get it?” Sombra said. “You’re in my position now. How do you like the feeling of betrayal, huh? It sure is nice to have centuries of effort—of trying to get every little thing in your nation perfect—suddenly torn away by a self-righteous bitch who thinks they are some prophesied white dove. Isn’t it?”

“I am fighting for the future,” Celestia replied. “One I have no intention of seeing. You only fought for yourself, Sombra.”

“Yes, keep telling yourself that, Celestia. I’m sure life is a lot easier when you see every leader who isn’t yourself in such clear-cut shades of black.”

“Why are you here, Sombra?” Celestia brought a hoof to her now-pounding temples.

“Beyond the obvious ‘cause you’ve come fully undone?’”

“I was hoping for something a little more dignified, yes.”

Sombra snorted. “Ask your sister. Or whatever is left of her.”

Celestia nodded. “For the record, I am sorry, Sombra.”

“Why? What reason could you have to feel sorry for me?”

“I am sorry that I have never been able to stand you,” Celestia said, and once more turned tail to the former king and continued onwards towards the street.

Sleep did not come easily to Celestia, even after she had walked all the way back to their hotel and flopped without grace onto her bed. Twilight lay in the opposite, snoring loudly and occasionally mumbling in her sleep about unemployment rates and unfair taxation.

When it became clear that sleep would not be a luxury that night would provide her, Celestia instead lit her horn and lifted the still unread letter from Prince Blueblood off of the end table and closer to her snout.

By the light of her own glowing magic, Celestia read.

~~~

To the desk of H.R.H. Princess Celestia,

From the pen of the righteous Prince Claudius Blueblood the VI of Canterlot,

Good day, Auntie Celestia, and good tidings from New Canterlot, to wherever you are when you receive this correspondence.

Enclosed in this parcel is a cheque written by me for a small sum of two million bits. Since your will requested I dissipate your treasury as I thought you would see fit, I was kind of left with the assumption that you were broke. Hence the extra dough. Don’t go spending it all in one place.

Obviously there is more that I have every intention of returning to you (you left me with a fortune, Auntie) but I hardly think you would feel comfortable with me essentially wiring you nearly six million bits.

Anyways, that’s not necessarily the purpose of the letter. First of all, I am to be guest-starring on a late night talk-show on the NCPR (my assistant says I should specify that this means New Canterlot Public Radio, but I think he’s being a little skeptical towards your ability to adapt). You are the subject of this particular talk-show, and I’m going to be speaking in support of you. You’re welcome, and I hope you tune in.

I say support, because truthfully Auntie, you have it. Nonetheless, I feel inclined to raise a rather frightening concern that has appeared in listening to your few public self-representations thus far.

Namely, a lack of confidence. You, Auntie, do not seem to radiate an aura of determination. Your actions are defensive but not offensive. You seem frightened to take any quick movements towards your throne, and I understand why you would be. You are dancing on a highwire, but you aren’t really going to get much closer to safety by standing around on the highwire, either.

So, bluntly put, you have support, Celestia. Mine, certainly, and I have enough influence to guarantee more on my end. Things aren’t over for you, so stop acting like they are and get your voice back onto the wavelengths proving such.

Oh, one more thing. I... think you’ve made a mistake with your ‘Crown Minister’, so to speak. An overweight incompetent anarchist wouldn’t exactly be my first choice for such a position.

There. That’s my friendly advice to you. Now, I imagine you’re a busy mare, so I won’t keep you much longer. Good luck, Auntie Celestia, and know that you’re still loved by a greater population than you think. Trust me on that.

Sincerely,

Your Nephew.

~~~

It had taken Celestia the better part of half-an-hour to finally finish the letter. With her eyeglasses more or less unable to add any clarity to the illegible blur that was the expensive bit of faux-parchment, she instead had to rely on a crude strategy that her younger sister had once taught her.

Enveloping the entire letter carefully in her aura, she let her magic seep into the paper itself. Breathing carefully, her mind a meditated calm perfected over centuries, Celestia had slowly but confidently picked out the swirling cursive markings of ink that Prince Blueblood’s quill had engraved into the paper.

The cursive markings her probing magic slowly crept over was calmly translated into words in Celestia’s mind, and in this manner Celestia had slowly made her way through the entire letter. Each sentence was a minute of effort, but eventually Celestia’s magic no longer brushed upon any more indentations, and she knew with confidence that his letter was over.

It was hardly with victory that Celestia greeted the accomplishment of her task, but rather a hollow, introspective contemplation regarding how every other letter she would read for the rest of her life would be a similar exercise in tedium.

Rolling over in bed, she let out a long breath from her snout and internally told herself to stop being so damn negative. Then, she rolled over once again, and groped about in the darkness, searching for Twilight Sparkle’s notebook atop the end table between the hotel beds.

Amazingly, Celestia found it, and promptly ripped out a page and removed the pen Twilight had jammed into the bindings of the notebook.

Once more by the feeble light of her own horn, she composed a brief letter.

~~~

Dear Blueblood,

I am going to be confronting Flim Flam Industry’s Board of Directors sometime in the very near future. I would greatly appreciate it if you joined me.

Love, Celestia

~~~

Without hesitation, Celestia sent the letter off with a flare of magic, and then once more closed her eyes to the hotel room. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually it came nonetheless.

Dawn found her waking to an empty hotel room, and when Celestia had finished raising the Sun she extended her magic to the Moon instead and frowned when her fears were proven correct.

Twilight was gone, and the glowing Sunstone that she had taken note the night prior was too. Neither would have been cause for concern, but now that Celestia found the Moon in a different place, she knew better than to shoo away her own morbid skepticism.

Still, when Twilight returned bearing muffins and coffees, Celestia could not bring herself to demand that the unicorn explain herself. Not with so much still on her mind.

“Good morning, Celestia,” Twilight said, smiling and passing Celestia a coffee. “Brought some cream and sugar… wasn’t really sure what you take.”

“Black is fine, thank you,” Celestia replied.

“Is everything okay? I was worried about you when you didn’t show up last night.”

Celestia sipped her coffee and smiled. As calmly as she could with her own suspicions of Twilight’s actions the night prior clawing at her, she recounted her own night, taking great care to leave King Sombra far from her explanation.

“Huh. Well I’m really happy for you,” Twilight said through a mouthful of muffin. There was more to the statement, but it was lost to Celestia.

“Thank you, Twilight.” Celestia smiled. “I am also going to once more be speaking with Flim Flam Industry on the radio. This time with representatives from the Board of Directors themselves.”

Twilight sputtered out the rest of her muffin, gawking in shock. “You’re what?!”

Celestia patiently repeated herself.

“Are… are you sure? Already?”

“I think I’ve delayed too long,” Celestia replied. “And frankly, I don’t feel like I have much longer to delay. This time, I am going in with research, and with confidence.”

“Well, I’m a poor resource for the latter,” Twilight said. “But I’ve got plenty of the former back at my library. Although just so you know, they switch out members of the Board of Directors all the time. Keeps their inner-workings nice and faceless. The chance of you talking with whoever was ‘responsible’ for your imprisonment is unlikely.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Celestia said. “I’m looking to expose truth, not carry out justice. It is not a hindrance that they identify as a unit. It simply means they will be responsible for answering to whatever errors their predecessors have made in the past.”

“True.” Twilight nodded. “Well, I can try peddling my articles at the train station again today… and maybe we could afford tickets back to Old Canterlot…?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Celestia replied. Without looking, she levitated Blueblood’s parcel and let Twilight examine the contents. The unicorn immediately gravitated towards the cheque.

“We are millionaires, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said, grinning at Twilight’s look of sheer disbelief.

“B...but...what?!”

“My nephew’s inheritance,” Celestia explained. “Or… or rather, my inheritance.” Celestia waved a hoof. “Semantics. Count it on the Princess of the Sun to collect her own inheritance, hrm?”

Twilight gave a hyena-like chuckle and said nothing more.

“Half is yours; for your services in helping me—both reclaiming my throne, and regaining my own confidence,” Celestia said. “And when my throne is returned to me, the other half shall be yours also.”

Twilight gawked, sputtering out a few nonsense syllables. “B... but… I don’t… I can’t… What about you?”

“In a few years, I will have no need for money,” Celestia replied.

Twilight blinked.

“...Because I’ll be dead,” Celestia elaborated.

Twilight blinked again.

“It was a joke, Twilight.”

“For such an optimistic pony, you have a pretty dark sense of humor,” Twilight replied.

“I am sorry,” Celestia said, although her smirk seemed to betray her own words. “Regardless… I am looking forwards to being back in Old Canterlot.”

“The ‘hopeless and dirty slum of a city?’” Twilight cocked her head.

“The one and only.” Celestia nodded, recalling her past words with a slight blush. “Or, the one of many, as the state of Equestrian affairs seems. All the more reason to make trails swiftly.”

“Yeah,” Twilight agreed. “I miss my library.”

iii

Twilight smiled at the sky above, the stars and the Moon blurring across the rain-soaked glass roof.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Nightmare Moon peering intently at the landscape rushing by on all sides of her. Twilight hadn’t realized that passenger trains would have been a surprising sight for Nightmare Moon, but like the streetcars in Neighaghra Falls, she seemed fascinated by what was in fact ancient technology to Twilight.

They were in a dome-car of a passenger train tearing towards New Canterlot—Twilight had thought it would make a good vantage point to raise the Moon at, and there she sat waiting for Nightmare Moon to appear.

When she did, Twilight greeted her with a smile and a friendly nod that the black alicorn made no attempt to echo. Hardly discouraged, Twilight continued smiling as she reached into her saddlebag to withdraw the Sunstone.

Her smile instantly vanished when she realized the familiar gold crown was not there.

“W...what!” Twilight said instinctively. “No!”

She flipped her saddlebag upside down, ignoring the ticket stubs and empty cigarette packages that fell out, and then stuck her entire snout into the bag to check for the Sunstone.

Letting out a panicked whimper, she withdrew her snout from the saddlebag once again.

“Something the matter?” Nightmare Moon drawled.

“It’s not in here,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “Oh, Celestia is going to kill me.”

“Then that’ll make two of us,” Nightmare Moon said, and rolled her eyes. “What does it matter, exactly? I thought we were learning how to raise the Moon without the Sunstone.”

“Yeah, but… what if somepony else finds it!” Twilight pounded a hoof against the floor. “Or… or… what if she found it!”

At that, Nightmare Moon frowned. Twilight could have sworn she had seen worry flood into Nightmare Moon’s face.

“Hm,” the black alicorn hummed. “She would be rather suspicious if she found you carrying it around.”

“...Or if she finds the Moon in a slightly different place from where she left it,” Twilight said. “Or both.”

As if on cue, Nightmare Moon’s eyes grew wide as, in her peripheral, she caught the Moon rising into the sky—visible through quick gaps in the rushing trees.

“Bitch,” Nightmare Moon growled. “That’s mine.”

“Do I…” Twilight began, but stopped when Nightmare Moon shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Don’t risk your magic stream straying upon hers. If she detects your magic, she will definitely become suspicious.”

Twilight gave an agreeing nod. “So… no lessons tonight?”

Nightmare Moon let out a moody, feral-like grunt. “I suppose not. You can take the evening to yourself if you so wish.”

“Th...thank you,” Twilight said, sinking her head humbly.

“Hmph. Don’t get used to it.”

“Well… uh… if we don’t have lessons tonight…” Twilight scratched an ear, blushing and feeling her heart beginning to race. “I was thinking of… uh, going to the dining car and getting a coffee.”

“Um. Good for you?” Nightmare Moon rose an eyebrow.

“It’s just… Celestia was going on about getting some rest before she gets off at New Canterlot,” Twilight said. It wasn’t exactly late, but Twilight figured if anypony deserved a rest, it was Celestia. Even while travelling, the poor old mare has been writing letters all day trying to settle a date and time for a meeting with Flim Flam Industry, as well as exchanging correspondence with Prince Blueblood.

Celestia had even asked Twilight to proofread her replies. When Twilight did, she was taken aback by just how sloppy Celestia’s hoofwriting was. Perhaps, she reasoned, Celestia simply was not used to writing letters for herself—she must have had assistants to do such a thing for her before her imprisonment and no reason to do so during.

“Anyways,” Twilight shook her head, bringing her focus back to Nightmare Moon. “With Celestia resting, I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the dining car instead?”

Silence, for several seconds.

“What.”

Instantly, Twilight regretted the offer she had innocently made.

“What, precisely, do you think we are, Twilight Sparkle?” Nightmare Moon continued. “Me and you. What is your interpretation of our present relationship?”

Nightmare Moon did not seem to be angry. It was instead expressed as a genuine question. Still, Twilight felt as though her own life were somehow on the line depending on the answer she replied with.

Either way, Twilight knew that the word friendship was certainly out of the question.

“Well… uh, I see you as a… a mentor, of sorts—”

Nightmare Moon interrupted before Twilight could even complete her reply. “You’re terrified of me. The only respect you have for me comes from your own fear of displeasing me. So why would you make such an offer?”

“I’m not terrified of you!” Twilight protested, although she lost conviction instantly when Nightmare Moon narrowed her eyes. “Okay, well, I am. But that’s not the only reason I respect you.”

“Then elaborate. Quickly. I’m losing my patience.”

“I just… I don’t know. I really don’t. I can’t explain it, but you’re not the monster I’ve been taught to believe. I’ve always known you as a fairy tale horror, but you’re not like that at all. You’re a mare I… I want to know better.”

Nightmare Moon stared at her with an unreadable frown. “So then, answer me. What do you think we are?”

“I think we’re… starting to become…”

It was one word.

One word that she had to say and it would all be over.

Then again, it might entail her life, too.

Once more, Nightmare Moon interrupted her. “Friends.”

“W-what?”

“You think we’re starting to become friends.”

“N-no! I just—!”

“So you don’t think it’s possible for me to see somepony as a friend.”

“No!” Twilight shrilled again.

“So then you’ve contemplated the possibility of forming a friendship with me.”

“I… I…”

“You what?” Nightmare Moon growled. “Come on, say it! Any day now!”

Twilight swallowed. “I think you’re a good pony even if you think you’re not allowed to be. I’ve been… trying to make you notice that yourself.”

“Do you honestly think I care what anypony thinks I am?!”

“I do,” Twilight said, bracing herself for a sudden assault from Nightmare Moon. “I think you care. You wouldn’t even be questioning me about this if you didn’t. You’d have just told me to go choke to death on my coffee or something.”

“You understand nothing about me.”

“That’s not true. I understand what it’s like to be alone.”

“Bullshit you do,” Nightmare Moon huffed. “You have no clue.”

“Maybe not in the way you think,” Twilight said. “I’m not ignored like you—like Luna was. But I’m laughed at. Ponies talk about me like I’m the punchline to some joke. I see ponies in a restaurant start whispering to each other everytime I enter. You think that makes me feel good?”

“Gods, you’re pathetic,” Nightmare Moon sneered. “You’re laughed at because you deserve to be. I mean, look at you.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Twilight said, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raise with both indignation towards Nightmare Moon, as well as terror at herself for what she had just said.

“Excuse me?!” Nightmare Moon blinked.

“You don’t know what Equestria is like now. You don’t know how… how secular it is. I’m a unicorn who believes that magic is important. I’m hated for it. Do I deserve to be?”

Nightmare Moon did not reply. She did not so much as break her firm frown.

“Nopony deserves to be hated,” Twilight said. “Not me, not you, not Celestia. Nopony. But it’s happening to us.”

“That is completely ludicrous,” Nightmare Moon sneered. “You have no reason to feel inadequate. You have enough magical ability to raise the Moon itself.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, nodding. “In an era where ponies despise magic itself. Look… I know how it feels to be unwanted, alright? Celestia had the ponies she loved turn against her, so she knows, too. Maybe we don’t know the feeling like you do, but don’t think you’re alone in feeling it at all.”

Nightmare Moon was silent for several seconds.

Then, she hung her head and laughed.

“Goodness,” she said, her cackling laughter ceasing. “What an inspirational speech. What self-help book did you rip that one out of?”

“I’m just trying to—”

“Oh, I know what you’re trying to do.” Nightmare Moon rose a hoof to silence Twilight, smiling widely. “Fine. Whatever. I haven’t sat down for a good drink in a thousand years anyways.”

With a shaky nod, Twilight led the way down the steps leading down from the dome car. They crossed two coach cars sparsely populated by a few sleeping ponies before they finally reached the diner car—quiet and largely unpopulated so late in the evening. They were alone in the car save for an older mare peering out the window of the train and a lone waitress flipping through a magazine.

Both mares perked up when Twilight entered and sat down—the older mare quickly looked back at the passing landscape and the waitress rose to her hooves to approach Twilight, looking slightly irritated, as though her own job were an inconvenience to her. It seemed neither could see the tall black alicorn sitting next to Twilight.

“Get you something?” the pink-coated waitress asked tiredly.

“Yeah, two coffees, please. Can I smoke in here?”

The waitress gave an annoyed ‘humph,’ but nodded. Then, she turned back towards the galley without uttering a word as Twilight fished out her cigarettes and promptly lit one.

The moment the waitress had left, Twilight turned her attention back to Nightmare Moon, only to find the alicorn staring out the window once more. Tracing Nightmare Moon’s eyes, Twilight only saw the rumbling pulses of lightning within the dark clouds, but nonetheless Nightmare Moon seemed fascinated by the landscape all the same.

“What is the exact year, Twilight Sparkle?” Nightmare Moon asked eventually.

“Uh… 1012,” Twilight said, somewhat taken aback. She found it unlikely that Nightmare Moon would not have known such a detail. Then again, it wasn’t as though Nightmare Moon had the luxury of travelling Equestria and finding such information out herself. It seemed she could not venture beyond the limits of Twilight and Celestia’s own magic.

Twilight had opened her mouth with a more elaborate explanation, but she quickly closed it again when the waitress once more approached—holding the two mugs of steaming coffee in her magic and setting them both down on the table before Twilight.

“1012,” Nightmare Moon repeated once the waitress had left. “Did the calendars reset after my banishment?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said, cracking open several packets of sugar into her coffee. “And it’s been twelve years since you… uh…”

“Died?” Nightmare Moon offered.

“Yeah,” Twilight said again. She glanced around, making sure nopony was watching her talking to herself. The only other mare still in the car seemed distracted and uncaring.

“Sorry,” Twilight offered, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Nightmare Moon. “I thought… I thought you knew already.”

“Hrm. Years are just numbers. Such a thing hasn’t concerned me in the past.”

“And it does now?”

“It interests me now.” Nightmare Moon frowned.

Then, she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ugh. Why the hell are you sucking on that burning bit of paper?”

Twilight blushed. “It’s… uh…”

“I know what it is,” Nightmare Moon said impatiently. “I asked why.”

“I dunno. I guess I was a lot stupider when I first started. I’ve been meaning to quit.”

“‘Been meaning to quit’ means you never will,” Nightmare Moon replied. “And you, ‘a lot stupider?’ Could such a mare even speak?”

“Yeah yeah.” Twilight sunk her head in shame. “It was back in grade school. I was trying to ‘fit in.’ Guess what? Ponies don’t really care enough to give you a chance when they’ve already got it in their heads you’re some sort of freak.”

“Aw. What a heawt bweaking stowy,” Nightmare Moon replied. “Stop comparing yourself to me, Twilight Sparkle. I admit it was amusing at first, but now I’m starting to grow annoyed.”

Twilight simply nodded. She wanted to object and drive her earlier point once again, but a larger part of her knew it wasn’t worth getting Nightmare Moon riled up over.

“Earlier, you mentioned Celestia having been recently ‘betrayed by her ponies.’”

“She didn’t tell you?” Twilight blinked. “You… you don’t know?”

“Not beyond what I gathered at the trial,” Nightmare Moon said. “I am missing some details. It isn’t as though Celestia and I get together for tea to discuss life, after all.”

“That might have something to do with the fact that you try to kill Celestia every time you see her.”

“Watch your tongue, Twilight Sparkle,” Nightmare Moon growled. “Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mean I won’t break one of your limbs to prove a point. Now tell me what happened to Celestia.”

After taking a deep breath and a sip from her synthetic-tasting coffee, Twilight did just that. Her explanation was a thorough one, and an amalgamation between what she had seen herself and the horror stories Celestia had told her that she had believed without hesitation to be true. Twilight drew on her own experiences and clashes with Flim Flam Industry and their corrupt government.

The whole while, Nightmare Moon remained stoic.

To Twilight’s surprise, the ever-terrifying alicorn was listening intently, a curious frown on her face.

When she had finished, Nightmare Moon brought a hoof to her snout and let out a long breath through her nose.

“Stupid Celestia,” she sighed. “Goddesses, she has no backbone.”

“I think she’s just sick of spilling blood,” Twilight levelled.

“Well, sometimes, it’s necessary. Were I in her position, I’d already be back in my throne.”

“She was in this position before, twelve years ago,” Twilight pointed out. “And she did spill blood as a solution. You of all ponies should know about that.”

Nightmare Moon looked shocked. Then, she let out a light chuckle. “Touché. You aren’t wrong, for once.”

“And besides… she’s going to be confronting those responsible for her imprisonment soon. With her millionaire socialite nephew, I might add.”

Nightmare Moon cocked her head. “What?”

“Prince Blueblood,” Twilight said. “Celestia’s nephew, or something. Don’t ask how that works. She's getting off at New Canterlot to stay with him. 'Go on ahead to your library', she said to me. Guess she's afraid I'll embarrass myself in front of him.”

“Heh. That must be insulting,” Nightmare Moon said, grinning. “Celestia ignored all of your hard work and abruptly replaced you with her snobby, rich, not-even-biological nephew.”

“It’s kinda been bothering me,” Twilight admitted. “I hope it’s not a trend.”

“Hrm. Well, any thoughts of turning against your mentor? Killing her and taking Equestria for yourself?”

Twilight gave Nightmare Moon an impatient frown, and Nightmare Moon replied with a cackling laugh.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was a joke. Anyways, I think it’s growing pretty obvious that Celestia needs a bit of help.”

“But… but…”

“I think she deserves to die,” Nightmare Moon answered Twilight’s question before it was spoken. “That hasn’t changed. But if what you told me really is true, then I’m not so cruel as to damn the rest of Equestria to lives of despair for the sake of a profit. I’m a monster, not a bureaucrat.”

“Fucking hell, Auntie,” Blueblood uttered without grace, his eyes widening as Celestia stepped into his ritzy, eighteenth-floor New Canterlot penthouse suite. “You look—”

“Terrible, I know.” Celestia removed her rain-soaked scarf and set her dripping umbrella into a nearby stand, gratefully accepting a towel that one of Blueblood's butlers had offered her. “Believe it or not, 'terrible' has been a popular response to my appearance, as of late.”

“Well damn. Are you sure you’re alright to be doing this?!”

“I appreciate your concern,” Celestia said. “But I am quite alright. I’ve been through worse.”

Blueblood rose an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“It is so nice to see your face, Blueblood,” Celestia whispered, taking a step closer. “You’ve grown into such a handsome young stallion.”

“And here I thought I was aging too fast,” Blueblood replied. “Starting to look like a… like a retired lawyer or something.”

“Nonsense. You look every bit as young as you did last I saw you.”

"Twelve years ago," Blueblood sighed. "I... took it hard, Aunt Celestia. Harder than I thought I would."

"I apologize for that."

Blueblood snorted. "Really, Auntie? Apologizing for being abducted and imprisoned?"

Celestia smiled. "Somepony has to, and we know that Flim Flam Industry won't."

"You're godsdamned right about that," Blueblood laughed, turning and wordlessly leading the way into his penthouse proper. It was hardly a modest affair, considering what Celestia had grown used to seeing Twilight Sparkle living in. A living area boasted a fully stocked bar, a roaring fireplace, and an enormous window that offered a bird's eye view of the city's glimmering lights, the towering mountain, and the distant blinking lights of Old Canterlot farther above. Celestia counted six rooms—all decorated with expensive looking furniture. Outside the tall and wide window was a long aerodock with a goldfish-like airship silently shifting in the high-altitude breeze.

"Fix you a drink?" Blueblood offered, catching Celestia's amazed expression. "I seem to remember you liking your cognac, Auntie."

Celestia chuckled. "That sounds lovely. Thank you."

Blueblood trotted over to the living room bar, pouring two glasses from a bottle that most likely would have cost Twilight Sparkle an entire year of saving just to afford.

Celestia was becoming increasingly thankful that Twilight hadn't asked to come with her to meet Blueblood. She had her doubts Twilight would much approve of Blueblood's critiques of Flim Flam Industry when he himself was leading such an expensive life.

And that was to say nothing of Blueblood's critiques of Twilight. What had he called her? An incompetent anarchist?

Against her better judgement, Celestia vaguely reprised her concerns aloud. "It is a shame Twilight Sparkle could not join me. I'm sure she would love to meet you."

Blueblood snorted. "I still think you're making a mistake with her, Auntie. I get that you're new to this Equestria so you might not know, but she's more or less universally known as a complete loser."

"Blueblood." Celestia frowned. "That is rather rude."

"Well, it's just the way it is. It's public opinion."

"That does not make it correct. Surely you of all ponies should know that."

"Look, Auntie. Facts are facts. I'm just asking you to look at them." Blueblood sipped his cognac. "You're looking to bolster public opinion of you, but you're hanging out with a mare whose own public worth is as low as possible."

"I don't care about her public worth."

"That is noble of you, but it won't change the fact that Equestria DOES see value in her public image. Look, Auntie... I'm just asking you to consider other options for your second in command."

"Such as?"

"Well, not to sound like I'm inviting myself to a job interview, but I myself have been training to rule this country since I was a foal. Much longer than your high-school dropout Crown Minister."

"Oh, Blueblood," Celestia sighed. "Please don't make me have to make this choice. You know how difficult it is for me to balance my loved ones and my nation."

"Just... I'm asking you to consider it," Blueblood replied. "Your reliance on Twilight Sparkle is.... confusing. Please make sure you carefully measure whether or not she is capable. You know you can count on me. Do you honestly know the same for her?"

Author's Note

Vozrozhdeniaya (Pt. IV) [XII]

Celestia awoke several hours before the Sun’s call, instead drawn into consciousness by the more belligerent tug of Luna’s Moon calling to her like a swaddled infant.

While the Sun indeed rose at different hours as the year progressed, it did so in an order one could easily memorize. Luna’s Moon, however, seemed to have its own chronometer that, even after a thousand years, Celestia occasionally had trouble adapting herself to. She had found it much easier to simply adapt to having to awaken at obscure hours to serve the Moon’s need, and then sleep away the remaining hours until the Sun did much the same.

There was no need to light a candle, for the guest room in Blueblood’s suite boasted an enormous, sliding glass door that exposed her to the yellowish, light-polluted skies of New Canterlot. Twilight had called such an effect ‘skyglow’, and Celestia had no trouble understanding why she had used such a term.

Yawning and grabbing one of the blankets off of the guest bed, Celestia draped it over her back and made her way over to the sky glowing like a beacon. She outstretched a wing and guided it along the wall to make sure she was moving along it, all the while casting magic all about to measure her surroundings. Luna’s ‘echolocation’, as her sister had dubbed it, had seemed like an intriguing but ultimately trivial tool when she had first taught it to Celestia, but now, with her eyesight nothing more than light and muddy colour, it had become a necessity.

She reached the glass wall and eased the sliding door open. Even as the temperature continued to warm with Spring finally underway, Celestia shivered as she stepped out onto the suite’s generously sized balcony. So high up past New Canterlot, it did not seem to matter how warm the air around her was.

Her horn alight, Celestia yawned again and hunted for the Sun through the skyglow. She found it without much trouble and guided it skyward, before turning to the Moon…

...And frowning when, for the third time in the past week, it was someplace completely different from where she had left it.

“What in the…” Celestia murmured, her magic hunting through skies. When she finally found the Moon, she nearly cried out in surprise when a magic stream besides her own rubbed subtly into the sight of her mind’s eye.

Like a friar’s lantern, it fled from her before she could settle on it having existed in the first place, but nonetheless Celestia recognized the magic stream all the same. She had only made contact with it once before, but it was difficult to forget the tell-tale signs of a unicorn's magic—like a pony's eye, it was recognizable even if she could not fully see the pony themselves.

“Twilight Sparkle...” Celestia whispered, quickly sending the Moon on its way and cringing as Luna’s familiar curse bit into her chest.

A familiar scent of cigarette smoke answered her query, and a foreign voice from somewhere down the balcony called out.

“If you are looking for Blueblood, he is ‘out,’” A feminine voice spoke. “I know not where, but there is a high-probability it is a bar or a… ahem, a ‘gentlestallion’s club.'" The mare tutted disapprovingly. “He should be back by morning.”

“Oh.” Celestia’s response was one syllable.

“I suppose you are Blueblood’s aunt, yes?” The mare asked. “But of course, that’s a silly question, isn’t it? Of course you are. I don’t believe Blue has many alicorn relatives left, all things considered.”

“I…” Celestia stammered. Whoever was speaking, it was a voice Celestia had never heard before. She headed in her direction, and as she did she could make the mare out beyond merely her vague outline. Only when she was practically three feet beside the mare could she make her out with any clarity.

The unicorn was snow-white in colour, with a professionally styled mane of dark indigo. She was leaning over the glass railing of the balcony, her head angled down at the streetcars and drunk ponies scurrying about eighteen floors below, the mare looking as though she were some alien creature contemplating their purpose. In her telekinesis she held an opera-length cigarette holder, which she took a long draw from as she turned her head to examine Celestia in return.

“Yes, I certainly am,” Celestia finally answered, sitting next to the mare so that she did not have to continue looking down upon her. It was hardly a good feeling; always having to look down at ponies from above instead of into their eyes.

She ruffled her wings a little. “Princess Celestia, at your service.”

The mare exhaled smoke deeply from her nostrils, raising an eyebrow in passive amusement and looking like a mischievous fairy-tale dragon. It was as though she had decided that Celestia was entertaining enough to warrant her attention, and yet she was not quite interested enough to look particularly in awe regarding her presence. It seemed to Celestia like it had been a very long time since this mare had any particular investment in most things—she had about her an aura of perpetual resignation.

“Indeed. I was wondering when I would see you myself...” Celestia caught a glint of dying moonlight as the mare lifted a wineglass to her lips. “...that is, on anywhere but newsprint.”

It was yet another unusual reply from this mare, but Celestia simply smiled. The mare did not speak much further, she instead took another heavy drink of wine and leaned back over the glass balcony.

“...So, I have introduced myself,” Celestia proceeded, somewhat awkwardly, when the mare said nothing further. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

The mare gave her an amused glance.

“Depends which mare you’re looking for, darling,” she replied, moving the cigarette holder to the other side of her snout and taking another exaggerated draw. “The millionaire fashion industry mogul? The blushing bride of Equestria’s last remaining royalty?”

At that, Celestia nearly keeled over in surprise—as much by the shock that this mare (who she had initially assumed some haughty and tired maid solely by her apathetic behaviour) was indeed her niece-in-law.

“You’re what?”

“Ah, I see dear Blueblood hasn’t filled his aunt in on every detail of his personal life,” she said, free of any evident mirth towards Celestia’s comically surprised expression. “Yes, I am his wife. Miss Rarity. And please don’t go forgetting the ‘missus.’”

“I… I shan’t.” Celestia nodded, tempted to point out the inconsistency between Rarity’s insistence on ‘Miss’ and her self-identified marriage. “Meeting you is…”

“A shock?” Rarity offered.

“I was going to say a pleasure, but a shock certainly works too, yes. But… you are quite right, Blueblood did not mention you before. I am surprised we did not meet last night.”

“I was at a charity auction,” Rarity replied, and rolled her eyes. “Goodness, what an ordeal that was.”

“Indeed. I’ve been to my share of charity auctions myself. Generous cause or not, they can be considerably stressful.”

“Quite.” Rarity gave her first genuine looking smile of the evening, although it was quick to fade as she sipped her wine again. “Actually, now that I think about it, it was at such an event me and Blueblood met. It was …” she frowned, trying to recall. “Hrm, admittedly, those ‘philanthropy events’... they blur together after awhile. Regardless, for a mare who always had a sort of fillylike attraction to Equestria’s one prince, I was probably more drawn to him than I’d like to admit.”

Celestia laughed. “Oh, trust me, I’ve been there too.”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be back there now,” Rarity replied, closing her eyes and smiling wistfully. “Goodness, it’s so much easier, isn’t it? Being starstruck like that? So much less to think about. But yes, I approached him, we got to talking about ourselves. I was hardly some peddler you see—even back then—so we had plenty of stories of grandeur to share. It’s an odd feeling; going to a charity event where half the mares are wearing thousand-bit dresses you designed.”

“I can imagine,” Celestia said. While it was scratching at her, she decided not to draw attention to the first part of Rarity’s speech. It was the sort of vaguely-sorrowful introspection towards once-greater love that Celestia wished she did not know so well.

It was the sort of introspection that—despite her better judgement begging her to stop being so melodramatic—reminded Celestia of the poor, emotionally and optimistically derelict ponies she had known during Discord’s long rule over Equestria.

Of course, Rarity seemed anything but poor—she indeed seemed quite the opposite—but where she surely had wealth in abundance, she did not seem to have any real direction, nor hope of one revealing itself for her.

Eager to reroute her bitter mind elsewhere, Celestia swiftly changed the subject. “So, you are a fashion designer then? A rather revered one, it seems. Care to tell me about your line?”

Rarity gave an unlady-like snort. “Are you referring to the one that my name is upon? I must confess, I haven’t really had direct input on ‘my line’ in years. Mostly, I look at machine-stitched designs fresh from an assembly line, express my distaste towards the incurably dreadful ones, and sign on lines one through eighty-seven. Then, I tell my benefactors how beautiful and unique and hoofwoven every dress on my new line is.” She viciously finished her wine and set the glass down on the porch. “Fashion mogul indeed. I carry a pen more often than a sewing needle, Your Highness.”

Celestia blinked. She hadn’t been expecting Rarity to respond to her simple question with another heartfelt rant. “I… I see.”

“Oh, listen to me.” Rarity saw Celestia’s surprise and evidently misinterpreted it as discomfort. “I apologize, Miss Celestia. You didn’t care to hear all that.”

“It’s quite alright,” Celestia replied. “And it is quite the opposite. I am actually very intrigued. But… if you’ll forgive my boldness... if you are so disillusioned with the state of the fashion industry, why take part in a system you dislike?”

“A question I have been asking myself for years, I assure you.” Rarity sighed. “Truthfully, it’s a silly daydream of mine to go back to my Manehattan days.”

“Oh?” Celestia cocked her head.

“Mmhm. Back when I was an independent seamstress. Hemming dresses and suits for a living. Creating designs on the side in my spare time, and wearing them about with hopes of being noticed. Considerably more humble, but at least my work had character. But those… those things I call dresses nowadays?” Rarity shuddered again. “Cold, impersonal things. With my name upon them. And ponies pay top dollar. Goodness, I feel like such a crook sometimes.”

Rarity plucked her spent cigarette from the holder, peered at the smoldering affair for several seconds, then let it fall down to the street far below with a mighty sigh.

“I admit I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this,” Rarity said. “You’re amongst the few, and I’ve only just met you personally.”

“I suppose it is not everyday you meet an alicorn. Regardless, I appreciate the trust,” Celestia said earnestly. “Excuse my boldness… but, if you are so disillusioned with your lines… why not just return to crafting them by hoof? You seem to be more than qualified to.”

“Oh, that’s an ideal daydream,” Rarity replied. “An impossibility, however. Do you know how many dresses I’d have to make in a day to stay in competition? I’d be found dead at a sewing machine before I’m forty.” She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s either that, or I continue this.”

This. Rarity had said the final word with an emphasized, if unintended, edge. As though she may as well have added ‘charade’ to the end of her sentence.

While she hated herself for believing so, it did not seem quite ludicrous to stipulate that ‘Money’ had been an invisible bridesmaid and best-stallion at Rarity and Blueblood’s wedding.

“Well, Miss Rarity,” Celestia said. “I personally think you should consider seeking a few qualified seamstresses and do something you enjoy, instead of what you feel your reputation demands of you. I know for a fact I would pay top-dollar for a dress woven with even a trace of your hoofwork.”

For some time, the howling high-altitude wind was the only answer, as both mares stood shivering in the morning air; Rarity still perched over the balcony and Celestia now back on her hooves.

“Obliged,” Rarity said eventually, her gaze cloudy and distant even to Celestia’s feeble eye as she peered down to the traffic far below.

With another sigh, Rarity lit another cigarette and poured another drink.

xii

There was something trance-like about much of the day that followed.

Celestia had wandered back into the suite and Blueblood’s butler had greeted her with a modest smile and offered to fix her some eggs, which she gratefully accepted. It was technically morning, after all, albeit the dwindling hours before sunrise. Rarity joined her in the suite before long, but only to tell her that she was free to use any of the perfume and make-up she needed. Then, the eccentric mare bid her farewell and disappeared out the front door to places unknown.

When she had finished her omelette—which she told the butler was of high-class restaurant quality—she headed off to the suite’s enormous bathroom and made good on Rarity’s offer; she found light purple eyeshadow and dozens of bottles of perfume. The former she applied to both her good eye and the perpetually closed one, but after sniffing several of the perfume bottles, she decided they were far too intense for her taste.

Finally looking up, Celestia decided that the mare in the mirror was one she was starting to mend ties with. Dying away was the defeated, saddened expression that had plagued her for so long. In its place was a patient, neutral smile, and a cloudy, cataract-covered eye that still shone with life and hope. Melancholy still lined her smile’s outskirts, but it was a melancholy like childhood nostalgia. A longing, but not an overhanging sadness. Hope and optimism where despair had once reigned supreme.

How far she had come, Celestia thought, in the two months of freedom she’d stumbled through. She half expected to one day wake back to cold, synthetic sunlight and security cameras peering down upon her, her confused mind swiftly exposing her relief as a foolish fantasy. Twilight Sparkle, the Sunrise Scroll’s success… surely too many miracles had laid down before her for such not to be the case?

...And yet, some sliver of cynicism within her still felt she did not quite deserve such miracles. Perhaps the synthetic light and cold, artificial air was what she truthfully deserved; after all, how much mercy would fate have on a sister-killing monster like her?

So distracted was Celestia that she did not notice Blueblood until he cleared his throat, pushing such thoughts away to call upon her at some other time in the close future.

“You're up early, Auntie,” he said, and she looked up, meeting his smiling gaze in the mirror. “Got into Rarity’s racoon kit, have you?”

Celestia laughed without turning. “Is the eyeshadow too much?”

“No, no, of course not. I'm only kidding. You look very nice,” Blueblood assured. “So, I presume she… uh, introduced herself?”

At that, Celestia turned. “Yes. Blueblood… I don’t know what to say. She seems very nice… but are you two seriously…”

She trailed off, but Blueblood promptly picked up where he presumed her thoughts left off. “...happy together?”

Celestia turned back around, her gaze falling to the depths of the porcelain sink. “That isn’t where I was going.”

“No, but it’s what you were thinking.”

“I really don’t want to intrude on your personal affairs.”

“Oh, hosh-posh,” he said. “I was the one who brought it up. But yes, we are. We’re just… um, hitting a mutual rough patch.”

“I see,” she said. “It happens, dear. I’m sure you will pull through.”

“Obliged,” he said, and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry to drop that on you. In other news, I’ve actually got something you might like in the living room. Wanted to give it to you last night, but honestly I forgot.”

Celestia said nothing. She rinsed her hooves clean and returned Rarity’s supplies to the vanity, and followed Blueblood to the living room, where she could hear the stallion shuffling through some manner of encoignure.

“I had it specially made as soon as I heard you were… y’know…”

“Still kickin'?”

Blueblood laughed. “Yep. It took them awhile, but I think it’s worth it.”

He turned, a small box hovering in his magic—it looked quite like an engagement ring box, Celestia thought. Taking the box in her magic, Celestia gave Blueblood a sly smile before opening it.

She nearly dropped it in surprise when she did.

“Goodness!” she cried out.

“Yeah, sorry. Guess I shoulda warned you.”

“It’s an eye!”

“It’s a prosthetic eye. It’s acrylic.”

“An eye! In a box!”

“Well, technically, it’s supposed to be an eye in there,” Blueblood pointed to Celestia’s left eye-socket. “It’s artificial. It won’t really help much beyond aesthetic, but…”

“It looks real!”

Blueblood laughed again at Celestia’s obvious excitement. “Well, yeah. That’s the point.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” Celestia admitted. “This is by far the oddest gift I’ve ever received.”

“Yeah, I was a little nervous about giving it to you.”

“Well, you had no reason to be!” Celestia said, smiling widely. “I am immensely grateful. Now I don’t have to go about looking like some horror-show monster!”

“Heh, I’m glad you like it,” Blueblood said. “The optometrist said that your old eye was removed entirely right down to your ocular cavity, which basically means you could'a had one of these put in ages ago. You know how to put it in?”

“Like a contact lens, I presume,” Celestia shrugged. “Truth be told, I know I could have had one of these a while ago.”

Blueblood frowned. “And you… didn’t?”

“No,” Celestia said. “Fear, I suppose.”

Celestia prayed Blueblood would not press further, for ‘fear’ was a rather vague lie. In truth, her missing eye had always carried a cathartic purpose to her—a sort of penance wound, one she felt she deserved to have to flaunt to all who gazed upon her. The broken gaze of a mare who had murdered her closest family.

Let every Equestrian see what became of a mare as sinful as her, that cynical sliver in her mind cried.

Whether or not its cathartic purpose was successful, Celestia was skeptical. A reminder of how horrid a creature she was may have helped her remember the events of the Second Longest Night, but she would still have the nightmares and longing to fulfill that goal anyways. It wasn't as though she would ever forget.

The Second Longest Night was the past. It meant everything to her, but it had already taken place and there was nothing she could do against its tides.

But Blueblood? His gift, and what it represented? That was her future.

And so, with a confident smile, Celestia returned to the suite’s bathroom and gave the one-eyed monster in the mirror one final smile, before breaking ties with it once again.

Back in the living room, Blueblood had given her an approving whistle. “Now that’s the Princess Celestia that Equestria remembers!”

“I’m sure the eye won’t be enough to bring her back, but thank you.”

“Well, I’m sure the ponies of New Canterlot will see a difference, that’s for sure.”

Celestia gave a sheepish chuckle. “That reminds me. I was thinking we could meet Twilight for dinner tonight.”

“I was thinking the same,” Blueblood said. “It’d be good to get on the same page before tomorrow night, when we return to the radio-waves along with our friends at Flim Flam Industry.”

“Goodness me, it’s that soon, hrm?” Celestia mused.

“Yeah. Sorry. I had to act quickly, while the burner is hot, y’know?”

“Of course. I’m quite nervous, if I’m being fully sincere.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be there, and besides… these are the ponies who have been avoiding you for twelve years. They’re quite earnestly more afraid of you than you ever will be of them.”

Blueblood spoke of Flim Flam Industry as though they were young children frightened of a harmless spider, and it was an image surprisingly humorous enough to seep away some of her nervousness.

“Anyways,” Blueblood said. “I know plenty of restaurants, and plenty of ponies at them. I might even be able to let them allow a pony like Twilight Sparkle in.”

It was obviously meant as a joke, but Celestia frowned instead. “I get the impression you see her as competition, nephew.”

“No,” Blueblood said. “I just see her as pathetic.”

xiii

The Thestral, it was called.

Celestia could see the neon sign as the airship vented gas and crept alarmingly close to the New Canterlot restaurant and the telegraph wires stretching like spiderwebs all over the streets below.

By some miracle, it struck none of them and instead came to a calm and organized stop beside the restaurant, and Blueblood and Celestia were soon on their way down the gangplank. Blueblood hesitated a moment to bark something to the flight crew, and then followed Celestia towards the modern-looking restaurant.

They were seated without hesitation—clearly, Blueblood’s assertion that he ‘knew ponies’ was by no measure an exaggeration, although then again, Celestia reasoned her own presence was enough to drive the hostess with vicious determination.

Regardless, Celestia was now nibbling idly at a piece of complimentary bread, as Blueblood finished some placid anecdote.

“... and that was just the mares!” he said, sipping his wine as he chuckled.

Celestia had an additional joking remark on her tongue, but it evaporated when she looked up, straight into the nervous eyes of Twilight Sparkle.

The purple unicorn was dressed in what looked to be a prom dress, her mane styled to the best of Twilight’s pathetic ability. Standing in what she must have convinced herself were ‘fancy’ clothes, she stood out amusingly against the other ponies wearing thousand-bit dresses and suits. Still, with Rarity’s speech on her mind, Celestia decided that Twilight looked more gorgeous for what she was, compared to so many ponies trying to be more than they were.

“Twilight! You made it! Goodness, what a lovely dress you’re wearing!”

Twilight’s ear dropped shyly at the compliment coupled with Blueblood’s more critical glare. He evidently did not agree and she was no such fool as to miss it, but he said nothing.

“You look nice, too,” Twilight said awkwardly, scratching her drooped ear.

Celestia smiled. The dress had been chosen as last minute as possible—Rarity had offered her apologies at the affair, verbally razing the poor dress as she passed it to Celestia, assuring her she had none others that would fit Celestia’s ‘proud stature.’

It was—contrary to Rarity’s claims—a gorgeous dress. It was a coral affair, made from several overlapping layers of silky cloth.

“So…” Blueblood was saying. “You’re the infamous Twilight Sparkle.”

“I… suppose I am. Pleased to meet you, Prince Blueblood,” Twilight said, sitting down.

As she did, Celestia felt a wave of something so foreign and so familiar sweep over her.

It was no paranormal feeling, no taunting voice of Nightmare Moon whispering in the back of her mind. It was instead a feeling of complete and utter fear of a mare she loved dearly, but knew was caught up in something she did not know the severity of.

She'd felt it with Luna before—the same fear that her sister was meddling with powers she had no comprehension of, but no intention to ignore. Now, looking at Twilight, and recalling the brush of the unicorn's magic when she had raised the Moon, Celestia knew by some unnatural niggling in her gut that there was more to the mare before her than one could simply see.

“Celestia?” Twilight was saying. “Do you agree with that? Am I a… a hindrance to you?”

Celestia blinked, trying to gain footing and bring herself back to reality.

Twilight, a hindarance? Hardly.

And yet, Celestia still sunk her head in shame as she spoke, feeling like absolute rubbish as she prepared herself to actively insult her own friend.

“I would not say it like that, but…” she broke off, long enough to loathe her own ruthlessness. “I just want to try this one without you, Twilight. Just this once. I promise.”

“Uh, is that such a great idea though?” Twilight cocked her head. “I mean, public doubt or not, it seems to me like—”

“We have already discussed this,” Blueblood interrupted. “Me and Celestia.”

“That’s… well I mean, yeah, I know that.” Twilight scratched an ear. “But, I mean… I am technically her Crown Minister, right? So, it seems to me…”

“It seems to me, you’re a common vagrant, Twilight Sparkle,” Blueblood retorted, his temper flaring. “You’re technically not anything until Celestia is in power.”

“I know that,” Twilight said again. “I just feel like I should have some sort of… y’know, say on this.”

Pity swelling within her, Celestia broke in before Blueblood could continue his argument.

“Twilight is quite right, Blueblood. I chose her for a reason, after all.”

“Forgive me Auntie, but I can’t begin to imagine what reason that is. She has no experience here.”

“Oh dear, not this again. I didn’t bring you two together so I could listen to you bicker. Please, Blueblood—”

“I do have experience, by the way,” Twilight interrupted. “I’m a journalist.”

Celestia blinked. Being interrupted by Blueblood was something she would have expected, but certainly not from Twilight.

Clearly, Twilight was bothered by the thought of being brushed aside. Celestia wanted nothing more than to blurt out that she had no desire whatsoever to forego her faith in Twilight in favour of Blueblood, for it seemed clear to her that the mare was considerably afraid of such being the case.

Still, poor Twilight must have lived her whole life thinking she was lesser, and now she was assuming that Celestia, too, thought the same of her. Even her family seemed to be disappointed by her, leaving Celestia as the only pony to treat her with nothing but respect and reliance.

And now, even she had to tell Twilight she was inadequate.

“...Goddesses above, you’re a petty mare,” Blueblood was saying. “I’ve created charities and founded shelters. Hell, I even funded orphanages in Fillydelphia and Trottawa! Compared to that, what have you done to help anypony? Or do you seriously think your silly little articles are helping?”

“That is enough!” Celestia barked. “From both of you! My goodness, what has gotten into you two?”

Silence fell.

“I’m sorry,” Blueblood was the first to break it. “Auntie, I really am.”

“Okay,” Celestia sighed. “But I don’t ever wish to see that again. You two are acting like children.”

Twilight echoed Blueblood’s shy, regretful demeanor. “I'm sorry, too. It’s just… I guess whatever you want to do is your choice, Celestia. But I think it’s a mistake.”

In direct contradiction to his apology, Blueblood shot back violently, before Celestia could reply. “We appreciate your input, Sparkle, but—”

“You don’t get to speak for her,” Twilight barked, rising to her hooves, the swift movement causing the silverware to jangle loudly. “And definitely not for her cause. I’m done here. I’ll see you back at the library, Celestia. Unless you’ve decided Blueblood’s penthouse is more your speed now.”

With that, Twilight turned tail and stormed in the direction of the exit, several other patrons rising from their seats to inspect the scene of her outburst.

“Twilight, wait!” Celestia called after her.

“Oh, leave her to sulk,” Blueblood said. “See what I mean? This is exactly why she isn’t coming.”

“Don’t play the part of an adult here, nephew,” Celestia replied. “I’m not stupid. I see what is happening between you two, and I’m going to repeat it no matter how harshly I must. Twilight Sparkle is my Crown Minister. Not. You.”

“But Auntie—!”

“No,” Celestia shook her head. “No buts. My decision has been made for a long, long time, and this was never a competition between you two. I don’t appreciate you turning it into such behind my back.”

“Then why do you even need me? If that chubby, asocial freak is so perfect, why do you even need my help?”

“Because you’re a smart stallion who I trust,” Celestia said. “Is that not enough?”

Blueblood sighed and finished his wine swiftly. “I guess it is. But my stance remains the same. Now, with our, ahem, ‘heavy distraction’ gone to suck her hoof in sorrow, can we actually get to planning?”

Celestia growled at his jab at Twilight, but made no comment on it. “Yes, I suppose we may.”

“Right. Well, I pulled a few strings and wrote a few cheques, and the end result was the NCPR again, for two hours, uninterrupted broadcast. And in case you’re wondering, the New Canterlot Public have had the highest listener count every week following your return speech. They’ve already made announcements that we’re to be addressing Flim Flam Industry there, which means we’re gonna have one hell of a listener count tomorrow night.”

“Hrm. That’s… good.”

“You’re gods damned right it’s good,” Blueblood said. “Those ponies Flim Flam Industry are sending have no idea how royally we’re gonna fuck them over.”

Celestia exhaled, resisting the urge to scold Blueblood’s language. “And who might ‘those ponies’ be? It’s rather difficult to actually get a straight answer regarding their damned names. Shall it be Flim and Flam themselves?"

Blueblood frowned. "No. Honestly, Auntie, they're nothing. I'm at least seventy-five percent sure Flam is dead, and its been, like, three years since his brother has made any public appearance."

"That... is odd."

"To say the least," Blueblood agreed. "I don't pretend to understand. Either way, they're gonna be in some mansion far away. They haven't had control over Equestria since your imprisonment."

"I want answers there."

"You’re not gonna get them tonight. Don't waste your breath. Besides, we don't want ponies seeing your intentions as revenge driven, do we?"

Celestia sighed. "No we do not. So, this board of directors? I haven’t heard much about them."

“Yeah, well, that’s cause they switch out their main board of directors every couple years.”

Celestia blinked—the false eye closing slower than her good one. “They… do? Why?”

“Best way to avoid conspiracy. It gets difficult to critique a government that doesn’t have a clearly defined face. Keep switching the ponies in charge, and as long as they’re all corrupt, greedy, profit-headed zombies, nothing changes.”

“How smart,” Celestia growled. “So the ponies we’re meeting tomorrow..?”

“The current standing board of directors. As of a couple months prior to your return, I believe.”

“And the ponies who organized my imprisonment…”

“...Were deposed from power the moment it took place,” Blueblood replied. “Or so the stories go. That’s all speculation; obviously there’s no record of your imprisonment considering it was all done in the shadows. Anyways, speaking to the board of directors employed at the time of your imprisonment would be pointless.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re trying to move forwards. If we focus too much on them, it’s gonna look like you’re fishing for sympathy. We don’t want that. We want to highlight what happened and then move on. This meeting is a lucky opportunity for us. It’d be a waste to blow it on them when we could use it on paving our future.”

“Indeed. You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve been planning it long before your return.” Blueblood waved a hoof. “So anyways. Do you have any other questions about tomorrow night?”

“The ponies I am meeting,” Celestia said. “I have a general idea, but could you explain to me how exactly they fit into Flim Flam Industry as a whole?”

“O’course,” Blueblood said. “Basically, Flim Flam Industry is helmed by a board of directors of about fifteen to twenty ponies who make decisions about the corporation and by extension Equestria. Like I said, they switch these ponies out periodically to keep their snouts out of shit, so the ponies you’re gonna be speaking with are gonna play dumb if you ask them anything about your imprisonment.”

“Wait, wait.” Celestia closed her eyes. “One thing at a time. You said fifteen to twenty ponies?”

“...represent the entire board of directors, yeah,” Blueblood said. “That said, some have more voting power than others. Most of that fifteen are just heavy shareholders; ponies who have a significant impact on the financing of the corporation. We’re only meeting with three ponies from the board of directors, so you don’t have to worry about the others.”

“And those three?”

“The current managing director… uh,” Blueblood consulted a faux-leather dayplanner. “Name’s Spoiled Rich. She’d be the head chair in a typical board meeting.”

“Name is familiar,” Celestia mused. “Last I knew her, she was the wife of Filthy Rich. He had a minor real-estate empire in South-Eastern Equestria.”

“Right you are. They’re divorced now, and it looks like she’s better from it."

"And yet she keeps his surname?"

Blueblood shrugged. "Why not, when it's a well respected surname? Plus, she kept custody over their daughter and she likes to show it. Anyways, the other two are Bold Ballot and Fine Line.”

“Former mayor of Baltimare,” Celestia recounted. “And a former courtier during my Day Court. Is that right?”

“You got it, auntie.” Blueblood smiled. “The former is just a shareholder. No direct link to the company beyond buying into their stocks. Although, he's been a pretty active voice against your rule. He's quoted as proclaiming your suicide 'amongst the more fortunate events of the past two hundred years.'"

“Sounds like a nice stallion.“

“Yeah, he's a dumbass. Don't worry too much about him. As for Fine Line... she is what is called a ‘secretary of finance.’ In charge of monitoring the fund-spending of Flim Flam Industry.“

“That makes sense. She was something similar in my Day Court. Monitored the treasury funding and spending on public ordinances.”

“Uh huh. Anyways, those last two… they’re not gonna be speaking much,” Blueblood said. “They’re gonna leave that to Spoiled. So, while I’m not saying you can ignore them, we really should be going into this expecting her to be giving us the trouble.”

“Indeed,” Celestia nodded firmly. “Are we in for any other surprises?”

“Eh, we’re gonna be in control from the moment we begin,” Blueblood said. “They’re gonna be on the defensive and they know it. This is our time to ask questions.”

“So…” Celestia said. “Let’s ask questions they cannot easily answer. Ones where any answer they provide will be a red flag to their intentions, and any hesitation will be noted by anypony listening.”

Blueblood gave a mischievous smile. “You got it, auntie. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

xiv

With a dull clicking sound, the room was cast into a dim red glow as the large ‘ON AIR’ sign was illuminated.

To Celestia, it seemed like only yesterday when she and Twilight had been here. She could only hope that this time, preparation and Prince Blueblood would equate to a more successful experience.

Beside Celestia, Blueblood was adjusting his bowtie and idly playing with the long wire connected to the studio microphone on the table before them. Before the two of them, a small group of three other ponies were seated on the opposite end of a square table. Two mares and one stallion, who Celestia had briefly conversed with before stepping into the studio. For all the chaos that had surrounded simply being able to speak with them, Celestia had been surprised when, upon finally meeting with them, she found them to be rather easy to speak to. Even Spoiled Rich, who she had been expecting to exhibit a behaviour rather similar to Florina's smug professionalism, instead told Celestia that she was “a very brave and strong mare,“ regardless of what she must soon say on behalf of Flim Flam Industry.

While Spoiled Rich had proudly introduced herself to Celestia, Fine Line had been her inverse, instead keeping her gaze low and avoiding eye contact with the princess she used to serve. Celestia had tried her best to pretend not to notice, for the last thing she wanted was for Fine Line to assume that Celestia was mad at her, when truly she did not quite care.

The two mares were in their fifties, but dressed in enough wealthy clothes and makeup that they had over them an odd aura of artificiality. Bold Ballot was Blueblood's age; a stallion of above-average girth, wearing a large grey tie that matched rather poorly with his dark blue coat.

Blueblood and Celestia, by contrast, were dressed humbly; Blueblood in a simple blue bow-tie, and Celestia wearing the same dress she had worn to the Thestral, along with the cracked horn-rimmed glasses Twilight had purchased her.

Nopony had bothered making note of Celestia's now-present right eye.

With the red light still bearing down upon them and nopony having spoken yet, Blueblood finally cleared his throat and leaned closer to the microphone.

“Well, like in chess, I guess the white players will move first,” Blueblood said, giving their opposition a charming smile. “Although before we do, can I inquire as to why you three chose not to bring any representative for your factory workers with you? Some sort of workers rights chairpony?”

Spoiled Rich rose an eyebrow. “I assure you that was not a specific and premediated choice."

Blueblood looked amused. "Oh, like fuck it wasn't."

“You’re flinging into accusation rather swiftly,” Bold Ballot said, as though observing the weather.

“And you are flinging into defensiveness just as swiftly,” Blueblood countered. “But oh, where are my manners? I haven’t even given us a chance to introduce ourselves! I’m Prince Blueblood the VI, along with my aunt Princess Celestia, on air at the great New Canterlot Public Radio. We’re here to have a nice and productive discussion with Flim Flam Industry, and the NCPR were kind enough to give us a public platform to do so, since Celestia and I agree that the future of Equestria is something Equestrians should have a right to hear about. On the other side of the table from me are three representatives from the aforementioned Flim Flam Industry, who may introduce themselves as they wish.”

The three ponies indeed did so, but without the showy flare Blueblood had exhibited. They instead merely took turns stating their names in a bland monotone, as though deliberately subverting the lively tone Blueblood had exhibited.

When they were finished, Blueblood once more leaned towards the mic, saying some placid expression of thanks for their showing. Celestia felt a stab of pride in that moment for her nephew—he had grown into such an assertive and confident stallion in her absence, but here he was helping her with unwavering devotion, even after she had been so harsh and unforgiving towards his inquiries about taking a position at her side.

She perhaps didn’t deserve his help, but she was certainly grateful for it.

“...otherwise hectic lives,” Blueblood was finishing. “So we’re no doubt grateful you showed up to clear a few things up. So with that being said, I’ll pass the mic to Celestia and let her dive right in.”

“Hrm, well, I always was a poor swimmer, so apologies in advance for any abruptness,” Celestia replied. “Anyways, hrm. Well, I’ll ‘dive in’ by asking Flim Flam Industry when they wish to stop beating around the bush and simply say to all of Equestria what the hell happened twelve years ago. No more lies or minced words, simply the truth.”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that,” Spoiled Rich said immediately, with no hesitation. “Anything I would say would be in regards to the actions of individuals I have not met or seen. Flim Flam Industry’s current board of directors is not responsible for the actions of a decade old board of directors.”

“That’s a blatant lie,” Blueblood sharply retorted. “Anypony back home with a political textbook is free to read along and correct me, but when you ponies introduced your ‘democratic organization,’ you framed it as individuals running for power. I remember the controversies very clearly."

“I do, too,” Celestia added. “It was prior to my imprisonment, when Flim and Flam themselves began to speak about the concept. Some ponies were in favour, others were not. I remember passing laws to ensure that corporations had to be held accountable for the same responsibilities as an individual, if they were to be legally regarded as such. That way, they couldn't be exempt from doing things that a pony would be condemned for.”

“Yeah,” Blueblood said. “So after she was deposed and your corporation took over, Flim Flam Industry had the burden of showing their system was still fair—since at the time they were still technically bound by Celestia’s laws. The result was having a corporation still treated as an individual; that way, they could still be applicable for the voting process. Do you know what that means, relative to what you just said, Miss Rich?”

Spoiled Rich glared at Blueblood, saying nothing.

“It means,” Blueblood continued, beginning to grin. “...that Flim Flam Industry need to be formally treated as a unit. Therefore, it means that you are responsible for the actions of every facet of the corporation.”

“Like the captain of a ship,” Celestia offered. “This is fact, by the way. It’s written down in up-to-date law books. The laws there haven’t changed, and I know for a fact somepony would have noticed and would have objected if they had been. So, if Blueblood and I are invalid there, then your own written laws are also thusly invalid.”

“So…” Blueblood smiled. “Try again. From the top. What happened to Princess Celestia, twelve years ago?”

This time, it was clear Spoiled Rich had to give an answer. She looked waveringly at Fine Line and Bold Ballot—the latter staring directly at Celestia’s smug smile and the former looking down nervously.

“She was kidnapped by a private group not sanctioned or endorsed in any way by Flim Flam Ind—”

“Not only do I doubt anypony is going to believe that,” Blueblood cut in. “But it directly contradicts your previous answer. I’ll quote; ‘We are not responsible for the actions of a decade old board of directors.’ You ponies are unpracticed with telling the truth to Equestria, it seems. Celestia, anything to add?”

“Yes, I’ll go ahead and answer what Miss Spoiled Rich has refused to. Twelve years ago, fraudulent documents were forged with my signature that claimed to be my last will and testament. I was kidnapped and brought to an expensive and obviously pre-built underground facility, where I was kept and tortured for twelve years. All peace negotiations I offered that ended with me going free were refused. Am I wrong there, Miss Spoiled Rich?”

“I cannot deny nor confirm.”

“I can,” Fine Line cut in. “You’re right, Princess Celestia.”

Spoiled Rich gave Fine Line a filthy and terrifying glare, but the other mare did not flinch.

“There’s no reason to deny it,” Fine Line said. “It happened, our precursive counterparts may or may not have been directly involved, and we have nothing to gain from denying the trauma Miss Celestia suffered. That seems, quite frankly, insulting. We will do everything in our power to move past it and offer any sort of reconciliation Miss Celestia desires.”

“Thank you, Miss Fine Line,” Celestia said. “It is good to hear that. As it stands, I don’t wish to dwell too severely on the wounds of the past. I merely wish for Flim Flam Industry to acknowledge their presence.”

“And we have,” Fine Line said. “We have actually discussed the prospect of a cash settlement that we would offer to you, to show our desire for reconciliation.”

Celestia cocked her head. “Oh? This is news to me.”

“It is a proposal,” Spoiled Rich said. “A sum of about three million bits, offered to you, in the hopes that it eases the wounds you have mentioned. One of multiple ideas we have been considering.”

Blueblood and Celestia shared a glance.

“A bribe?” Blueblood mouthed, and Celestia frowned grimly in agreement.

“I shall consider it,” Celestia said simply, though internally she knew she’d be denying it later. “However, I must question your sudden change in attitude.”

Spoiled Rich was silent, leaving Fine Line to once more take charge.

“Please elaborate.”

“You are offering reconciliation and trying to mend fences,” Celestia said. “After attempting to publically humiliate me whilst condemning me as a sociopath and tyrant.”

“I can see how you would interpret our actions as such,” Spoiled Rich said. “However, we were only erring on the side of caution. Your actions in the past are indeed questionable, and your mental state is confusing relative to your actions towards your loved ones—”

“You’re mounting unprofessional personal attacks on her, after already asserting she needs mental help?” Blueblood cut her off. “Are you serious? Didn’t you realize when this didn’t work the first time that you wouldn’t get anywhere using it again?”

“They are not ‘personal remarks,’” Spoiled Rich argued. “They are vital components of her character. This was found to be factual in a court of law, Mister Blueblood.”

“An obviously corrupt one,” Blueblood growled. “Interesting how such a thing was proven in a trial that was only supposed to be about proving her leadership worth.”

“How Celestia sees other ponies directly affects her leadership worth.”

“‘How I see ponies,'" Celestia quoted. “Meaning what, exactly? Indulge me.”

“I was under the impression we were steering clear from personal remarks.”

“I was under the impression you ponies were hear to clear up any and all concerns I had,” Celestia responded. “Answer my damn question.”

Spoiled Rich looked to Bold Ballot, who was now regarding Celestia with a curious cocked head. He'd been silent nearly the whole time, but it looked as though Spoiled Rich's cool glare was enough to force him to speak.

“Anypony who has lived as long as you surely would view the lives of ponies differently. Given the fact that more Equestrians died in the Crystal War that you declared, than in any other major pony-induced conflict in the past hundred years, it’s safe to say you view their deaths differently, too, yes?”

“First of all, the Crystal War was the first major pony-induced conflict in the past hundred years,” Celestia retorted. “Secondly, and I hope you’ll forgive me, but that statement about me ‘seeing ponies as mayflies’ makes just as little sense now as it did three weeks ago. It is an unfounded accusation that could not be further from the truth.”

Spoiled Rich rolled her eyes. “So you have said.”

“And how may I convince you?” Celestia retorted.

“However you wish, Miss Celestia. We’re all ears.”

“Okay then,” Celestia said. “I will delve into the dreadfully predictable old mare routine of telling you all a story about my youth.” Celestia paused, gauging the reactions of the ponies around her. Blueblood looked a little wary, and the board of directors looked unamused by her joke.

Nonetheless, she began with confidence.

“When I first ascended, I must admit I was concerned. In my mind, I saw two options… either I would be torn into insanity as everypony I knew died around me, or I would become some cynical chessmaster no longer bothered by death.

“Neither were welcoming prospects, but I now know that neither came true. I remember when my parents died, so long ago. I remember being too prideful to pay whatever dwindling respect we gave the dead in Erisia. They had abandoned me and my sister out of fear of the wings on my back, and the fiery young mare I was at the time could not find it in me to forgive their righteous fear. I remember clearly my own regret the decades that followed, and how I would never quite forgive my pride for that decision.

“As I aged, I figured things would become easier. It would hurt less when my friends passed, and I would be better for it. And yet this, too, was wrong. It never got easier for me. The pain never numbed. The odd thing about losing somepony is that the bulk of the pain does not stem from their passing—we know practically from fillyhood what loss feels like—it is that, in the weeks and years to follow, you must contend with the fact that they will never return. And that never gets easier, alicorn or not, and no matter how long you live. Why would it?

“Do you know how many voices I would give anything simply to hear once more? How many friends I so desperately wish to laugh with one more time? How often I wish to talk with somepony that history has forgotten entirely but my memory has kept alight as clear as day? Have you any idea what it is like to pine for somepony whose own future ancestors now have no knowledge of?

“So don’t you dare tell me I have no regard for the dead. Don’t you dare pretend you can understand what it is like to lose so much and then have some misinformed bureaucrat tell you that you don’t give a damn about those you love. Because you have no idea how much it hurts to keep on losing them over and over again every time my stupid old mare’s mind wanders upon their memories.”

There was silence for several seconds after Celestia had finished her monologue. Blueblood was wearing a humorous, wide-eyed look of wonderment and respect. Fine Line had mirrored Blueblood’s look to a lesser and more sombre degree, her gaze on her hooves but her eyes still alight with barely visible amazement.

"That sounded very... passionate," Bold Ballot said, sounding bored. "But it bears no change towards your rulership, and its obvious flaws. It is quite clear that this country has developed more in the twelve years you were absent than in a hundred under your rule."

“I'm sorry, do you honestly think you've done better than me regarding these matters?” Celestia challenged. “Because in twelve years, you have hardly proven so. The environment has been destroyed, our relations with foreign powers seem to be in shambles, and there are hundreds of ponies on the streets, begging for food. All things I would never have tolerated in my Equestria.”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, waving a hoof dismissively. “It happens. Just a side effect of moving a country to industry quickly.”

“Indeed." Celestia intensified her glare. “That is why you don’t move a country to industry quickly. These things take time.”

“And what, exactly, has your leadership shown regarding the matters of progress? You’ve kept Equestria in the same archaic rut for centuries.”

“What in the name of sanity are you talking about?” Celestia felt her temper flare. “Rut? A rut where everypony is employed, happy, and we are at peace with each other and everypony else? That rut? Yes indeed, forgive me for trying to keep us there.”

Bold Ballot did not seem convinced. "That sounds an awful lot like oppression, Miss Celestia."

"So, according to you, a state not dropping everything it values in order to arbitrarily 'change' is an oppressed state."

"No, but a state ruled by one ruler for centuries is bound to gain flaws specific to that ruler's own personal flaws."

"That... is a fair point," Celestia conceded. "I can agree to that. This is partly why I've felt the need to once more have a Crown Minister to monitor my own decisions. I have no objections to putting myself under check. Now, with that all said and done.” Celestia broke the argument with a calm smile. “I must ask. My ‘sociopathic tendencies’ aside, it was my belief—furthered bolstered by the testimony of one Florina Harshwhinny—that, after my leadership worth was legally sound, I would be closer to my throne.”

Bold Ballot tapped a hoof on the table. “I think you may have misinterpreted that mare’s words. Besides, she should hardly be taken as a competent voice of authority.”

“Misinterpreted?” Celestia cocked her head, looking to Blueblood, who smiled in return and flipped open his faux-leather notebook.

Blueblood, still smiling, read in a mockingly professional voice. “‘...And the end result, assuming you disprove the allegations presented against you, will most likely be your eligibility for candidacy.’ Spoken by Florina Harshwhinny, right here on the NCPR, one month and two weeks ago.”

“And, regarding her competence…” Celestia added, also smiling smugly. “It is as we established earlier. As a unit, Flim Flam Industry—you—are responsible for every single slip-up she’s made.”

This time, Bold Ballot stayed his tongue. Spoiled Rich and Fine Line also seemed at a loss.

“I’ll repeat,” Celestia said, still smiling. “Why am I no closer to my throne?”

“Are you threatening us, Miss Celestia?”

“No. Besides, I hardly think an old mare like me is capable of carrying out any threats she made regardless.”

“You ponies are awfully jumpy,” Blueblood tutted.

“That’s enough, nephew.” Celestia silenced Blueblood with a raise of her hoof. “The point is, we’re here to start a dialogue, yes? To figure out a way to move forwards? Well, I’ll make the suggestion of a vote. That is what you ponies flaunt as the superior way of doing things now, yes? If that is the case, you shouldn’t be in any way afraid of carrying such a thing out now.”

Spoiled Rich shared a glance with her colleagues. “That is considerably unorthodox.”

Celestia gave a short laugh. “Indeed! But, what element of this entire situation is orthodox?”

“We will consider it,” Fine Line said. “But our cash offering still stands. If you choose to deny it in favour of some other proposal, we will not hesitate to withdraw this offer.”

“Unless you are venting those bits directly into ending child labour in your factories,” Celestia retorted. “I don’t really care for it anyways. I can’t think of what I personally would need that would cost me three million bits, but I think the problems with your factories could use the extra assistance.”

At the mere utterance of ‘child labour’, Celestia knew she had treaded onto an ant-hill. There was not going to be any returning to the calm exchange they had carried out, now. She’d just said something nopony in Equestria listening would have been expecting, and she had said it with the casual nature of somepony comparing tea flavours.

“That is entirely baseless accusation,” Spoiled Rich growled. “Child labour exists in no capacity in any of our factories. Anypony who thinks such a thing could exist in this day and age would need to be rather out of touch with reality. You’ve launched these claims without any evidence at all.”

“Oh, please!” Blueblood laughed. “Yes! Ask us to show evidence towards the shifty bullshit you ponies have got going! I’ve been waiting for this all night!”

In a moment, all resolve had left Spoiled Rich’s face. “This is hardly the time. We’re attempting to have a productive dialogue here. Not fling blame about. Celestia herself has already said that. Besides, we’re approaching the two hour-mark anyways. This is all the time we’ve been allotted.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you ponies for being so defensive,” Celestia said, resisting the urge to laugh as Blueblood had. They had hardly even crept over the sixty-five minute mark and Flim Flam Industry were already bailing in fear. And, while Celestia was a little disappointed their assault had ended so swiftly, she was rather pleased by the reason.

If Equestria didn’t hear the fearful urgency in Flim Flam Industry’s lies, then they were surely deaf.

“Anyways, anypony interested in these facts needs only read the articles my friend Miss Twilight Sparkle has written anyways. Now, if that’s truly all the time we’re allotted, I’ll use the remainder to address you, Equestria.

“You’re not stupid, and you’re not blind. And therefore, you should be skeptical. Start looking at the skies and breathing the air, and you’ll see that things are not as they should be. Start listening to those lower-class 'untouchables' working at the factories, and you’ll see that things are not just.

“We’re on the precipice of change here. Indeed, we’re standing on the dawn of a great, great new era. I am earnestly excited to see what a future of technology and magic shall bring us. And yet, depending on the decisions we make now, where we stand and how we act shall be looked upon by our children and our children’s children in the eras to come. This is where we make our stand as a culture once again, and where we decide if the future we want to provide is a good one. We will be judged by our children based on our actions now.

“So stop pretending things are alright and will only get better. The further we slip into ignorance and complacency, the further we shall continue to fall. So stop seeing the lies Flim Flam Industry spew as fact. They are lies. I’m a living mare with a tombstone and obituary. If that isn’t ample proof, I do not know what is. Thank you and goodnight for now, Equestria.”

With a final smile towards the three ponies before her, Celestia pushed the microphone away and rose to leave.

Celestia did not know quite what had brought it about—perhaps it was the mere act of raising the Moon that had caused her optimism to evaporate to sorrow so swiftly.

Or, perhaps she truly was so insane. She did not know.

They had left the studio in a blaze of glory. Blueblood had talked in a chipper tone about their ‘victory’ the entire airship ride, and Celestia had listened with a sort of passive humour towards her nephew’s excited tone.

And yet, the whole while, she couldn’t shake away her own words.

She’d refuted Bold Ballot’s assertions that she saw ponies as mayflies. They had even implicitly mentioned that Luna was amongst them, and she had denied such.

By time her hooves had left the airship deck and were once more on the deck of the suite, Celestia couldn’t help but wonder if she’d had any right to do so.

Before she had even reached the guest bedroom that had already become her own, tears had begun to stream down her cheek. She’d nearly made it to the bedroom without Blueblood noticing, but unfortunately the luck that had kept her wings afloat through the trial seemed to have run out.

“Fuck, auntie! What the hell?” he gasped. “Are you alright?”

“Luna,” Celestia answered simply.

It was a randomly spoken, context-less word, but Blueblood seemed to understand without any other explanation.

“Oh come on. They’re idiots. We know that!”

“No.” Celestia collapsed against the hallway wall, the impact shaking her glasses free from her snout. They clattered onto the pinewood floor, the lenses shattering into powder. “They’re right.”

“Auntie… did you want a moment alone?”

“No,” Celestia sobbed. “Please stay, Blueblood.”

Without saying anything further, Blueblood obeyed—sitting awkwardly beside Celestia on the floor and looking as though he was considering the idea of hugging her but ultimately deciding against it.

“Sometimes I don’t even remember her face, Blueblood,” Celestia whispered. “I can’t even close my eyes and see her anymore. All I see is that… that monster that took her. My own sister, and sometimes I cannot even remember what she looked like.”

“It’s been over a thousand years, Auntie. That’s longer than anypony can even fathom.”

“That’s an excuse,” Celestia replied. “Just an excuse. I’ve been telling myself the same bloody thing—to those ponies, to every other being in Equestria, everypony—but I don’t think I’ve ever believed it.”

“It’s not out of a lack of love, Auntie. Nopony has ever said that.”

“Those ponies did!” Celestia protested. “What if they’re right?!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Blueblood said. “Of course they aren’t.”

“For twelve years, the people of Equestria have thought otherwise,” Celestia reasoned. “Am I seriously supposed to defend the idea that the entirety of Equestria are mistaken and I am the only correct one?”

“No, but you’re supposed to defend your own love for your sister. You shouldn’t be held as unloving because of something you were forced to do.”

Celestia let out a long breath. “Blueblood… I’ve been thinking about the afterlife a lot lately. About Tartarus. This… this place where evildoers are damned to when they pass. If anypony deserves to be there… I think it really is me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Blueblood said. “You’re not even close to—”

Whatever comforting remark Blueblood had been planning, it was lost by Rarity’s shrill call from someplace in the suite.

“Blueblood, darling? Is that the princess I hear?”

“Look, Rarity, we’re in the middle of something!” Blueblood returned in an irritated tone.

“Well! My word!” Rarity gave an offended nicker. “I suppose I’ll tell this Sparkle mare on the phone that her affairs with the Princess are sadly not as urgent as she claims.”

Even with her face still blushing with signs of her crying, Celestia was on her hooves and trotting towards Rarity’s voice in an instant. The white unicorn gave Celestia an amused, analyzing gaze as she passed her the funnel-like device.

“Twilight Sparkle?!” Celestia gasped into the phone, her voice still warbling and dull.

“Celestia! Is it a bad time?”

“It... isn’t the best."

“Well… look, I don’t know how to really say this. I've... I've made a horrible mistake...”

Celestia heard the receiver shift, as though Twilight had dropped it, or had moved it to the other side of her face but had struck something in the process.

“It’s… look, I’m really scared, Celestia. There's ponies in my library right now, and...”

Twilight broke off into hyperventilating silence.

“What happened?!” Celestia returned after awhile, nearly screaming into the receiver.

“I’m… I…” Twilight stuttered. "Celestia, I think I'm being arrested."

Author's Note

The Apocalypse Queen (XIII)

Twilight walked through the veil of hissing smoke fading into the late night air, weaving her way through the nearly-deserted New Canterlot train platform.

Nightmare Moon was waltzing beside Twilight—invisible to all but the nervous unicorn and casually phasing through ponies like the ghostly image she truly was. Occasionally she frowned and sniffed at some curious smell emanating from a society she had never before seen, but she did not speak as Twilight led the way from the station to the city proper, trying not to let her wide dress snag itself upon a parking meter or passing pony.

“This is…” Nightmare Moon murmured, peering with amazement as a streetcar past. The great alicorn shook her head and cleared her throat. “Where exactly are you going, Sparkle?”

“We’re gonna catch a streetcar downtown,” Twilight said without turning from her weaving path through New Canterlot. The streets were busy and flooded with the sounds of ponies talking, and surely nopony would notice her seemingly talking to herself. “Then we’re going to meet Celestia and her nephew at some restaurant for dinner. I think we’re going to be talking about how we’re moving forwards.”

“You used a whole lot of ‘we’ in that sentence,” Nightmare Moon replied, sounding amused. “As though you’re under the ludicrous belief that I would possibly be interested or welcomed to such an event.”

“Well, you are following me, and I do want you to keep me company,” Twilight said, fiddling with the buttons on her parka as a gust of cold night air snaked through the concrete valley. “And it’s not like anypony would be able to see you if you don’t show yourself to them, right?”

“Celestia might,” Nightmare Moon pointed out. “Even if I don’t show myself to her, she’s awfully perceptive. Ghosts don’t exactly get to chose who they do and don’t haunt.”

“I guess that’s true,” Twilight sighed. “It’s probably going to be boring anyways. I could just do with a bit of… uh, emotional support is all.”

Nightmare Moon cackled. “Your choice for emotional support is me? Are you a masochist?”

Twilight smiled. “Come on. You can’t be any worse than Celestia’s posh nephew.”

“I shall take that as a challenge, Sparkle,” Nightmare Moon scoffed. She stopped in her hooves, lifting a forehoof above the cobblestone street and holding her head up proudly, flaring her wings to their full length. It was a mighty and fearsome gesture, and it took Twilight a moment to realize that Nightmare Moon had intended it as a joke.

“Fine, I will accompany you. You’ve slaved for me enough to deserve the luxury of my company for one measly dinner. But if Celestia spots me, I shall hold you responsible and you will not quite like what will happen to you next.”

“Right,” Twilight said, nodding shakily. “I think she’s been having troubles lately with… uh, seeing things, though.”

“In the literal sense or the metaphorical?”

“Literal. She keeps saying it’s because she needs new glasses, but her left eye is basically all cataract now. I’m no optometrist, but I’m pretty sure she’s past the point of repair. She can’t even read and write letters herself anymore.”

Nightmare Moon laughed—her usual cruel, exaggerated affair. “And what’s wrong with her right eye? Too much rusty rebar in it?”

Twilight frowned at Nightmare Moon’s cruel joke. Oddly enough, like Celestia, the black alicorn had a morbid sense of humor that Twilight hardly shared.

“You really don’t feel sorry for her? Not even a little bit?”

Nightmare Moon’s smile vanished and a sneer overtook it. “She can rot in Tartarus for all I care. In fact, I would set off fireworks to celebrate the prospect of her burning for eternity. You are not changing my mind about this, Twilight Sparkle, so you’d best be silent about Celestia before I get annoyed.”

“I’m sorry.” Twilight’s head sunk, watching her hooves trod through the slushy sidewalk. “Gods, I’m an idiot. I really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Stop fretting—I’m not going to yell at you. But, for future reference, my sister is a topic not ripe for casual conversation. Understood?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Twilight's gaze sunk.

“Mm hrm. I said it was okay, Twilight.”

While Twilight’s head stayed in the same shameful slouch she had assumed since Nightmare’s mood had turned, she could not help but notice how Nightmare Moon had dropped the near religious formality placed upon her name. Gone were any irritated and official-sounding utterances of her full name—instead, Nightmare Moon had settled for what was in essence a nickname.

It was something small, but it was something nonetheless.

It was a little difficult to appreciate the ritzy grandeur of whatever New Canterlot high-society establishment stood before her when Prince Blueblood’s airship dominated so much of Twilight Sparkle’s sight.

“Somepony’s overcompensating for something,” Nightmare Moon tutted, peering up at the lumbering, goldfish-like airship. “Are you sure you want to meet this Blueblood character?”

Twilight didn’t answer, although she couldn’t help but agree with Nightmare Moon’s snide sentiment. It was insultingly hypocritical that the stallion who would be helping them fight for the less fortunate travelled to fine dining establishments in a private airship. She could probably sell every single book in her library and not have enough even half of the required bits to afford the ship.

The restaurant before her—known as The Thestral, according to the tall, contemporary-looking white letters above the entrance—was the sort of place so far removed from Twilight’s circle of presence that the very thought of entering filled her with dread. Every step towards the modern-looking restaurant—with a polished patio beneath shimmering lightbulbs hanging from wires stretched like spiderwebs above—only caused a painful flutter of panic through Twilight’s chest.

There was no doubt in her mind she wouldn’t belong.

She’d been laughed out of public establishments before, but never with so much at stake.

Running a hoof nervously through her updone mane reeking of cheap hairspray, Twilight turned on her heels to face Nightmare Moon.

“How do I look?” she whispered.

Nightmare Moon blinked.

Twilight jerked her head towards the building. “That restaurant is going to be filled exclusively with millionaires and big shots, and I’m showing up in a ratty prom dress and a bee’s hive mane.”

"A prom?" Nightmare Moon cocked her head.

"Yeah. Some... some dance they throw at the end of high school."

"Sounds pretty pathetic."

"Yeah, well, I didn't even go," Twilight replied. She had vanished from her school before the end of the year anyways, and nopony had bothered sending her an invitation. The dress she was now wearing was the only one she owned, and she had worn it perhaps only once in the past. For all she knew, it did not even remotely fit.

"Ah. Doubly pathetic. No, I wouldn't fret. You look fine, Sparkle.”

“I don’t!” Twilight kicked at the dirt.

Nightmare Moon narrowed her eyes. “Precisely why did you ask me how you looked if you did not wish to value my opinion? And, more importantly, precisely why do you care what any of these rich snobs think of you?”

“I… guess you’re right.”

“Statistically, I have been.” Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes.

Once more, Nightmare Moon seemed to be delivering comfort Twilight was surprised to receive. “Thanks, Nightmare Moon.”

“Oh, stop cajoling and move along.”

Despite Nightmare Moon’s assurances, several ponies did indeed stop talking and stared straight at Twilight as she trotted into the restaurant, and while their stares were by no means malicious looking, Twilight had half a mind to turn tail and flee instead of moving any further.

The hostess broke through Twilight’s reverie with a kind smile. “Good evening, ma’am! Welcome to The Thestral. Do you have a reservation?”

“Uh… yeah. My name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m expecting two… uh, friends, I guess. Prince Blueblood and Princess Celestia.”

The hostess glanced at her reservation book and intensified her grin. “You certainly are. If you’ll just follow me...”

Twilight wordlessly fell into step behind the hostess, who led the way into The Thestral proper.

A backwards glance, and Twilight saw that Nightmare Moon was still following, but nopony else in the restaurant seemed to have any reaction to the tall black alicorn walking proudly in their midst. Instead, they seemed content simply watching Twilight with the same passive curiosity the ponies sitting out on the porch had possessed. Twilight knew it was probably illogical, but every gaze towards her felt hostile and frightening, and for every shy smile she forced, she knew she did not belong. These were the sort of ponies she had gone on for paragraphs in her articles critiquing, and now she was waltzing amongst them, trying pathetically to look like she fit.

When Twilight finally diverted her gaze away from the judgement of other ponies, she could see that the hostess seemed to be leading her into a part of the restaurant that was divided from the rest of the patrons. From within, Twilight could hear Prince Blueblood concluding some meaningless anecdote, Celestia’s subsequent joyful laugh.

“... and that was just the mares!” Blueblood added, chuckling and lifting a glass of white wine to his lips.

The glass halted midway when the unicorn caught sight of Twilight and the hostess hovering in the entranceway. Catching his glance, Celestia, too, turned in Twilight’s direction.

She smiled widely upon seeing her. It seemed neither Celestia nor Blueblood could see Nightmare Moon lurking behind Twilight. “Twilight! You made it! Goodness, what a lovely dress you’re wearing!”

“Uh… y...you too, thanks.” Twilight scratched an ear.

“Oh, much obliged!” Celestia said, giving her own pinkish-orange dress a brief and scrutinizing glance. “Please, have a seat, Twilight.”

Wordlessly, Twilight obliged. Just as she set her rump on the cushion on the opposite side of Celestia and Blueblood, the waitress returned with a menu that she set on the table before her. Hurriedly, Twilight muttered something about needing a few minutes to decide, and the waitress was off.

“So…” Twilight tried not to tense as Blueblood spoke, all the while scanning her like she were some curio at a novelty shop. “You’re the infamous Twilight Sparkle.”

“I… suppose I am," she returned. Blueblood's opinion of her was hardly well veiled in the examining gaze he gave her. He probably had more respect for the Thestral's waitresses than he did for her.

Of course, the feeling was more or less mutual. Twilight didn't dislike Blueblood enough to warrant devoting her time into critiquing him, but the fact of the matter was, he was every bit a problem to her as Flim Flam Industry were. Celestia was perhaps partial towards him by virtue of relation, but Twilight had no trouble seeing him as a priviledged ex-noble with enough wealth to keep his hooves clean of labour for the rest of his days.

Nonetheless, for Celestia, Twilight put on a small smile. "Pleased to meet you, Prince Blueblood.”

Blueblood laughed—a frustratingly predictable sounding affair; he laughed exactly like how Twilight would have imagined a self-proclaimed 'prince' laughed. “I imagine you are. You’re… admittedly not what I was expecting ‘Twilight Sparkle’ to look like in the flesh.”

This time, it was Twilight’s turn to laugh. “And what were you expecting? Some mumbling lunatic wearing a tinfoil hat?”

Blueblood shrugged. “More or less. You must’ve lost weight since the last photo of you I’ve seen published. That, or I guess your mugshots added a few pounds, huh?”

The insult, petty as it was, caught Twilight off guard. She opened her mouth to offer some poorly thought-out retort, but Celestia cut in before she had the chance.

“Well, I’m glad you two have finally met.” Celestia was evidently proceeding with caution. “We have plenty to discuss, anyways.”

“About your next radio appearance, right?” Twilight asked.

“Hrm, that for sure.” Celestia nodded. “Blueblood and I have discussed that to great lengths already, but I feel we should be filling you in.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Twilight said, trying not to feel indignant that she seemed to have been excluded from such an important conversation.

“Well. Blueblood, care to run Twilight through it?”

“With pleasure,” Blueblood said. “We’re going to be very firm this time. Not aggressive, but I personally feel that Princess Celestia has been going about things in a rather passive way. Now that we’ve succeeded in striking a bit of public doubt towards Flim Flam Industry, we can afford to be more frank in our next appearance. So, we’re going in with a list of demands that we’re gonna present right to their board of directors, on live air no less.”

“Oh… uh, alright.” Twilight frowned. “When you say ‘we’...”

“I mean me and Princess Celestia, yes.”

“You mean me, you, and Celestia?”

“No, I mean me and Princess Celestia,” Blueblood repeated bluntly. “I mean, no offense intended, but last time you appeared on the radio with Princess Celestia, it was an utter disaster.”

“I don’t think I’m the reason for that, though,” Twilight protested.

“Well, I never said you were,” Blueblood returned. “But you need to understand, Sparkle—your reputation is a hindrance towards Princess Celestia’s cause.”

“Celestia?” Twilight turned her gaze to the elderly alicorn. “Do you agree with that? Am I a… a hindrance to you?”

Celestia sunk her head in shame. “I would not say it like that, but…” She sighed and sipped her glass of cognac. “I just want to try this one without you, Twilight. Just this once. I promise.”

“Uh, is that such a great idea though?” Twilight cocked her head. “I mean, public doubt or not, it seems to me like—”

“We have already discussed this,” Blueblood interrupted. “Me and Celestia.”

“That’s… well I mean, yeah, I know that.” Twilight scratched an ear. “But, I mean… I am technically her Crown Minister, so I think I should have some sort of final—”

“You’re technically a common vagrant, Twilight Sparkle.” Once more, Blueblood interrupted her. “You’re technically not anything until Celestia is in power, considering the position of ‘Crown Minister’ hasn’t been in use for centuries, and Celestia would have to be in power to bring it back into use. That is how it works.”

“I know that,” Twilight said again. “I just feel like I should have some sort of… y’know, say on this.”

Blueblood opened his mouth to retort, but Celestia stopped him with a raise of her hoof. “Twilight is quite right, Blueblood. I chose her for a reason, after all.”

“Forgive me Auntie, but I can’t begin to imagine what reason that is. She has no experience here.”

“Oh dear, not this again.” Celestia brought a hoof to the bridge of her snout. “I didn’t bring you two together so I could listen to you bicker. Please, Blueblood—”

“I do have experience, by the way,” Twilight piped up. “I’m a journalist.”

“First of all, so what?” Blueblood rolled his eyes. “Second of all, no you’re not. You’re freelance. That doesn’t count.”

Nightmare Moon, who had previously been watching the interchange with moderate annoyance, finally perked up, wearing an open glare.

“I’ve had quite enough of this stallion,” Nightmare Moon declared. “At least you’re magically skilled and you put effort into your livelihood.”

It was actually a rather solid point, Twilight thought. Since there was no hope that Blueblood himself would have heard it, Twilight took the liberty of reprising it.

“At least I work for my bits!” she said. “I’m peddling articles to newspapers nearly every day just so I can afford food and clean water. What do you know about living like that, Prince Blueblood?”

“Twilight, Blueblood, stop fighting please!” Celestia said again, her voice dismal and desperate.

“Just a minute, Auntie,” Blueblood said. “I’ll drop it, I promise, but before I do; what do you mean ‘living like that’, Sparkle?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Twilight shot back, a manic grin on her face. “You’re telling all these ponies who are being exploited that you’re there for them, and meanwhile you’re living a life of wealth thanks to your aunt’s inheritance. You’re a hypocrite.”

“Goddesses above, you’re a petty mare,” Blueblood growled. “I’ve created charities and founded shelters. Hell, I even funded orphanages in Fillydelphia and Trottawa! Compared to that, what have you done to help anypony? Or do you seriously think your silly little articles are helping?”

“That is enough!" Celestia barked. "From both of you! My goodness, what has gotten into you two?”

Twilight and Blueblood both instantly tensed at the sound of Celestia's raised voice. She had kept any hints of hostility far from it, instead sounding like she was merely reacting out of sheer annoyance. Regardless, Celestia's anger was never something Twilight would have hoped to have directed at her again.

Nightmare Moon gave Twilight a cold glare. “Don’t leave this here. She’s replacing you with him, you know. You do see that, right?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said internally, hoping that Nightmare Moon would hear through thought alone. “But what do I say?”

“Just say what you think,” Nightmare Moon said aloud, shrugging. “Tell her it’s her decision but you think she’s making a huge mistake.”

Twilight gulped and nodded. “It’s… whatever you want to do is your choice, Celestia. But I think it’s a mistake.”

“We appreciate your input, Sparkle, but—”

Nightmare Moon gave Twilight a rough nudge, but whatever it was she had to say was lost as Twilight rose in thinly veiled frustration.

“You don’t get to speak for her,” Twilight said. “And definitely not for her cause. I’m done here. I’ll see you back at the library, Celestia. Unless you’ve decide Blueblood’s penthouse is more your speed now.”

Twilight turned tail from Celestia and Blueblood just as a waitress returned with Twilight’s menu, an expression of shock on the poor mare’s face.

“Twilight! Wait, please!” Celestia called, but Twilight pretended not to hear as she continued trotting back towards the exit of The Thestral.

“Good,” Nightmare Moon cooed from behind as they emerged back out into the windy night. “They don’t have the right to push you around like that.”

“What if Blueblood is right, though?” Twilight whispered, as soon as she was out of earshot of the ponies on The Thestral’s porch. “To Equestria, I really am just a worthless vagrant.”

“Oh, hogwash,” Nightmare Moon replied. “You’re not worthless and you know it. Stop being so melodramatic.”

“It’s not about what I think,” Twilight said. “It’s about what Equestria thinks I am.”

“Well, it pains me to say this, but you are special, Twilight. If idiots like that posh prick represent the norm, you must be. And if Equestria can’t see that for themselves, I don’t really think they’re worth saving.”

iii

Somewhere on the second floor of the library, a cupboard door loudly slammed.

“No ice-cream, Twilight? Seriously?” An irritated voice called out from the makeshift kitchen Twilight had constructed in the staff lunchroom on the library’s second floor.

“Sorry,” Twilight offered meekly as Nightmare Moon strode down the stairs and back into the ground-level reading area, where Twilight was hunched over her crackling radio. “I… uh, made some popcorn, if you’d like.”

Twilight floated the bowl over to Nightmare Moon without turning her attention from the radio and the voices emanating from within.

“Of course you did,” Nightmare Moon drawled. “You expect the Empress of Eternal Night to partake in common snack food?”

Twilight didn’t answer, instead returning her focus to the radio.

“...to their passing—we know practically from fillyhood what loss feels like,” Celestia was saying. “...It is that, in the weeks and years to follow…”

“She’s still going on?” Nightmare Moon gave a humourless laugh. “You’d think she’d know to stop stroking her ego when all of Equestria can hear her doing so.”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s doing,” Twilight replied.

“Well, what do you know about her?”

“I know that she’s on the radio trying to—”

“She shouldn’t be on the radio at all,” Nightmare Moon sneered. “Talking about heaven’s knows what. She should be on her damn throne by now. What the hell is she waiting for, another sister to steal glory from?”

“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

“Oh you are, are you?” Nightmare Moon tutted. “And picking Prince Blueblood whilst leaving you to the wolves—that’s yet another ever-wise decision on her part, hrm?”

Twilight grit her teeth, but said nothing.

“I mean seriously. In her eyes, I am the embodiment of Equestria’s greatest hatred and fears, and yet I accepted your friendship, meanwhile she refuses to do the same? What a bitch. What she should really be—”

“Wait, hold up…” Twilight blinked, all focus on the radio lost. “You… consider me a friend?”

Nightmare Moon gave a feral growl, looking annoyed. “You asked me. I don’t recall ever saying no. And don’t you ever interrupt me again, you pudgy purple cow.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Twilight said quickly. “I just… got excited.”

“Hrm, well, if you really are planning on one day ruling Equestria, you’d might as well practice being assertive somewhere.”

“I… ruling what now?”

“You do know that Crown Minister implies an eventual rise to central power?” Nightmare Moon said. “It’s in the title, for goodness sake. Minister to the Crown. Surely you’re not that dense?”

“No, I know that,” Twilight said, dropping the smoldering butt of her cigarette into a glass of rye she had poured herself weeks ago. “But that’s only in the event of Celestia’s passing. That’s not going to happen during my lifetime.”

“Not if you keep living like this,” Nightmare Moon growled, shaking the glass of rye and cigarette. “Good heavens. What would your parents think of you?”

Twilight frowned. She didn’t exactly get the impression Nightmare Moon was the sort of mare who would really care how much of a disappointment her mother and father thought she was.

“Anyway,” Nightmare Moon said, rolling her eyes and plucking a few pieces of popcorn from Twilight’s bowl. “My point is, you will one day be in a position of authority. With or without Celestia’s help. And with or without her prick of a nephew in the way.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll poison his wine or something,” Twilight replied sarcastically. “I just don’t know, Nightmare Moon. If I’m not important to Celestia, why would I be important to anypony else?”

“Okay, several things. One: Celestia’s opinion of you doesn’t matter,” Nightmare Moon began. “Secondly… have you considered simply assassinating the leaders in power? You have the magical potential. I can teach you some nifty spells.”

Twilight glared.

Nightmare Moon gave an irritated sigh. “Fine, keep shying away from what needs to be done. You could sweep beneath Celestia and take the throne herself with ease, but here you are, limiting your own potential. You’re a student of Celestia if ever I’ve seen one. If I were in power—”

“...their heads would be hanging on pikes outside of the castle,” Twilight recounted. “You’ve told me this before.”

“I do believe I’ve also told you before not to interrupt me.” Nightmare Moon shot back. “Then if killing is off the table, your third option would be… well, I read some of your writing...”

“Oh no…” Twilight moaned.

“Actually, it wasn’t bad. Hearing Prince Blueblood berating you made me wonder, but you make good points and word them well. Anypony ridiculing you for them seems rather excessive. Besides, the public’s view on you in the past is sure to change now that Celestia has returned.”

“It… is?” Twilight cocked her head. “Why would it?”

“Because the Industry have already been exposed as liars, and all they’ve done to argue you has so far just been to softly deny your points.”

Pursing her lips, Twilight nodded. It did seem like a valid point, although Nightmare Moon of all ponies seemed a strange source to be offering it.

Then again, Twilight supposed Nightmare Moon knew about social rejection just as well as she did.

“My point is, your writing is no longer complete nonsense. Blueblood and Celestia think that screaming at a brick wall on the radio is helping things, but it isn’t. Right now, you can do as much damage to the Industry as they can, but you can do it all by yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous. No I can’t.”

“Look at me, Twilight Sparkle.” Nightmare Moon’s tone was stern, but somehow comforting. “Tell me what you are, right now.”

Twilight blinked. “Um… I’m a… pony?”

“Your career, you blithering foal! Tell me what you do!”

“Oh. I’m a… a freelance investigative journalist?”

“Okay. Exactly. Then investigate. Expose something about them. Or, if not that, then say something big! In my days, a speech could topple or unite a damn empire!”

“I’ve tried that before! And look how far it’s gotten me!”

“You’ve tried it before the Industry had been exposed as a malicious, kidnapping entity,” Nightmare Moon retorted. “I say you now have firm enough footing to start hurling boulders. Prove to Celestia that you’re doing the hard work while she sits on her flank doing nothing.”

Twilight scratched an ear. “I’m… well… there are… laws and the like, surrounding these sort of things. I’ve been scraping by on my talents as a journalist, not by trying to spur revolutions. I’m pretty sure I may land myself in hot water.”

“So what?” Nightmare Moon returned. “Do so anyways. This all just tells me they’re afraid of you! Surely you have something in that wreckage of a study that could fuel some credibility to your call to arms?”

“I’ve… got some, yeah,” Twilight sighed. “I mean, I’m fairly certain the water ponies are drinking in Ponyville contains run-off chemicals from the industries outside of New Canterlot. But even if I did hop the fence and sneak down to the river to get chemical samples, it’s not like anypony would believe me if I published—”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?!” Nightmare Moon barked. “They would, because you’ve already been proven right whilst they’ve been proven false.” To prove her point, Nightmare Moon withdrew one of the papers she had entered the room with. Twilight recognized it as an ancient article she had published nearly ten years ago.

“Nearly every wild assertion you made have been in some way given standing since Celestia’s return,” Nightmare Moon said. “To some of these ponies, you’re not a journalist, you’re a prophet! You’re more powerful now than you ever were before. You raise the damn Moon; I’m sure you can publish some soil samples and stern words, too.”

iii

Twilight didn’t think, she simply sprinted.

Her bits of testing equipment were pouring out of her saddlebags as she leaped over fences and ditches, and every shattering behind her sent a small cringe down her spine. Each bit of equipment had, admittedly, been rather valuable to her. Then again, with Celestia’s promises to split Blueblood’s cheque to them in two, it seemed that it didn’t matter after all.

Behind her, the beams of flashlights swept the dark field, always thankfully out of reach of her sprinting form.

Nightmare Moon, of course, was nowhere to be heard. Twilight was hardly surprised.

The last fence was a taller chainlink affair, just out of reach for her to jump. Rusted, sharp wiring doted the top, but with the amount of sweat Twilight was drenched in, she doubted it would even register. She scrambled over, more slowly and painfully than she had intended, and certainly enough for the beams of light to have struck her at least for a split-second—most likely too brief for anypony chasing her to have noticed.

Then again, Twilight mused, if there was a goddess of Luck, she doubted they were in each other's favour.

When her hooves finally hit the other side, she was covered in several more lacerations than before, but none severe enough that she allowed herself to slow. She scrambled into the railyard, hoping some freight-train wouldn’t promptly end her escape, but her path seemed clear of activity for now. She could no longer see dancing electric lights in the corners of her eyes—it seemed the fence had stopped them.

“Why are you slowing?” Nightmare Moon suddenly shrilled. “Run, you sloth!”

“Shut up!” Twilight nearly screamed back, but she managed to conceal it to a low hiss. Past the trainyard lay the road into Ponyville, and it stretched on deserted from the lights of any late-night traveller’s wagon lights.

Ten minutes of trotting along at a brisk pace brought her to the town proper. Ponyville was a town at least some degree nicer than Old Canterlot, perhaps simply because it was smaller. The occasional abandoned building still lined her fringes, but for the most part Ponyville seemed a decent place to be. Like Manehattan or Neighaghra Falls, it seemed it had been allowed to adapt a little better to the changing industry than so much of Equestria had.

The town was quiet, but the occasional light of some confectionary or hotel lobby still glowed just in frame of her sight as she locked her eyes straight ahead at the trainstation in the distance. Twilight could already see steam billowing and the line of cars waiting patiently at the station, and so she once more quickened her pace before it started to move.

“And where are you planning on going?” Nightmare Moon cocked her head, still standing tall in the middle of the street even as Twilight stealthily crept forwards in the shadows as quickly as she could afford.

“New Canterlot. I need to talk to Celestia about all of this. She’ll know what to do.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? The Sunstone is still in your library.”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet they’ll be waiting for me there, if they really did see me!” Twilight shot back.

“All the more reason to go retrieve it, before they find it.”

“They didn’t last time.”

“Last time isn’t automatically this time.”

“Trust me, I’ll come back for it!” Twilight replied. “Come on, Nightmare, we need to go! It’s gonna be dawn soon!”

“Keep the Moon down longer,” Nightmare Moon said bluntly. “You have that power, you know.”

“No,” Twilight shook her head. “No more ‘Longest Nights.’ We’ve talked about this.”

“Regardless, they cannot obtain the Sunstone,” Nightmare Moon said, and yawned. “You do not need it, yes? Just sneak in and destroy it. It’s fairly fragile.”

“If I sneak in, they’ll see me!” Twilight replied shortly. “No. I need to find Celestia. She’ll know what to do.”

“Twilight Sparkle, do as you are told. You are my apprentice now. Not hers.”

Twilight didn’t bother debating Nightmare Moon any longer. Instead, she turned tail and began to gallop as quickly as she could to Ponyville’s trainstation—a warm-looking beacon of glowing light at the end of the long main street of the town.

She had purchased her ticket to New Canterlot in a fervour; drenched in sweat and panting as though she had run further than fifteen blocks without a break.

Nonetheless, the time stamped onto the ticket held in Twilight’s shaking hooves still read 5AM, and she could do little else but wait out the remaining four hours before then in terrified anticipation.

So, she had strode cautiously across the platform for the second time that night, keeping her head low and her stance inconspicuous to the empty station.

Under a bench on the deserted train platform, Twilight found two quarters, and so she took them with her to a little lantern of light that was a phone booth on the other side of the platform.

Dropping a quarter in and raising the receive to her ear, Twilight was more focused on the operator’s cheery voice than the sound of anypony else entering the train station.

“Operator! How may I direct your call?”

“Uh, New Canterlot, please. MH 5-9975.”

“Putting you through!” the operate chirruped, and for a moment more Twilight was flooded into the calm serenity of crackling static.

After several minutes, the line clicked as the last overworked switchboard operator made the right connection, and a haughty sounding mare picked up Blueblood’s phone in New Canterlot.

“My word! Have you any idea what hour it is?!”

“Uh… I’m sorry, are you… uh, of any relation to Prince Blueblood?”

“And who might you be? Hrm? Why is it some strange mare is telephoning my husband in the dead of night?”

“I’m... look, my name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m looking to speak with Princess Celestia, if she’s around. She told me to call this number if I needed to contact her.”

“Oh,” the other mare remarked bluntly. “Well, in that case, give me one moment to go collect her. I do apologize.”

The phone was set down again. More silence. In the distance, Twilight could hear the mare yelling something, but she couldn’t quite make out what it was she had said.

Eventually, it rustled, and Celestia’s wavering voice rung out.

"Twilight Sparkle?!”

“Celestia! Is it a bad time?”

“It... isn’t the best."

“Well… look, I don’t know how to really say this. I've... I've made a horrible mistake...” Twilight’s magic was wavering, and she accidentally dropped the telephone, catching it mid-fall and bringing it to her other ear.

“It’s… look, I’m really scared, Celestia. There's ponies in my library right now, and...”

The telephone booth gave an annoyed chirrup, and Twilight urgently shoved in another quarter, her heart rate instinctively speeding at the sudden countdown placed upon her phone call.

In the corner of her eye, reflected in the glass of the telephone booth, Twilight could see movement. Turning her head slightly, she could see what the paranoid part of her had been dreading. The station’s security officer was making his way across the platform in her direction.

“What happened?!” Celestia nearly barked, seemingly unaware of the interruption.

“I’m… I…” Twilight stuttered, as the stallion got closer. "Celestia, I think I'm being arrested."

Click click click click.

Twilight glared as the ballpoint pen continued rapping loudly against the officer’s notepad.

The rapping pen was a constant infuriating pulse in her ears, always inconsistent, and loud enough that it echoed in the small, grungy room. Outside, it was midday over Old Canterlot, but the tinted glass on the only window prevented any of the sunlight from properly filtering through, instead casting them in somber light.

Twilight took one last draw from the smoldering tip of her cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray on the interrogation room table, the cuffs on her front hooves giving a little jangle as she did so.

The stallion carried on mercilessly writing in silence, seemingly unaware of Twilight’s slowly billowing fury.

“Look, I know my rights,” Twilight eventually said. “You can’t just keep me detained like this. Hell, you haven’t even told me what you’ve arrested me for. That’s an offence in itself.”

More silence. The guard continued writing.

“I know this routine, y’know,” Twilight said. “I am a journalist. You play this little waiting game, I sit around in this interrogation room for a while, and eventually, I accidentally spill something I shouldn’t have because I’m afraid.”

The guard’s scratching pen once again filled the silence. Twilight growled in frustration.

“I’m not here just for tax evasion, that’s for sure,” Twilight said. “You wouldn’t need to interrogate me just for that. So, you think I did something else. Or more likely, you’re really hoping I did. Or… or… you’re going to blackmail me into—”

“Miss Sparkle, I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” the guard drawled, finally looking up from his notepad. “You’re here to answer a few questions. That’s all.”

“I want to talk to Princess Celestia, first. Don’t I have the right to a phone call or something?”

“No. You’ve been watching too many films, Miss Sparkle,” he replied lazily. “Besides, you aren’t being charged with anything just yet. We’re just here to have a little chat.”

“About what?”

“Are you aware that you are presently classified as a ‘potential threat to Equestrian peace?’”

Twilight snorted. “Yeah? Why? Am I exercising too much free speech?”

“Publication of pro-anarchist literature. Disruptive and violent public protest. Felony tax evasion.” The guard recounted. “Tresspassing. Theft and damage to private property. Frequent violation of property law. Twilight Sparkle, you have unpaid debt for nearly thirteen-thousand bits, and have not paid any property, hydro, or electricity taxes in nearly eight years.”

“I live in an abandoned library. I don’t even have hydro or electricity. Why should I pay for something I don’t even have?”

The officer rose an eyebrow. “Why should you be considered an exception in the eyes of the government?”

“Look...” Twilight rubbed her temples. “What the hell do you want from me, anyways?”

“I think you know.”

“I think I don’t!” Twilight shrilled. She was trying to sound abrasive, but it seemed obvious that she was in actuality simply terrified. “What is the matter with you? I want to talk to Celestia! Or a lawyer! I’m entitled to one of those, right?”

“No,” the guard replied. “As I said, you are not being charged with anything. I have made no accusation against you.”

“Well, I’m not talking to you,” Twilight cut him off. “I’m not saying anything. You’re blackmailing me. Screw off.”

“Let me make something crystal clear, Miss Sparkle,” the guard said, his tone disturbingly neutral. “I don’t need you to say anything. I’m only here as a courtesy measure. If we wanted, we could escalate things further with or without your cooperation.”

In an instant, Twilight felt like she was about to be sick.

“So no. You don’t have to cooperate. Go ahead and make things even worse for yourself if you want.”

“You’re bluffing,” Twilight whispered.

“You keep hoping so, kid.”

With his piece said, the guard collected the notepad and rose, giving her a diabolical smile. Then, he turned and left the interrogation room without another word.

For what seemed like hours, Twilight simply waited, casting awkward glances at her reflection in the one-way glass—she looked horrid, like some rabid racoon, with her mane wild and unkempt and rings of cheap black makeup around her bloodshot eyes.

“I hope you’re happy,” Twilight growled under her breath.

Nightmare Moon scoffed. “I’m not. You’re still ignoring my orders.”

“Well, sorry, but ‘forcing my way to freedom’ doesn’t sound like a wise decision.”

“Well, I think—”

“I think you should shut up,” Twilight shot back wordlessly, instead casting the words into her own mind at a scream. “You’re the reason I’m here! This was all your idea!”

“I don’t recall telling you to get caught.”

Twilight didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to sit there bickering with Nightmare Moon any longer.

When the door to the interrogation room once again opened, Twilight instantly scowled at the stallion who entered.

“Hey, Twily.”

“No no no,” Twilight shook her head, her eyes wide in terror. “Anypony but you.”

“It’s good to see you, sis. You have no idea how much I mean that.”

There were a million questions running through Twilight’s head, but amazingly, the most juvenile of them all prevailed. “Have you ratted to Mom?”

Shining laughed, although it was the pained sort of laugh that might as well be open weeping. “Are you kidding, Twi? I’m the reason you’re here..”

“I’m… I… what?!” Twilight felt her temper flare. “What are you talking about?”

“Trust me, Twily, I’m doing you a favour. After that fiasco you think you escaped from, you’re lucky they’re allowing this at all.”

“You sent the guard after me?” Twilight growled. “Why would you do that?”

“You misunderstand, sis. I’m the reason you’re here in the interrogation room, instead of some cell in Ponyville. Your welcome for that, by the way.”

“Well, what do you want from me?” Twilight pouted. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m tired of worrying about you, and I decided it’s time I do something about it.. I told them that if I could somehow talk to you, it may help them in the long run.. Turns out allowing your little crusade to carry on isn’t in their best interests, either.”

“Yeah?” Twilight gave a demented, squawking laugh. “And why should I care what their interests are? And why should I listen to you?”

“Because, their interests include more than a legal slap on the hoof this time. They’ve got enough on you to put you behind bars, Twily. You were identified fleeing a place you’ve been warned in-court not to be in. There’s no real grey area to skirt around, there. But I may have a solution for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Twilight replied. “And what solution may that be?”

“It’s simple,” Shining said. “They want you to go on record saying this whole mess was Celestia’s idea.”

Twilight blinked. “What.”

“You don’t have to be explicit,” Shining added. “Just that she sorta… endorses your actions. That’s all. That you weren’t acting alone.”

“That’s completely ludicrous. They can’t force me to say anything!”

“You’re really surprised they’re taking action against you? You pissed off the government of Equestria, Twilight.”

“Yeah? Good!”

Shining shook his head. “Not for you it isn’t. They’re going to be trying everything in their power to have you convicted of every single crime they can if you don’t co-operate with them; right here, right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard them, Twily. Right now, you could be looking at five years.”

Twilight’s smug expression fell, and she felt as though she were about to be sick. “No way.”

“Are you really willing to test the entire government of Equestria? Is that a fight you really think is in your favour?”

“Oh Goddesses...” Twilight whimpered. “Why me? Why are they blackmailing me?!”

“Because you made yourself vulnerable,” Shining replied cooly. “That’s why.”

“What do I do?”

“I just told you. They just want a statement.”

“They want my help bringing Celestia down.” Twilight translated, and parroted her earlier laugh. “No way! Screw them! And screw you for thinking that’s an okay thing to do to her!”

“Look, I know it doesn’t feel right,” Shining said. “But Twilight, just listen to me. You need to look out for yourself here. You’ve had no trouble doing it for eight years, so do it n—”

“No, stop right there!” Twilight shot back. “I may have spent eight years looking out for myself, but you know why? Because nopony else would’ve. Not you, and definitely not mom!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t? Did she even try, Shining? Even try to help me?”

“Help you what? Turn your own life to hell?!”

“Do what I wanted!” Twilight was yelling, now, uncaring who was listening. “I wasn’t okay letting Equestria get a damn death sentence. And you and mom just didn’t care. So I looked out for myself.”

“Twilight, you have never even tried to contact us,” Shining growled. “So I don’t exactly expect you to know, but you are all Mom talks about. All she thinks about. Dad’s quiet, so it’s hard to read, but you know how Mom is.”

“I don’t believe you,” Twilight said.

“No?” Shining replied, and laughed with seemingly genuine mirth. “I took the train over for Mother’s Day, Twi. Dad was away for work, so I thought it’d be a good time, you know?”

Twilight simply nodded.

“I saw her start crying, Twilight,” Shining continued. “No rhyme, no reason; I think we were eating dinner, and bam. It almost could have been comical. Like she flipped a switch.”

Twilight felt like she was going to be sick. She hadn’t been there, and Shining was probably lying anyways, and yet somehow Twilight could see the scene vividly.

“Dad doesn’t know what to do to help her. I think he wants my help, but how do you ask that from your son, right?”

“Why are you telling me this, Shining?”

“Because I want you to know what you’re doing to your family, Twilight,” Shining’s voice was calm. Twilight wondered if it was some shamanistic protocol trick he’d been taught in the Royal Guard. “That’s all. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“That’s not my fault,” Twilight offered meekly. “I never asked for them to worry about me.”

“Well, sorry Twi, but you don’t get to be that selfish,” Shining replied levelly. “And how do you think Mom’s gonna take this, when it’s made official? That her daughter is now gonna be looking at 5 years behind bars? Do you think that’s gonna sit well with her?”

“I don’t feel like I have a say in thi—”

“No, you don’t, Twilight,” Shining agreed. “You don’t get to decide how much your family cares about you. That’s something you need to just put up with.”

“Celestia doesn’t deserve that, though,” Twilight whispered. “Shining, she’s my family, too. I can’t just…” she trailed off, some part of her mind still churning away, trying to cling to any dwindling bits of justification she had for her first argument before she leaped to a second.

“Twilight, do you really think Celestia is that weak?” Shining reasoned. “After all she’s been through, she’s still going,and you think this little hiccup is going to let them bring her down?”

“I need to help her, no matter what.”

“Says who, Twi?” Shining sighed. “Her?”

“No…”

“She didn’t say that to Cadance either, and yet Cadance thought exactly the same as you. And look where it got her.”

“That’s some way to talk about her,” Twilight said acidly. “She meant something to me, too, you know. Why would you even say that?!”

“Because I don’t want to lose you too!” Shining exclaimed. “Twilight, how can you be so smart and so damn stupid?!”

“Lose me?” Twilight cocked her head. “You said it yourself. Five years, tops. I’m not in danger like she was. I’m not fighting for my life here. That would be Celestia.”

“And then what? You serve your sentence, and then what? Your library is gone, whatever pathetic reputation you’ve built is gone. You’ve got this damn stubborn refusal to be part of Equestria, I wonder what you’ll think when they forget who you are entirely. I’m always afraid for you Twilight.”

“Afraid of what? What could you possibly be afraid—”

“Afraid that one day, I’ll see my sister on some street corner, shaking a tin cup. Or in a drunk tank somewhere. You’re the one who published it, Twi, so tell me, how many homeless ponies died in the streets of Old Canterlot last winter?”

“Fifteen,” Twilight growled, her gaze falling.

“And what if one day, I’m minding my business, and I see your name on some mass-grave newspaper obituary? Huh? You don’t think that thought scares me?”

“Shining…” Twilight shakily angled her head a little, just enough to catchy a blurry glimpse of her brother overshadowed by the mahogany table. “That’s never going to happen, and you know it. And if I do this, me and Celestia are going to be… she’s going to hate me. There’s no way I’ll ever be her Crown Minister.”

“No,” Shining agreed. “She’ll pick Blueblood. But Twilight… that sort of life isn’t yours. And Celestia is strong enough to win without you. She’s made it this far.”

Twilight finally looked up, meeting her brother’s eyes for the first time in eight years.

“I’ll think about it, Shining.”

Author's Note

From Ashes (XIV)

When Celestia awoke to an abrupt burst of blinding light, she already knew she'd lived all this before.

“Good morning, Celestia!” A voice rung out cheerily—a vivid contrast to the painful whiteness that had flooded her eyesight. Whether the voice belonged to a mare or a stallion Celestia couldn’t be sure over the sound of blood pumping furiously through her ears and her unfocused eye.

“You’re not going t-to have any more luck today,” Celestia snarled. No reason to delay. Heavens knew she had a long day ahead of her, and she was anxious to have it behind her. “I wonder how you idiots are going to justify this sunless day.”

“That’s none of your concern. Your job is raising the sun.”

“My job is ruling Equestria. No amount of torture is g-going to t-take that away from me.”

The pony—a mare, Celestia was confident now—cocked her head. “Still having stuttering problems?”

“It’s a little h-hard thinking straight when you h-have p-ponies sticking electrodes into your brain.”

“I’m sorry, truly... but whose fault is that?” The mare asked—not with malice, but like a teasing schoolteacher. She set down a bowl of bland-looking porridge atop Celestia’s bed as she spoke. She wasn't a guard like the others, but a smiling nurse—Celestia didn't quite know why they were bothering with such. It was as though they weren't comfortable committing to the act of torture, and felt they had to redeem themselves anyway they could. “Who is the stubborn mare who refuses to do the things politely asked of her?”

Celestia glared. She shuffled from her bed, only to collapse firmly onto the ground as her hooves gave out beneath her. “Disobeying ponies like you gives me no shame.”

This nurse was the same as yesterday, and Celestia knew that she carried a glimmer of sympathy towards her. She was a good mare, apparently on the wrong side of a revolution. Nonetheless, with the peering security camera above, it was quite obvious she had no intent of disappointing her superiors.

“I see we’re going to have a repeat of yesterday,” she said.

“We’re in a f-feedback loop,” Celestia said. “You want me to do your bidding, and yet you have nothing to threaten me with that you haven’t torn away.”

“You need to understand, Princess Celestia… regardless of how it may seem, everypony here respects you. We don’t like having to resort to such alternative means of—”

“You’re torturing me,” Celestia interrupted. “Stop justifying it on behalf of your s-superiors. Say it how it is.”

“Look it, Princess Celestia.” The mare sighed. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, so I’m going to be blunt. All I need to do is escort you as far as the SunTrotter. After that, I need to leave, and you’re the responsibility of the same guards as yesterday. Judging by your stuttering, I don’t imagine they treated you well. But you can avoid all of that, just by raising the sun.”

“I am not surrendering to you.”

The nurse sighed again. “Then for what it’s worth… I’m sorry. Can you please at least walk with me to the SunTrotter? Trust me when I say I don't like having to hand this off to the guards.”

Against her better judgement, Celestia nodded and rose to her hooves. “...I know you don’t. You… you’ve been n-nice to me.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Princess Celestia. You shouldn’t be treated like you have. Now come on. We need to get moving.”

It was easier to obey this young mare than it had been the more aggressive guards that had preceded her, and Celestia followed her with only a shadow of reluctance through the long and brightly lit corridor leading to the telescopic device. Even with her horn inhibitor locked in place, Celestia was able to levitate her porridge in her magic as she followed, and she scarfed the meal down quickly. She had a long day before her.

“What is your name, my dear?” Celestia asked. Might as well become a little acquainted with this mare, considering she was the only one to treat her with any bit of respect.

“Coral Shine, Princess,” she said. “I… I don’t mean to be rude, but I told you that yesterday, too.”

Celestia stopped.

Had she? Celestia couldn’t for the life of her recall. Yet with her involuntary stuttering considered, Celestia did not doubt that Coral was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Celestia said, continuing her walk.

“No reason you have to be,” Coral replied, distant blame clear in her voice. She looked to the ceiling, and, seeing no security cameras nearby, continued. “Their… um, methods… seem to be causing you some sort of brain damage.”

“I don't see how st-sticking electrodes into a pony's brain would d-do that,” Celestia replied coldly.

Coral Shine did not immediately answer, but she looked to her hooves instead of at the path before her.

Soon, they were back beneath another peering security camera, which forced Coral Shine into a dutiful and harsh stride, which she maintained for the duration of the walk down the corridor. At the end was a heavy looking steel door, which Coral Shine wasted no time inserting a key into.

Still, she hesitated before turning it.

“Please, Celestia. Just raise the sun. Nopony in here wants to… to have to do this to you. Please stop giving us reason to.”

“I’m n-not y-your tool to use as you see fit,” Celestia replied. “I know you symp… sympathize with m-me, Coral Shine, but don’t think for a moment y-you understand me. You are n-never seeing my sun as long as I am down here.”

Her piece said, Celestia raised a hoof to point at the heavy door ahead, and she gave a single nod in its direction. To the timid young nurse, the simple movement seemed like a command, and even with nothing being used to threaten her she obeyed without question.

On the other side, Celestia frowned at the similar telescope-like device before her.

She walked towards the center of the room, until she was standing directly before the SunTrotter. For a few motionless moments, she percolated the possibility of sticking her horn into the device and greeting her sun once more—like they were friends seeking reconciliation.

With a smug smile, Celestia turned her back to the SunTrotter and sat stubbornly on the cold concrete floor. Before the entranceway was a security camera, and she stuck her tongue out at it and waited for whoever was watching to dispatch their ponies.

When Celestia awoke—properly, this time, to the guest room of Blueblood and Rarity's condo—she did not immediately rise. Instead, she simply lay still, watching the dancing patterns of yellow-orange fog rippling over the balcony, rising higher too, alternatively obscuring and revealing the spires of Old Canterlot Castle, perched hundreds of feet higher on its mountaintop roost.

She let out a soft sigh, laying still and trying to allow the comfort of her surroundings cast the last of her nightmare aside. Twelve years ago, when Celestia had first dreamed of Luna, it had been startling. But it had occurred again and again and soon, the pain just became as natural to her as closing her eyes. It was still so hard to sleep knowing what hellish world awaited her on the otherside, but she had grown accustomed to worse. Then, dreams of Cadance had joined. Dreams of the bloodshed that was the Crystal War—vivid recollections of carnage and hatred and of flaming bursts of solar magic turning the snowfields into red slush.

In her prison, such dreams had taunted her, and now that she was free of her prison, it seemed only right that her prison would, too.

Celestia sighed again, casting her cover aside and rising. Lying still, the infernal nightmare was only percolating, and she'd already sworn off wallowing in the past. If her stubborn subconscious brain wanted to keep shaming her, she wasn't going to do the same in her waking moments.

Suddenly, just as her hooves touched the carpeted floor of the guest room, a light tapping rung out through the silence. Celestia nearly started at the sound, although it was no louder than a pebble flicked at a glass window.

Cocking her head, Celestia cast her magic across the room, letting it sweep over every surface and echo back a projection of the room for her mind's eye to consider, but there was nobody besides herself in the room. Frowning, she twitched an ear, and sure enough the sound came again—it was not unlike a coin being tapped against a glass surface, and it seemed to be emanating from the sliding balcony door.

Tiptoeing as if in caution, Celestia sneaked across the room to the balcony, which looked quite deserted, and slid the door open as quietly as she could manage—the high altitude elements hadn't been kind, and it squeaked all the same, and she muttered a curse at the sound.

The quietness of a city half-asleep flooded her ears the moment the door was open, the cool wind blowing her mane every which way.

The tapping didn't come again, but a sound like a ship sail greeted her next.

The proud, dignified rustling of an impressive wingspan of well-groomed feathers.

“Philomena,” she cooed softly, a wide smile creasing across her lips. She bowed her head as warm wings wrapped around her neck, the old bird giving a small chirrup of glee. She had always been a stoic bird, and many had mistaken such as aggression. Many a pony had asked her why she had chosen the company of such an irritatingly prideful bird, but it had never been a question to Celestia.

“Oh, I've missed you so much,” Celestia said, her smile goofy and exaggerated as she lifted the phoenix with a hoof, letting her clamber onto Celestia's back and nuzzle her head, cooing and chirruping the whole while.

Philomena had been one of Celestia's demands, when she had finally agreed to raise the Sun for Flim Flam Industry. She'd demanded her pet be brought to her—if she was going to be imprisoned, she'd be damned if she would be kept lonely the whole while. And yet, as soon as she'd made the request she had regretted it. It seemed cruel, to share her pitiful end with that of her beloved bird. Two archaic old birds, dying alone together in a cage.

She'd been morbidly happy to hear that Philomena had nearly pecked out the eyes of a guard in order to escape. Like a specter, they'd told her, she had vanished into the wind and clouds.

Giving a particularly vocal chirrup, the old bird repositioned herself on Celestia's back, leaning her beak forwards so that it was parallel with Celestia's own snout. She giggled softly, but her good humour faded to curiosity when she saw a piece of delicately folded parchment held in Philomena's beak.

“Hm. Don't tell me you molted into a carrier pigeon during my absence, Philly?” she chuckled, taking the note in her telekinesis, Philomena obediently letting go the moment she did. The wind already began tugging at the corners of the note, and Celestia backed her way into the condo once more, lighting an oil lantern and closing the door behind her.

Unfurling the note, Celestia noted immediately that whoever had written it had taken the liberty of writing using a particularly vibrant quill and plenty of ink, her words dictated precisely and carefully and in large font that Celestia found she could read without having to rely on any magical echolocation.

Celestia,

Firstly, let me just say how great it was to hear from you again, and I apologize for taking the week to respond. I've been being hounded by journalists a good deal, but truthfully it is a morbidly satisfying feeling to tell them, in firsthand account detail, just how gruesomely Flim Flam Industry treated you. They're being cast under public scrutiny in more and more papers, as more and more ponies want to see what other details have been kept from them. I'm glad I can act as a messenger of these truths, and get out the proper accounts of what happened. For both our sakes.

Once your secretary, always your secretary, right?

Which reminds me. Assuming you are reading this note, I don't quite need to tell you that Philomena is doing quite alright. I realize she is classified as an endangered species and it is a crime for me to care for her, but I've been doing so for twelve years without consequence. Still, as healthy as she is, I believe she misses you greatly. She knows the way back to my apartment, so do not be afraid to send her back if she becomes a burden. I realize how busy your days have become as of late.

Still, busy as they may be, I hope you know that, even with our professional relationship dissolved, you're still my friend first and foremost.

And also, I need a competent bridge partner. We made quite the team back in the day and I hope to reclaim the infamous reputation we had amongst the rest of the castle staff.

Come visit sometime, Celestia. It's not my room in Canterlot Castle, but it's a home you're always welcomed in.

Your friend always,

Raven.

Folding the letter with a small smile, Celestia put it onto the guestroom desk. As flattered as she was to hear back from Raven, it was a friendly correspondence and not much more. With Twilight's fate in the terrifying realm of obscurity, such a correspondence didn't quite matter much to her now.

She penned a response of several paragraphs and made a mental note to send it when she had the chance. She wrote and raised the Sun in unison, Philomena still perched on her shoulder as though afraid she may vanish again at any moment. She wrote slowly, her thoughts a distracted slurry, every sentence she penned trailing into meaninglessness and needing rewriting. Her thoughts were very clearly elsewhere.

To Celestia's surprise, she didn't quite feel much fear towards Twilight. Not as much as she surely should've, or perhaps it was some perversion of fear more elaborate and difficult to classify.

Or perhaps, it was just fury.

Not at Twilight, but at Flim Flam Industry.

She had no doubt it was their doing—Twilight had told her all about the atrociously corrupt nature of Equestria's present governing. Or, in some bizarre sense, it was not corrupt at all. It was simply the way things had changed. Her country's government was helmed by Flim Flam Industry, after all, so it seemed a tad silly to say that it was corrupt when no such corruption had any real reason to exist.

It was so insulting to Celestia that she found it difficult to believe Equestria had been quite content with it. A nation's peace held in place through corporate law.

Outside the window, with the Sun on it's rise, the skyglow had been cast away to hazy morning light. The sound of clinking and the smell of brewing coffee soon began wafting through the condo, and Celestia found herself allured by the smell like an overworked university student.

““Good morning, Prince—” Rarity began, although the words died immediately when she actually turned to greet her. “I… I do hope that thing won't scratch up my hardwood floors with its talons. They are incredibly expensive.”

“Oh no. Philomena is quite gentle. Isn't that right, girl?”

Philomena gave Rarity a curious gaze.

“I see. She is a rather beautiful creature, then,” Rarity replied, her expression softening some. The unicorn was dressed in a colourful bathrobe, her mane an uncharacteristically frazzled mess. She motioned to the pot hovering in her telekinesis. “Coffee?”

“That would be wonderful, dear, thank you.” Celestia nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island, gently plucking Philomena off her back and onto the chair next to her. Rarity levitated a steaming cup onto the island counter before her, as well as a creamer and sugar bowl.

Blueblood was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of steadily running water from the washroom made it quite clear where he had gone.

“You look tired, Princess,” Rarity observed, taking a sip of her own coffee.

“Mm. I admittedly could have slept better.” Celestia tipped the creamer over her coffee and began stirring it idly.

“No fault of the guest room, I hope?” Rarity offered, cocking her head.

“No no, of course not,” Celestia replied. “Just… silly dreams, is all. And thoughts of Twilight.”

“Ah,” Rarity said, glancing at the closed door of the washroom. “Blueblood mentioned that mare.”

Rarity's tone made her unfounded opinion of Twilight Sparkle quite clear, and Celestia let out a small sigh.

“Yes, well, that is hardly his business,” she replied, still stirring her coffee. “I don't quite understand where his dislike of Twilight Sparkle derives from.”

“I have no intentions in involving myself in any of the drama going on between you three,” Rarity replied. “Heavens knows I've got enough useless pleasantries to remember with my own clients.”

“Hm. That is wise, I suppose,” Celestia mused. The sound of the shower had stopped, and Celestia had taken to playing idly with her coffee, shooting spikes of telekinesis into the rising vapour, causing it to rise and twirl in peculiar patterns.

As if on cue, the door to the washroom opened, and Blueblood came staggering out.

“Morning, girls.” He gave Celestia and Rarity a small nod, presently in the process of drying his mane with a bathtowel, meandering over to the kitchen and plucking a grape from a bowl on the countertop. Philomena gave him a cold glare which he didn't bother to return. It hadn't been much of a secret to Celestia that Blueblood despised her pet phoenix.

“For heavens sake, dear! This isn't summer camp!” Rarity glowered, shooting daggers at the small trail of water leading from the washroom.

“Mm, I'm a busy stallion,” Blueblood replied, ignoring Rarity's gaze completely.

“Yes, actually… there is some… ah, matter we need attend to, today, nephew.” Celestia betrayed her wariness with a sip of coffee. “Involving Twilight Sparkle.”

“Oh, what now? I thought you were done lecturing me about her, Auntie.”

“She's been arrested.”

Silence, for several seconds. Rarity poured the rest of her coffee down the sink and looked as though she were preparing a fast exit.

“What.” Blueblood sat down at the dining table, bringing a hoof to hit snout. “What in Tartarus did she do now?”

“I don't know. Not the details. She called here last night, and told me she was being pursued.”

“That stupid bitch,” Blueblood growled. “I'm sorry, Auntie, but that's what she is. An immature marechild. This is unbelievable.”

Rarity fixed her husband's insults with a sideways glance of disgust, fishing her cigarette holder from the kitchen island and fleeing out to the foggy balcony.

“Do not insult my friends before me, Blueblood. This is an offensive act against me. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Oh, that's why she's the one getting us all into trouble?!” Blueblood retorted. “Auntie, just leave her. Let her deal with whatever it is by herself. It isn't our problem until we make it such, and heavens know we have enough on our plate.”

Celestia narrowed her eyes. “Let me be frank. This isn't a debate, Blueblood. I don't recall asking for your opinion of her, nor do I recall asking for your thoughts on how I should proceed. I'm telling you what I am doing, and if you're going to let your pride keep you from helping, I cannot be bothered to care.”

“Auntie.” Blueblood's tone had softened some, although it seemed a guise to Celestia. “I know she's your friend… but we need to look at things logically here. We're already under the public spotlight, how do you think this is going to look? Associating our political cause with a radicalized, convicted criminal?”

“This lies nowhere in the vicinity of politics,” Celestia replied. “This is my friend, being held from her freedom by the same ponies who did quite the same to me. Do you think I'm going to sit around and let that happen?”

“Yes! She did this to herself! All she had to do was lie low and act like a grown up, and it seems she couldn't even do that! Do you realize how it feels, to have spent the past fifteen years fighting for political recognition, only to have to share it with some unqualified madmare?!”

“Fifteen years,” Celestia repeated. “That's… some time.”

“You're godsdamned right it is! I came close so many times, but letting the archaic 'Prince Blueblood' into the political race never really seemed like an idea Flim Flam Industry wanted to allow.”

“Fifteen years you've been trying to take the throne, hrm?” Celestia sipped her coffee. “It's funny that you say that considering I was only away for twelve.”

“Oh.” Blueblood shrugged. “My mistake.”

“Of course,” Celestia said, her tone an icy neutral. “Still, I suppose you can't be blamed for seeing a positive outcome to your aunt's failing health, right?”

“What?”

“It's all about power to you, nephew, do you know that? It's a competition for you.”

“I don't know where the hell these accusations are coming from!”

“I do. I've been watching you since I crowned Princess Cadance. You're jealous, Blueblood.”

“Maybe I am! I was in-line to take the throne from you! I spent my whole life being told that's what I was meant to do!”

“You must have been ecstatic when Cadance died, then. And with my health in rapid decay, you must have felt quite optimistic.”

“Auntie, where the fuck is this coming from? What happened to you?”

Celestia laughed, although the sound had no humor to it. “What happened to me? Goodness, where do I begin?”

“Well, you're wrong. When the report came that you had passed away, I wasn't optimistic. And I sure as hell wasn't looking for ways to profit off it. It damn near destroyed me. And when I heard you were okay again? Auntie, I think that was the happiest and most unbelievable moment of my life.”

Letting out a long sigh, Celestia hung her head. “I… I know. I shouldn't have said any of that.”

“Well. You know, I think you're right, though,” Blueblood replied levelly. He was, to Celestia's shock, not nearly as furious with her as she felt he deserved to be. “I just… Auntie, I don't know where to begin. I think I am greedy for power, for a reputation, for something. Maybe I just want to be more than 'Celestia's rich and spoiled nephew.'”

“I… I'm sorry, Blueblood. I just don't know what to do anymore.”

“No, I'm sorry, too. I don't have reason to insult your friends or your choices like that,” Blueblood had risen—Celestia hadn't seen it with her eye watering and her gaze upon the marble counter, but she did feel the warm of his snout as he gave her a small nuzzle. “I… just don't get it, Auntie. Why Twilight, and not me? Don't you owe me that, at least?”

There was a box of tissues on the countertop, too, and Celestia brought one to her eye—to both eyes, she reminded herself, although truly only one needed it.

“Intuition,” she replied softly, feeling a blush of shame and hatred. “A… a gut feeling.”

Blueblood, for all the rage Celestia had been expecting, sounded disappointed instead. “That's… that's it?”

“Nothing more.”

“Huh. That's… upsetting.”

“Blueblood, I love you so much, but I raised you. I think that, at the end of things, there's just too much of myself in you for me to be able to trust you with the throne.”

iii

Celestia yawned as she stepped down from the gangplank of Blueblood's airship and onto the rain-swept 8th-story roof. She was wearing a scarf in place of her regalia, her mane bunched into a modest ponytail courtesy of some friend of Rarity's. She thought it looked quite nice, all things considered—youthful had been the word Rarity had used when describing to her friend just what look Celestia had been looking for. Celestia thought the goal had been accomplished nicely.

She'd be damned if she would ever touch her regalia again, after having spent so long out of it. It was just a reminder now, truly, and if she wanted to be seen as anything but a relic going forwards, it was a reminder she wouldn't need.

Two officers—a mare and a stallion—were already rushing through the door onto the roof, but their intensity evaporated the moment they saw Celestia and Blueblood marching towards them.

“You don't have authorization to park that there!” The mare officer said, gaping at the airship with its propellors still in the process of slowing to a halt.

“Well, good luck towing it,” Blueblood replied levelly, brushing effortlessly passed the officer. Celestia simply gave a sheepish, apologetic smile and continued to follow her nephew towards the still-open door.

“And just where are you going?” The second officer said—he sounded scared and unsure, and Celestia thought it rather respectable that he was so committed to his job so as to confront her anyways.

“I am going to collect Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia replied. “I aim to be in your hair for less than half-an-hour.”

Blueblood let out a snorting laugh as he followed her into the building, leaving two very alarmed looking officer's in their wake.

“Ma'am, I think you are mistaken!” the mare was calling after. “There is no such mare in any of our—”

“My dear, what is your name?” Celestia cocked her head as she started down the stairs.

“Officer Night Glider, ma'am, but I don't see—”

“A lovely name,” Celestia cut in. “Night Glider, neither me nor Blueblood have any intentions of leaving without my friend. If she is not in your possession, then she is therefore missing and possibly in danger. Either way, I have important business to attend to, and I would very much appreciate some help.”

The two officers shared a wary glance, before Night Glider finally conceded.

“I'll take you to my supervisor.”

And so, Celestia and Blueblood were thusly led down the steps to the roof and into the tall and modern brick building. As they were ushured along, Celestia found herself eyeing everypony and everything, trying to take as much of her world as possible. This was her first real insight towards how Flim Flam Industry's government were handling law enforcement, and she could see that it was at least in some strange way visually parallel. The telephones were the only thing she had noticed in abundance that seemed new to her, and she truly thought they were amazing and innovative devices anyways.

Most of the officers were younger, but when Celestia flared out her magic for her mind's eye to see, she recognized a few older older mares and stallions from her own guard. They all looked up at her from their desks in shock as she was led down the hall to the elevator. They looked as though they did not know whether to divert their gaze, or stand to attention.

One of them—who Celestia was fairly certain she had once tipsiley flirted with—she winked her inconspicuously artificial eye at. Perhaps it truly was impractical—she was still growing as blind as a bat, after all—had given her a great deal of her old confidence back, it seemed. She couldn't even remember why she hadn't gotten one immediately after she had recovered from doing battle with Nightmare Moon.

Something about penance? Goodness, it all seemed so juvenile to her now.

Eventually, the labyrinth of elevators and hallways brought her to the office of the Chief of the New Canterlot's Police Force.
Celestia gave a small smile in recognition at the name on the door as it was opened, and she and Blueblood were ushered into the modest office overlooking the concrete canyon that was New Canterlot.

“Good day, Lance Corporal Thundercloud,” she greeted, giving a polite bow of her head.

He gave a thin smile and curt nod. “Your eras are off, Miss Celestia. It's Commissioner Thundercloud, now.”

Celestia gave a small chuckle. “Yes, of course. How silly of me.”

Thundercloud had never really liked Celestia. She'd always known, even if she'd never understood why. He came from a noble background, and oftentimes ponies from such backgrounds had a tendency to dislike her for a long time after some misdeed she'd done to their ancestors. If she felt one of her courtiers did not have the best interests of her ponies in their minds, and they couldn't properly justify themselves to her, she didn't hesitate to excuse them from her court. She was a busy mare and she didn't have time to coddle greediness and classism. If her courtiers didn't have the interest of the public in their mind, she didn't have many of their interests in hers, and she thought that was rather fair.

“Now… to what do I owe the pleasure, Celestia?”

“You can cease with the patronizing pleasantries. You know exactly why I am here.”

On Commissioner Thundercloud's desk was a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and Celestia helped herself as she took a single step closer to the shocked stallion.

“I'm afraid I don't know,” Thundercloud replied.

Celestia brought a hoof to her snout. “My goodness, am I ever growing sick of you ponies. I am here for one reason. Twilight. Sparkle.” Celestia punctuated each word, as though it was the most important thing she'd ever said. “Where is she?”

“Presently? She is in our custody.”

“So then you do know why I am here.”

In the ensuing silence, Celestia took a seat before Thundercloud, setting her glass down.

“See, this isn't necessarily complicated,” Celestia said. “I understand your motives completely. You think that this move has given you some leverage over me. You think that Twilight Sparkle is now a tool for you to use with little consequence. To you, this is the equivalent of finally getting a pawn to my side of the board and you are excited about it.”

Celestia took a small sip from her whiskey, dancing a hoof around it for several seconds after she had set it down.

“But this isn't chess. It's not even politics. To me,” she continued, “...It is far more simple. You are blackmailing my friend with the ignorant belief that I am simply going to sit back and allow it to happen. I regret to inform you that this is a mistake on your part. For the last time, I ask you to do the sensible thing.”

“Ma'am, I think perhaps the best course of action on your part—”

Celestia nearly growled at the word 'ma'am', coming off the tongue of a pony who, when she had seen him last, had been little more than a guard fresh out of training—training that she had helped oversee.

“No, stop it,” Celestia cut in, bringing a hoof to her snout instead. “You're doing it again.”

Thundercloud blinked. “Ah… doing what, Ma'am?”

“You're patronizing me. Acting like I need to be spoken down to. As though I'm some feeble old mare in a rocker. Just who, precisely, do you think you are speaking to, here?” Celestia said. Beside her, Blueblood tensed.

“You aren't in any sort of position regardless, Thundercloud. You have no leverage at all over me. You've sugar-coated it nicely, but stripped down to it's core, I see this as a very simple affair, You have stolen something from me of irreplaceable value, and I am retaliating. Do you honestly think you an outsmart me, here? Captain, who do you think Equestria's ambassador was? Do you know how many hostage scenarios I've overseen? This isn't new or special to me. You ponies are textbook at best.

“Now, I'm going to tell you exactly what is going to happen and you are going to sit there and listen to your damn princess speak. You are going to leave this office. You will be gone anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour—and trust me, I'm being generous with that time—and then, that door will open and you will re-enter with Twilight Sparkle. Then, Twilight Sparkle, my nephew and I will leave you ponies, and there will be no further trouble. Is that abundantly clear for you, Captain?”

There was a moments silence, and then;

“What exactly is it you are threatening us with here, Princess Celestia?”

Celestia smiled. “Oh, Captain. If you really have to ask for specification, I think you should already know.”

The prisoner visiting room of the New Canterlot Penitentiary wasn't quite different from a school cafeteria, Celestia thought. Or, at the very least, the layout reminded her of one—the atmosphere wasn't nearly as welcoming.

Largely deserted, the ponies who were there turned to look at Celestia with mild interest as she passed. She was perhaps an oddity, but they likely knew exactly who she was here to see.

Twilight, sitting in the corner of the room with her brother, was at least as much of an oddity, after all.

Her eyes grew wide in fear, her mane a disheveled mess of sweat, dirt, and uncleaned mascara. She looked less like Celestia's friend and partner, and more akin to a beaten dog.

Celestia bit her lip against another flare of fury, and gave Twilight an awkward smile instead.

“Got ourself into trouble, did we?”

Twilight didn't reply, her head sinking low. She looked to Celestia as though she would have rather vanish completely than bring her gaze upwards.

“Hey, Princess,” Shining Armor greeted. “You're looking… good, actually.”

“Shining Armor, I'm sincerely sorry.”

Shining Armor laughed. “And why might that be?”

“I made a promise to you that Twilight would be safe, and I've broken that promise.”

“Hm. Well, if it consoles you any...” Shining rose, looking up to meet Celestia's eyes. “I never really believed you anyways.”

The anger Celestia had been expecting was not present—Shining simply looked tired. Celestia couldn't imagine how long he'd been awake, fighting for his sister against a corrupt guard he no longer had control over.

“Well, I'll leave you two to talk alone,” Shining said, giving Celestia a final affirming nod. “You'd better call me when you can, Twily. You owe me that much.”

For a brief moment, Twilight glanced up, just enough to watch her brother leave. She was very deliberately avoiding Celestia's line of sight, as though part of her were wishing Celestia, too, would turn and leave her.

“Twilight. Look at me.”

“I don't want to. I know you're mad at me.”

“I'm not, Twilight. Look at me.”

Shakily, her gaze rose, a lip quivering as she did. With effort, she, too, met Celestia's eyes, and for sometime neither mare spoke.

“Do I look angry with you, Twilight?”

“N-no...”

“Mm. Then why do you look so frightened?”

“Oh, Celestia,” Twilight whispered, her voice weary and uneven, as though she'd been weeping. “I'm so, so sorry. I never thought—”

“Apologies and regrets do not solve issues,” Celestia said. “Nor repair mistakes.”

“Am I… going free?” Twilight posed, her head falling again.

“Yes.”

“On… on bail?”

Celestia sighed. “Yes, but they have given me some… conditions in order to allow it.”

Twilight blinked. “...oh?”

“They act like they are something I should fear, but truthfully, I do not. They want you to say that this whole ordeal was my endorsement to you.”

“Y… yeah.”

“As the kids say, 'go nuts,' Twilight. I approve of what you did, and I'm not going to lie and say otherwise.”

“You… you do?”

“Given the circumstances, yes. You don't belong in prison, and the alternative is far more appealing.”

“But… are you sure...Isn't it going to ruin you?”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Twilight started to protest, but instantly her resolve failed. Her head sank, and she nodded slowly instead. “I… I guess you're right. I'll… I'll just add it to the list of stuff I've screwed up.”

“Don't be depressing, Twilight. Again, do I look angry?” Celestia replied. “Your trial is scheduled for the twenty first of this month, by the way.”

“That's in two weeks!” Twilight blurted.

“Yes, efficient, hm? I'd assume this is them 'striking while the burner is hot.'” Celestia illuminated her horn, centering her magic around the cuffs still linked to Twilight's hooves. In a moment, they had begun to glow with light, before fading completely. “Now, unless you wish to sit in this building all day… come along, Twilight Sparkle.”

“What… what about my stuff? They took my jacket and my notes and my—”

“It is on Blueblood's airship as we speak. It's waiting for us on the roof.”

And, indeed, it was—after Celestia and Twilight had been ushered up the endless stairs to the roof of the New Canterlot Police Department, the ship's engines were already spinning in anticipation for take-off. The gangplank lowered as they crossed the windy roof, the station's guards shuffling awkwardly as they did. It surely must have taken some level of effort to simply watch as a convicted criminal was escorted out of their jurisdiction, and Celestia had to respect their misplaced loyalty to their responsibilities.

Blueblood was waiting by the gangplank, and Twilight locked glares with him like two feral animals about to break into a fight for food.

Blueblood was the first to pipe up. “Yeah, that's an appropriate look to give the stallion who bailed your fat ass out.”

“You must be loving this,” Twilight replied. She gazed past Celestia to the long, porch-like deck stretching around the gondola of the airship. “I'm staying out here. I need some fresh air.”

Twilight stormed past Blueblood, angrily stomping her way towards the stern of the airship.

“I'm sorry,” Celestia offered to Blueblood. “She's been through a lot.”

“She's an idiot,” Blueblood retorted.

“I'm aware of your opinion about her,” Celestia sighed. “I'll try and talk to her. She shouldn't be treating you like that.”

“Uh huh.”

It was chilly on the back deck of the Phaethon, more so after she had dusted off from the station's roof and into the glowing yellow night, but the ship was big enough to fit a cozy little solarium on the very stern of the ship. Twilight was lingering within, sitting on a wicker chair and watching the passing streetcars four hundred feet below. Celestia imagined some part of her assertion was truthful, however—the fresh air truly would be preferable after spending the past several days in such a dingy cell.

“You truly shouldn't be so rude to Prince Blueblood,” Celestia said. “He did help you, you know.”

Twilight didn't answer immediately. A spark of light illuminated her as she lit a cigarette.

“I guess you're mad at me,” Twilight whispered, exhaling cigarette smoke from her snout as Celestia settled beside her. “I… I guess my time as your Crown Minister-to-be is done, right?”

“Is it?” Celestia replied. “And why do you figure that?”

“Because I'm a screw-up. I'm nothing. I just make problems that you have to solve, and keep putting you back into the crosshairs. No wonder you turned to your nephew.”

“Twilight, I didn't turn to anypony. You made that assumption all on your own. When did I ever tell you I was replacing you with Blueblood? Why would you even assume that?”

“I don't know. You're just...” Twilight rubbed her eyes. “I just don't know, Celestia. Why would anypony want me? He's right, you know. Your nephew. I really am nothing.”

Celestia cast a glance behind her. “My nephew is wrong about many things, and you are one of them.”

“No, he's not wrong. My whole life has just been a series of stupid moves and mistakes. No matter what I do, there's always… that feeling, you know? The… the inadequacy. Just constantly telling you how much you're letting everypony down. Always reminding you how the entire world sees you as a joke."

Biting a lip, Celestia looked away. She'd been expecting Shining Armor to talk to Twilight, but she hadn't quite been expecting his words to ground her so. “And how long have these feelings been plaguing you, Twilight? Forgive my rudeness, but they do not sound like healthy thoughts.”

“I'm not sure,” she replied, closing her eyes and exhaling deeply. “If I were to guess… it was when I failed my entry exam.”

A painful, electric chill shot through Celestia. “Oh.”

“It's just… Ever since I was a filly, I thought for sure that it was my destiny. We're told that, you know? Like, even when you do get your cutie mark, everypony makes you feel like you've got your whole life lined up for you. For years I went around, telling ponies how much I couldn't wait to practice to be the best magician in Equestria. To be like… like, Starswirl the Bearded or something. I suppose that sounds silly.”

“Starswirl the Bearded, the 'best magician in Equestria?' Quite silly indeed.” Celestia gave Twilight a playful nudge, but the unicorn barely reciprocated it.

“Well… you can imagine how crushing it was, when I failed. I went back to all my friends, and they all knew that I failed. I blankflanked my way through my childhood and got my cutiemark for an essay I wrote on one of Haycartes's old spells. How lame is that, right? I spent so long convincing myself I could be something, and I'm just… me.”

“I know that feeling. I know that may seem strange to you, but it is true.”

Twilight cocked her head, looking perplexed. “It is?”

“Ten years, Twilight Sparkle. Ten years I spent at their mercy. I do not speak of it, I pretend it bears no weight on me. But it does. I think about it often, and I wonder just how it had ended up this way. How could I have been so damn useless, for so long. All that had come before me, and now look where I am. Nothing is ever going to go back to the way things were. Those ponies in there, talking to me like I ought to be in some senior's home some place, too afraid to tell me that my time has come and gone. They look at me, and I know what they're thinking. 'You sad, useless old fool, why can't you just give up the damn ghost already?' Gods, it makes me so mad, and sometimes I'm afraid it's because I know that they're right. Take away the sun, and what am I, now?”

Celestia sighed. She could make out a field of blurred light that was Old Canterlot, the rain streaking down the solarium's tall window, capturing the light and projecting it before her as though it were a kaleidoscope in muddy monochrome. They weren't ascending to the lonely city, but it was still looming above them as they returned to Blueblood's condo.

“I… I didnt mean to rant,” Celestia said meekly, her gaze falling and tears welling in her cloudy eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Celestia…” Twilight rose from the passenger seat of the airship and gave Celestia's shoulder a small nuzzle, which Celestia responded to with an outstretched wing pulling the unicorn even closer.

“I don't know whats wrong with me, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia wept into Twilight's shoulder. “Why do I have to keep on failing those who matter to me? I promised your brother this wouldn't happen to you.”

“...I don't...” Twilight gulped. “I don't know how to answer that. But I can tell you that you are important. If you don't raise the Sun, Equus dies. It doesn't get anymore important than that.”

“Oh, hosh posh,” Celestia replied. “I have a few years, and you seem a quick learner. You gained the Moon with relative grace.” In her peripheral, she could see that Nightmare Moon had materialized again, but Celestia still wasn't about to give the apparition the luxury of her attention. “Soon, the only real reason I still have to even be here will be gone. I'm terrified of what will happen then. I'm already just so tired of it all. Did I ever tell you the details of how I escaped from Flim Flam Industry, Twilight?”

“N-no, actually. Huh. I guess I should've asked.”

“Mm. I tricked them. I told them that, if they were to allow me to write a scroll for them to raise the sun, then they could finally execute me and shut down their million-bit operation keeping me and the Sun alive.”

“That's… that's terrifying.”

“Do you know what the truly unsettling thing is?” Celestia rubbed her snout. “I wanted to write them their scroll. Just... give up the Sun and the responsibility and simply be done with it all. I wanted to so much."

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, I'm not going to let anypony hurt you again.”

“Yes, but that won't change what I may think about myself,” Celestia said, rubbing sleep and tears from her eyes. “Goodness, listen to me. I really do belong in a home.”

“Celestia, where is all this coming from?”

“You scared me. When I received your call, I had no idea what had happened. I didn't know if you were even…” Celestia let out a long sigh. “It sounds silly to say alive, but I was frightened.”

“Oh come on! I wouldn't—”

“Would you have ever guesses what had happened with me would have happened?” Celestia cut in. “Better yet, do you think my mind went to a logical place when it became apparent you were in danger?”

“There's no way they would—” Twilight felt her throat catch and the rest of her sentence stalled. The same words, phrased a hair differently, had been shot at her by her own brother, and now here they were again. “I'm sorry, Celestia.”

“It is fine, because it made me aware of something: I've been biding my time for too long. I've driven us into some sort of stalemate cold war, and it was in this strange mockery of peace that action was taken that was not my own. You began to fear my silence, and you lashed out. Flim Flam Industry did the same, and another problem presented itself for me to fix. Another problem in a sea or problems that at the end of the day can be all narrowed down in some way to my doing. But I'm not going to stand idly about any longer.”

“Then… where are we going?”

Celestia managed a small smile, and withdrew Twilight's journal from her pocket. “You gathered research worth arresting you over. Why would you not pursue it?”

“Uh... alright,” Twilight managed, looking quite taken aback. “But... before we do, I think there’s somepony you should meet.”

It was a gaze Celestia had seen before, and part of her knew before she had spoken who Twilight was referring to.

“Hello again, sister.”

Author's Note

Déja Vu (XV)

...A brilliant white flash, and the sound of the instant-film camera whirring down.

“Surveillance camera.” A royal guard called, and when Shining Armor glanced over, he pointed it out with a hoof. The camera perched around the soldier’s neck spat out a glossy version, which was promptly deposited with the rest of its brethren within a thin disposable plastic bag.

Shining Armor had heard his hoofbeats echoing down the hall as he approached, but didn’t look up from the pile of discarded uniforms in the corner. Most were charred, with only the vaguest pieces of plastics visible from the ashen mess.

“And another, further down the hall. Above the door-way.” Shining Armor responded quickly. “There’s one on each floor. Facing the hallway across from the elevator. And two more in the chamber at the deepest point.”

“Y-you’ve been down already?” The guard looked… shaken. Shining Armor had seen the same expression when they’d first arrived at Neighchorage during the first summer before the Crystal War, peering out across the icefields at the rumbling towers of black snow clouds creeping between the far mountain peaks.

Shining nodded. “Uh huh. On my way back up, to check the top floor. Take it the rest of the boys are already up there?”

The royal guard gave a small shake of his head. “No sir. They’re waiting for you to finish up down here first. Sent me down to check on you, cause we don’t want to go ahead without you. B-but. It’s really her, isn’t it?”

Shining had seen the diaries and books already in their plastic evidence bags, set down gently on Celestia’s bed. Her regalia and crown had been placed right beside them. She’d made it easy on them--collecting them all on her writing desk in a mighty stack, with a note written in her trademark simple and legible cursive. ‘For Immediate Disposal, Glory to Flim Flam Industries Forever. -- Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia’

A joke. She’d always been the kind to ‘not go calmly into that good night’, or however that damn poem she used to say went.

“Unless you think it’s a very expensive practical joke, Private?” Shining gave him a small chuckle.

The guard laughed back, and frowned at the pile of ash and fabric in front of them. “What’s that? Linens maybe? From the room downstairs?”

Shining shook his head. “They’d be more burnt up. These are thicker… the sort of fabric medical uniforms are made from. Whoever torched it was in a hurry, and doesn’t look like anypony came by to finish the job.” His horn lit, and the dust and ash around the uniforms began to glow a pale blue. Closing his eyes in focus, he lifted several gnarled strips of plastic from the pile--about half a dozen in total, and levitated them over to the guard.

“Nametags,” Shining offered quietly, as the pegasus pony guard began opening a plastic bag for him to float them into with his wing. “Evening Flicker. Deep Blue. Somepony with a last name of Blossom. Occupations are listed, too. Orderly. Guard. Looks like our ‘Blossom’ was an EMT. Bet they’re halfway across Equestria by now. Or the same place our newly reborn Princess is.”

He nodded his head back towards the elevator at the end of the hall, and the guard followed. Red and yellow tape had been hastily spread across the freight elevator to the left of the passenger elevator, which looked not a lot larger than those in some of the lower-end hotels that he’d visited on the road.

“Where do the camera feeds lead to?” Shining asked, closing the door behind them and hitting the button for the roof. The elevator gave a gentle ding and the doors closed, a steady grinding sound seeping through the vibrating metallic walls as it slowly crept upwards.

“Camera feed leads to a surveillance room on the first floor.” The guard responded. “Reel to reel tape recording device is there. Along with monitors, all of which are offline. The cables were fitted along the same shaft that the elevator uses. It’s the only cavity beneath the rock, the earth ponies tell me. And Shallow Step seemed pretty confident about that.”

Shining nodded, listening to the elevator rattle. “How deep are we?”

“Ah, well. Shallow Step figures the cavity descends anywhere from one to three kilometres underground. That being at the deepest point. At the, uh. Bedroom.”

“A prison, Private. Call it as it is.” Shining gave him a patient frown. “The first floor has the majority of the facilities she would have required. The infirmary, the shower, the interrogation room. And the second has all of the facilities they would have required to keep her down here. Barracks, surveillance. Munitions.”

“A prison for Princess Celestia,” The guard gave a low whistle. “Guess it wasn’t enough.”

“You said the monitors in the surveillance room are offline?”

“Y-yeah. Why? Isn’t it obvious who our suspect is?”

“I have two and a half names so far.” Shining shook his head. “A facility like this takes more than a dozen to run at any given time. Now, they cleared out fast, but they probably took those videotapes with them. But if they didn’t… we can get a better picture of what all was going down in this facility.”

The elevator gave another ding before the guard could respond, and the rattling doors opened to blinding light. Shining instinctively winced- -moving into actual day from the dim emergency lighting of the dead facility beneath them was jarring. Or perhaps he was still shaking off sleep. It had been… what? Fourteen hours? Since Celestia had woken him after her escape?

They had worked quickly, at least. Not faster than Celestia, but quickly. By time Celestia had set down on his porch in Old Canterlot, he imagined they were still scrambling to move the facility into lockdown. And by-time the first domestic complaints about smoke rising over the mountains of Vanhoover had reached his ears, the facility was already in the state he was now finding it in.

They’d asked him to help cleanup. Better to call somepony on their payroll then involve more in their expensive lie. He figured he knew how the operation would go--he’d gather them their evidence. They’d quietly file it away, or destroy it. And gradually, every trace of the exact function and usage of the facility around them would be eradicated.

Celestia hadn’t revealed herself yet, after all. He figured that they assumed they still had time to catch her. Return her back to her prison.

Bring her back home.

And perhaps, Shining thought morbidly, as the elevator rattled upwards… they were right.

“Hello again, sister.”

For a good while, nopony spoke further.

There was just the wind gusting through the airship's modest solarium, and the faint humming of the twin-propellers to either side of them. The blurred starmap of lights below was tilting somewhat vertically as the ship turned, and Celestia spent the silence trying to map out familiar grid-lines she'd helped devise during her enjoyable outings with Old Canterlot's ancient zoning commission.

She was facing it with an unreadable frown, as though she were accepting a meal that a cook had gracefully butchered to a point unworthy of mention.

“You know, you're harder to reach than the Prince of Equestria,” Nightmare Moon said, unmoving.

Behind her, Celestia heard Twilight cough.

“That… uh, isn't the right term, Nightmare—”

Like a pouncing serpent, she turned. Celestia flinched, and Twilight sunk her head instantly.

“And since when do you contradict me, Twilight?”

“I'm sorry!” Twilight said immediately. “Just trying to… just trying to help.”

“Then do it by shutting up.”

Celestia blinked, still locked in her instinctive flinch. The moon was hidden behind the rainclouds and the canvass solarium roof above—had she even risen it at all? She didn't recall. She'd been neglecting it, admittedly.

Cadance, she had understood. That was a scar that still felt too fresh to see heal during her lifetime. It was no wonder her broken, rattled mind had conjured her up to torment her further.

Nightmare Moon was a bit more surprising. There was so much more to her… so much more than mere delusion. Twisting her surprise into a snarl of her own, Celestia outstretched her wings.

“I don't have time to fraternize with the dead. And neither should you, Twilight.”

Nightmare Moon looked a bit taken aback for a moment, before shaking her head. “Look, I don't want to be talking to you about this, either. Thank your assistant.”

Twilight blushed, looking away. “We uh… had some time to talk to eachother. I was wondering the best way to...”

“I understand, Twilight. You do have the Sunstone. There's a reason I kept it around.”

“I don't have it right now, actually.” Twilight bit her lip. “That's a bit of an issue—we, uh hid it. It's… back at my library. Do you think maybe you can drop me off at home? I kinda didn't want to...uh, Blueblood doesn't seem to like me, and you seemed angry at me, and..."

Celestia narrowed her eyes. “You… do not have it on you.”

“I tried to warn her.” Nightmare Moon growled. “She was adamant that seeking you out was more of a top priority than securing its safety.”

“Well, that's awfully irresponsible of you, Twilight.” Celestia brought a hoof to the bridge of her snout. “I'll let Blueblood know. I hope you realize just how irresponsible a decision that was.”

“I'm sorry!” Twilight sputtered. “I was scared, I didn't know what to! I just wanted to talk to you and they wouldn't let me!”

“I know, Twilight. I'm sorry. We're talking now, right?” Celestia finally broke her gaze with Twilight, furrowing her brow as she looked back to Nightmare Moon. “Now if somepony would allow us the privacy?”

Nightmare Moon exhaled from her snout, tapping on the balcony impatiently and looking away. “I want to help you, Celestia. That's why I'm here.”

“Well, I don't trust you.” Celestia glowered. “How? How then, without the Sunstone? I thought I'd felt you back at the restaurant, too. Guess I wasn't mistaken.”

“I can move the Moon.” Twilight cut in. “Without the Sunstone. I can do it. I think.”

“She can.” Nightmare Moon confirmed. “I've been teaching her. She hasn't risen it yet, but she has moved it.”

“She… you can...” Celestia blinked, instinctively removing her wing from Twilight's back and looking down at her. Twilight instantly looked as though she would've willingly shrunken into nothingness if she could have.

“I knew you'd be angry if I told you!” Twilight moaned, sinking her head into her forehooves. “I screwed everything up and now you're—”

Twilight's sentence was cut short as Celestia enveloped the quivering unicorn in one of her cold and skeletal wings, pulling her closer and resting her head on Twilight's neck.

“I'm proud of you, Twilight. I always will be, no matter what.”

In her peripheral, Celestia distinctly saw Nightmare Moon turn away, looking back down at the passing traffic below. “I am, too. For whatever little that seems to be worth. I can see why, Celestia.”

Twilight said nothing, but Celestia felt her instinctively tense at Nightmare Moon's voice. She didn't bother giving the other alicorn her attention, though. Not during their moment.

“I didn't at first.” Nightmare Moon continued anyways. “I thought she was just some chubby freak you thought would bend to your will easily. But she's...”

Nightmare Moon broke off, shrugging a little.

“She's what, Nightmare Moon? What is she, to you?” Celestia practically sneered. “She's powerful? She's useful? She's capable of raising the Moon?”

“That's not what I mean.”

“You're not Luna. You are not fooling me.”

“Oh, that's enough!” Nightmare Moon barked abruptly. The calmer tone she'd been attempting hadn't lasted much more than a minute, Celestia noted. Calmly, she broke her embrace with Twilight and outstretched the wing in front of her instead, separating her from Nightmare Moon's icy fury.

“You're no different from me, Celestia. She's a tool to you more than she is to me. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that, and just speak to me as an ally?”

“I don't wish to speak with you!” Celestia stamped a hoof, “I wish to speak with Luna. But that is never going to happen again. And I've already accepted that!”

“No you haven't. You never will. And I swear to her memory I will never let you,” Nightmare Moon shot back.

Celestia went quiet. She pursed her lips, and glanced back into the cabin of the airship. Blueblood and Rarity seemed to be bickering in the front seat, with Blueblood looking more focused on the front window of the ship than his wife.

Eventually, Celestia turned again. “What do you want from my friends?”

“I want your nephew executed, but I also know where to call my battles,” Nightmare Moon said, waving a hoof. “Narrow the question further. I know you want to.”

“Fine. What do you want with Twilight?”

Nightmare Moon looked to Twilight expectantly through the gaps in Celestia's decayed plumage.

“We're friends, Celestia,” Twilight replied, her voice a shaky murmur. Her head was still bowed low—she hadn't looked up from the floorboards of the gondola solarium since they'd left the station.

Celestia sighed, bringing a hoof to her snout. “No. Twilight, I'm sorry, but you're incorrect. Nightmare Moon is not your friend.”

“It doesn't matter.” Twilight still hadn't looked up from her ashamed bow. “This is all bigger than that.”

“You're not a cog, Twilight.” Celestia rolled her good eye, the other fake one still looking straight ahead. “And you don't get to tell me how big and small my priorities are. You're the biggest. You and the Sun. Everything else is secondary.”

“Including your nephew,” Nightmare Moon grinned. “Including your adopted niece who croaked. Including your subjects. Including your sister.”

“Yes, including them,” Celestia growled. “I'll have time to mourn them when I'm done here.”

“You mean when you're dead.”

“And before. I have a few years left in me after the end of all this silly affair. I'll be able to wallow in whatever amount of misery you feel I deserve. You and Sombra and Discord and whomever else wishes to join in. So don't go worrying there. You'll have plenty of time.”

“Gods, Celestia, why can't you just admit it to yourself? You've done this for too long. This is all something that any healthy mare never lives to see.”

“I have a duty.” Celestia's response came without hesitation. “You might’ve shirked yours with the dream realm and the Moon when you turned yourself into this insulting parody, but I will not. You may as well add myself to your list of priorities I've made the decision to reject.”

“Oh yes you are so selfless. Such a saint.”

Celestia took a step forwards, and the gondola shook slightly. When she spoke, her tone was calm, but Nightmare Moon's taunting gaze tapered all the same.“What do you want from Twilight Sparkle. I put you in the grave once, demon, and I'll do it again without an instant's hesitation.”

“Celestia, just relax. I like Twilight Sparkle. I’m willing to tolerate you. I feel I am at the point in which I feel comfortable admitting that the three of us openly assisting each other is relevant to my interests.”

Celestia laughed, despite herself. “So you're declaring a truce.”

“Not necessarily. I just think that having open communication is helpful.”

“I'm not stupid, Nightmare Moon. I know you better than that.”

“Fine, you want honesty?” Nightmare Moon grimaced. “You want me to admit the real reason why I'm here speaking to you?”

“I would be humbled.” Celestia rolled her eye.

“I… don't want to be alone again.” Nightmare Moon ground over the words, like they physically hurt her while she was saying them. She looked at her hooves when she spoke, forcing the words out as a barely coherent murmur. “I can't be alone again. And… forcing Twilight to choose between us… feels like an efficient way of doing so.”

For several seconds, neither pony spoke. Celestia had a scoffing remark in her brain, but Nightmare Moon's tone had been too much like Luna's for her to drive that dagger into her side.

Because, with Luna, it had been the same. “I’m so alone, Celestia.” “Why won’t they talk to me?” “Why are you the only being in this whole damned country who cares about me, Celestia?”

And Celestia had tried. By the stars in the sky, burning brighter now that her Sun had been banished below, she had tried. And the ghost of her failure would haunt her to the grave.

Thankfully, by some miracle, Twilight spoke when Celestia couldn't. “She's my friend, Celestia. I know you don't believe her, but… can you maybe trust me?”

“I'm not asking you to forgive me. And I'm not offering you my forgiveness...” Nightmare Moon took a step closer, and Celestia shot her wing up to protect Twilight from her once again. Nightmare Moon scoffed and rolled her eyes. “...but I think that perhaps Twilight might be the bridge between us. Will you at least allow me that?”

Celestia let out a low growl, her wing hanging around Twilight more tightly while she fixed Nightmare Moon with a cold glare. “Fine. But prove to me your good intentions. Leave Twilight and I in private.”

“Of course.” Nightmare Moon looked unsure, but she nodded. “Talk to you soon, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight said nothing, biting her lip and looking down at her hooves.

Without ceremony, Nightmare Moon vanished into the night, and the gondola fell silent once more.

“Celestia, I can...” Twilight gulped.

“I warned you, Twilight.” Celestia sighed. “In the catacombs. I told you that if I were to fall, you were to let it happen—”

“Well I never would—”

“Let me finish, Twilight.” Celestia gave her a sideways look, and Twilight shirked. “P-please, Twilight? Please, just let me speak to you? It’s been so long.”

Twilight gave a meek nod.

“Nightmare Moon is… a complicated entity.” Celestia sighed. “And I don't understand her. Not in the slightest. I don't know where the line between her and my sister lies. And I lied to you before when I said I did.

“I don't know what she wants and I don't trust her, but I know I can trust you, Twilight. I'm sorry that you have such an impossible responsibility—nopony wishes to become a… a mediator for a pair of feuding sister alicorns… but it seems that's the role fate's given to you. My personal belief is that she's playing a longer game and intends to stab me in the back the first opportunity she gets, but… evidently she will not go away simply because I wish her to. So, the three of us are in this together now.”

“She seems scared, Celestia. She really, really does.”

“I know. I thought so, too.” Celestia sighed. “And I want to believe that I'm not alone in that regard. I… can't tell you how much I want to believe that maybe part of my sister might still be there. And… well, every miracle that's happened to me so far has happened because of you, Twilight. By rights, I should be dead so many times over, but you’ve given me the courage to stay strong and face down one final evil. I trust you to help us through this, too.

Celestia noticed with a bit of surprise that she'd been crying—she hadn't caught herself sobbing, but her cheek was damp all the same. Twilight seemed to be, too—her snout was dripping snot onto Celestia's coat as the two mares hugged each other tighter.

“W-we're not doomed, right, Celestia? I didn't doom us?”

“No, Twilight. You did not doom us. I promise.” Celestia nuzzled her, letting out a gentle chuckle. “I'm sorry if you ever thought I was replacing you with Blueblood.”

“I panicked. It's stupid, I shouldn't have listened to her, but...” Twilight bit her lip. “She told me you were.”

“Historically, my sister has found success preying on the insecurities of ponies. I witnessed it before. She… I really do think she means well, in her own way, but...” Celestia sighed. “You musn't take her projections of you as some factual dogma, is all. She is just as much a slave to her own fears of rejection and isolation.”

“I know. It's why I… thought maybe I could… It's why I've been trying to befriend her, instead of coming to you.”

“And I thank you. I promise.” Celestia nuzzled her one last time, before finally breaking the embrace. She gave the unicorn an eager and supportive smile. “We're going to be okay, Twilight. Together, we will. Okay?”

“O-okay.” Twilight gave a genuine smile and a nod, wiping her snout with a hoof. “I'm sorry I kept secrets from you.”

“Twilight. This is getting excessive, don't you think?” Celestia grinned, rolling her eyes. “Surely you have more interesting things to discuss than which apologies are most warranted right now?”

She levitated Twilight's notebook in her magic. “Would you wish to discuss what dastardly evil you were carrying out when you were so heroically apprehended by New Canterlot's finest?”

Twilight gave a sniffling laugh. “S-soil samples. There's a spot along Whitetail River where, uh. I dunno, I just had a hunch because of the way the river's situated relative to the run-off zones from the facilities outside of town.”

“I see.” Celestia nodded. “That's very thoughtful, indeed.”

“Th-thanks. I've done it before, but, uh. I don't know how seriously I was taken.”

“Did you peer review your study?”

“D-did I what?”

“Twilight. You're publishing academic fact in an attempt to make a factual revelation en mass.” Celestia handed her the notebook back. “Take it from somepony who's been doing it herself for years—you cannot simply hope ponies simply believe you're qualified to make those kinds of claims.”

Twilight gave a little nod. “I guess I can't. Sometimes I do, but for that one I used my own test results.”

“And they were disregarded on those grounds.”

“Yeah.”

“Ergo, if you were to publish the same data but used a credible source to do so...” Celestia gave Twilight a warm smile. “You'd make yourself credible in doing so, and therefore improve the likelihood that ponies may take your findings seriously.”

“Yeah!” Twilight said, with a bit more enthusiasm.

“For a journalist, you really do need to get better at talking to ponies, Twilight.” Celestia gave her shoulder a playful punch. “How about this? How about after we recover the Sunstone, the two of us head to Ponyville's governing academic body, and we hunt down somepony who may be qualified to look at your findings?”

“That, uh.” Twilight folded an ear. “Seems kinda unorthodox?”

“And your week has been orthodox by comparison?” Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Come now, Twilight.”

“Good point.” Twilight gave a little nod. “I'll, uh...”

“We will go home and rest. In our own beds.” Celestia gave her a smile. “And come dawn, the two of us will talk about this over a pot of coffee. Understood?”

Twilight smiled. “Understood. Thank you, Celestia.”

Celestia brought her closer with a wing, and without saying a word, her horn illuminated. She didn't break the embrace even as she gripped the delicate fabric of space in her magic and gave it a small tug, and the two vanished in a flash of yellow light.

Within the gondola, Blueblood and Rarity continued to argue, and the airship carried on its course towards New Canterlot uninterrupted.

iii

Twilight hadn't expected Celestia's wing to still be around her come dawn.

Her bed in the library wasn't exactly an alicorn-friendly size, and Celestia seemed to have fallen slightly onto the floor as a result.

It was still dark outside, though a few birds perched on the telegraph poles outside were calling out a premature dawn chorus all the same.

Twilight yawned, wiping her eyes with a hoof. Beside her, Celestia stirred. “Are you awake, Twilight?”

“Y-yeah. G-good morning, Celestia. Did you, ah. Sleep well?”

Celestia shuffled a little, going silent for a moment. “I dreamt I was back last night, Twilight. Back in the… back in my prison.”

“That’s… that’s horrible…”

Celestia nodded. “I asked them where you were. They told me it was all a dream. That I was… they told me that I was back home. Surrounded by those horrible bright lights. The cruel machinery masquerading as magic back in front of me. It was dawn, and I was expected to bring yet another artificial sunrise to an Equestria I wasn’t allowed to see.”

Celestia let out a long sigh, rising to her hooves and clipping her old regalia back on again. “Even my mind wishes to send me back there. I thought I was moving forwards… why do I keep being sent back there when I sleep?”

“Because they stole a decade of your life from you.” Twilight said simply. “You didn’t wrong them… or anyone. But they stole it anyway and told you that you should be grateful to even be alive. That kind of hurt doesn’t just vanish away.”

“I suppose so.” Celestia looked down at her hooves, as though a little unconvinced by what Twilight were saying.

“You… you served on the front lines during the war with Sombra, right, Celestia?”

Celestia nodded. “I did. Sometimes I’m still there, too. Bringing my magic to crystal ponies I know he forced to fight for him. Always hoping it would never be enough to kill them, but also knowing that if I didn’t act, my own ponies would be lost…”

Celestia broke off, and Twilight could see that she was crying. Not a dramatic, heaving sob… simply a few tears drifting slowly down the alicorn’s rugged, beautiful face.

“It’s… a disorder Celestia. There’s many like you, from the Crystal War. Post-traumatic stress, they call it. I… think you might be a sufferer.”

Celestia sighed. “I’m a madmare, then. A madmare, pretending she deserves her throne back.”

“Woah, hey.” Twilight’s voice was soft, but firm. “Cut that out, Celestia. You’re not. You’re just… hurting, still.”

“The wounds are old, Twilight. They should have healed over by now.”

Twilight shook her head, and gave Celestia a small smile. “Not exactly. It takes time. Sometimes, a long time. And it takes help, too, that I don’t think you’ve been afforded.”

“This… this disorder you say that I might have. There’s no cure?”

“I don’t think so. It isn’t simple like that.”

“I miss Luna, Twilight. She would’ve… she could’ve helped. Dream magic, you see.”

Twilight gave a solemn nod. “I.. could ask Nightmare Moon?”

Celestia gave a cruel laugh, shaking her head as she clipped the regalia on with her magic and started styling her mane into her now-familiar braid. “She would tell me I deserve it.”

Twilight sighed, rising from the bed herself. “Don’t you think it’s at least worth asking her?”

“It’s just a dream, Twilight. Already faded, upon hearing your voice and knowing I’m safe once again.”

“But it hurts you, Celestia.” Twilight shook her head. “C-can I ask you another question?”

Celestia gave a single nod. “You can ask me anything, Twilight.”

“Would… would you let me interview you, for a public article?”

There was no response for several seconds—Celestia simply stared blankly, making it abundantly clear she didn’t quite understand what it was that Twilight was suggesting. Nervously, Twilight proceeded further.

“I mean… about your imprisonment. About what it was like. You’ve been so… so hush about it. And I think that if you were to go public--”

“No.” The answer came, spoken coldly and firmly, as Celestia shook her head and started towards the main reading room of the library, a tired hobble to her still-waking-up limbs. “I’m sorry Twilight, but absolutely not.”

“S-still hurts too much?” Twilight guessed, hanging her head apologetically as she followed Celestia. In the reading room, a tall, beautiful orange bird was in the middle of preening it’s feathers—a phoenix, Twilight recognized instantly. She’d seen it with Celestia before, when she was a filly, and it gave a low purr when it saw the Princess, flapping over to settle on her mane.

“I realize it seems prideful.” Celestia continued speaking as if a bird was not playing with her mane, prodding at it with its beak as though it were a ball of yarn. “A-and I realize your intentions are only to help me put it behind. B-but… what happened to me. It’s… traumatizing. Humiliating. I… don’t wish to relive it, even through simply sharing what happened. And to have to face my ponies and say it...”

She shuddered, shaking her head. “I’m not brave enough to do that, Twilight Sparkle. I don’t feel ready to admit how much I failed. Better they find out themselves how far their princess fell, then hear a sob story from a sad, deformed old harpy from an age long past.”

Giving Celestia a small smile, Twilight walked a little closer, and nuzzled her head into Celestia’s neck. “’You are an important mare’. You remember that, Celestia?”

Frowning, Celestia looked a little confused. Twilight broke the nuzzle and gave her a small smile.

“You said it to me, when we were invading the museum. When I was having one of my little freakouts. You stopped me, and said that we’re not progressing until you heard me admit it.”

Celestia smiled, too, and gave a little nod. “It hurts me very much to see such a kind mare deriding herself like--”

“’Worthless old harpy. Relic of an age long past.’” Twilight shook her head sadly. “How do you think I feel, Celestia? You’re the most beautiful, brave, kind pony I’ve ever met, and I feel privileged every day to wake to a world knowing that you’re a part of it again. So… maybe for me, you oughta take your own advice.”

Celestia stopped in her tracks, and laboriously, she opened her mouth. Then, she closed it again, as though forcing the words out was a task beyond her. Twilight rested a hoof on the old alicorn’s back, and Celestia pulled her in closer with a wing as if by instinct.

“I’m an important mare,” Celestia spoke softly, the words hardly audible. Still, they were enough to get another warm smile and nuzzle from Twilight.

“Now we can progress,” Twilight said playfully, finally breaking the embrace and trotting into the reading area proper. “And I think I have an idea how.”

She motioned to her study area, with the dozens of maps lining every wall. Tacks and jotted notes where Twilight had noted her suspicions about the various industries now doting the maps still falsely showing rivers and trees.

“I tried to get a soil sample when I was imprisoned. It’s all private property, cause they don’t want ponies going into the industrial zone.”

“Mm. As if keeping ponies out would stop the environmental cataclysm they’re causing.”

“Exactly! All it does it keep them unaware of it. The number of forests that have been decimated since your departure is… staggering. It’s horrific. More destruction has occurred in a decade than over a hundred years prior. But that’s only what does make the papers.”

“Implying far more environmental damage than simply deforestation.”

Twilight nodded. “That’s the big one that ponies pay attention to. Kinda hard not to. But there’s all kinds of other problems that come from the industrialization outside of Old Canterlot and Ponyville.”

Celestia frowned, looking back towards the scattered bulletin board in Twilight’s office. “Which was what you were seeking to demonstrate. And closer to Ponyville, too. A populated area with a thriving surrounding ecosystem in the Everfree and White Tail forests.”

“Exactly. The Industry’s solution was to mark the whole area as private property. Easy enough to do when you own the public zoning divisions. But there’s still some places they couldn’t touch. Thestral communities, particularly wild parts of the Everfree…”

Celestia nodded, smiling a little. “To be completely honest… I’d like that right now, Twilight. Going back to the Everfree. Trying to help the living things in Equestria who don’t wish to spit at my hooves right now.”

Shaking her head, Twilight abandoned any vocal words of assurance. A gentle nuzzle against Celestia felt more right, and so it’s what she did. And Celestia hugged her back, pulling the two of them together as one.

Twilight hadn’t set foot in a university in ages.

Admittedly, she understood why pretty quickly, as she watched the busy ponies scurrying through the gleaming halls. Ponyville’s university was a gorgeous building, especially relative to the somewhat quaint and homey size of the town itself. Ponyville was by no means a ‘small-town’, but by the standards of Old and New Canterlot, it was a little less than Twilight had grown used to.

It was also a relatively new building, at least as far as academic institutions went. As Old Canterlot gradually fell from grace, so too did enrollment in its schools. Other growing communities across the nation saw fit to fill the void, and Ponyville was in an ideal spot to do so. The town had been an untapped well of potential during the early days of the Industry's rise, and while it had destroyed much of the natural life surrounding it, the town's infrastructure at least grew somewhat as a result.

“I couldn’t get a hold of the botany department head professor, so I’ve instead arranged a meeting with one of his assistants,” Celestia said as they walked, the sound of her steel horseshoes clacking loudly on the newly polished floors.

“I’m sure that’ll be just as good. Probably less likely to be in the Industry’s pocket anyways, right?”

“My thoughts exactly. Younger blood. Less cynical, less corrupted by this world's infectious greed. Still technically an assistant professor, with a highly cited thesis on soil degradation. A perfect peer.”

“Are you sticking with us?” Twilight asked, fiddling with her visitor’s lanyard as they headed out into the open air of the courtyard leading to the university greenhouse.

“I will for a short while, although I do have other arrangements to attend to.”

Twilight blinked, looking over at Celestia. “You do?”

“You remember Raven, yes? I would like to get together with her again. When I retake the throne--which, given the way that the Industry has been scrambling and panicking, seems a looming possibly more and more--I would like to ensure I have enough time to properly tutor you into your role by my side.”

Twilight blushed. The idea of that still seemed so surreal to her, even if it had been one of the first things Celestia had suggested upon their first meeting. “O-oh.”

Celestia smiled. “Raven is old, and close to retirement. Nonetheless, I intend to ask her if she would be interested in returning as my court’s secretary when I retake the throne.”

“I’m sure she’ll be honoured.” Twilight replied, and Celestia responded with a wordless smile and nod.

The tall, many-windowed towers that were the science and engineering buildings glared down on a sunny courtyard, and dozens of ponies were milling about, lounging on the grass and reading, hurrying between classes. Even with thoughts of exams and essays clouding most of the student’s worried heads, they still couldn’t help but stop what they were doing and watch as Princess Celestia herself, and her trusted assistant, made their way proudly across the lawn towards the greenhouse tucked away some distance from the courtyard.

It didn’t take long for much of the onlookers to become more of a presence than simply distant curious eyes in their peripheral. Soon enough, they’d started to swarm around Celestia and Twilight with a bit more urgency driving their intrigue, and Twilight could hear the distinct whirring sound of a camera discreetly producing a future front-page photo for Ponyville U’s student paper.

A few students bowed. Not all… not even a lot, but some did. And when they did so, Celestia finally stopped, surprise flashing into her eyes.

“Well then…” she said gently, bringing a hoof to her regalia. “It’s a pleasure to see all of you young ponies, but I really am just an old mare sightseeing.”

The simple claim seemed to warrant a chorus of excited chattering. Twilight flicked an ear, looking from Celestia to the greenhouse they’d been heading towards before Celestia had halted.

“It’s really her! Princess Celestia!”

“What is she doing here?”

“Princess! Can I take a picture with you?”

“I’m sure I can spare the time,” Celestia said, chuckling. “Twilight, I can catch up with you if you’d like.”

Twilight paused, looking from Celestia to the students. When she’d been growing up, Celestia had been many things, but the most predominant in her mind had been her status as a teacher. She’d heard stories of her energetic, engaging lectures at her School of Magic--how even with a day constantly booked with tasks she would fit in time for one and make it seem like her life purpose.

Celestia was many things indeed. To a younger Twilight, long before the spectres of dread and apathy had clouded her life, she’d been a dream teacher, and her teachings a goal to strive to.

There’d been jealousy on Twilight’s mind, when she’d heard those tales from her peers in Magic Kindergarden. The stories of those who’d made enough of an impression to warrant personal tutelage by the Princess herself. She’d sworn to herself that she’d prove herself as worthy of such an honour, and she would make her parents, herself, and her Princess proud.

And she’d botched the entrance exam all the same.

Again, and again. She’d spent her whole childhood being told she’d matter, and when the time came to prove it…

Twilight shook her head. No more. The time had come again to prove herself… the past few months, it had come and come again.

Celestia seemed happily in her element here, and Twilight could already see her smiling face on the front page of the next day’s papers. The one thing she was most concerned about--her reputation, was being tended to with every positive interaction she had.

“I’ll see you soon, Celestia.” Twilight nodded, and headed further towards the greenhouse.

She gently tapped on the front door, where a short-maned yellow pegasus was gingerly drizzling thimble-fulls of water onto a drooping geranium. She perked up instantly, looking a bit surprised for a moment before fixing Twilight with a sheepish smile instead as she flapped over to the greenhouse entrance.

“Good morning! My… ah, office hours aren't until…”

“This afternoon, I know. I'm not one of your students, Professor Fluttershy, I'm actually a reporter. Was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”

“R-reporter?” Fluttershy blinked, tilting her head. “And I'm… um, technically not a...”

Fluttershy wilted a little, turning her attention back to the geranium and giving it a spiteful spray of water.

“You want Professor Hemlock. I'm just his assistant.”

“Well, they referred me to you by name at the front office of the Science building.” Twilight shrugged, lingering awkwardly in the entrance to the greenhouse. “You see, I'm… um. Well, I'm freelance myself.”

“Oh!” At that, Fluttershy perked up significantly, turning to Twilight with an excited smile. “Wait, hold on… you're… you're Princess Celestia's assistant, right?”

“I'm technically not… uh...” Twilight broke off, shaking her head and extending a hoof instead. “Twilight Sparkle. Investigative journalist.”

Fluttershy shook, her grip delicate and frail but her smile welcoming and genuine. “Pleased to meet you, Twilight. What can I do for you today?”

“I was wondering, uh. You wrote your thesis on soil degradation, right? Around Ponyville?”

“Well, the White Tail Woods specifically, but yes.” Fluttershy nodded. “Topsoil erosion. Certainly, uh. Concerning stuff.”

“Oh, I know. I've read. Been keeping up with your research as best I can… we don't really have much of an academic library in Old Canterlot, where I'm from.”

“Really?” Fluttershy tilted her head. “Huh. Well, thank you, I suppose. It's nice to know it's reaching somewhere. So, you came to talk to me about it?”

“Well, sorta. I also was wondering if I could get a sample tested? I don't exactly have access to a lab, or… uh, much knowledge by way of actually going about… um, testing...”

“Right. You're writing on behalf of Princess Celestia, so you probably want to be putting out something peer reviewed?”

“Exactly! So, we hunted you down in the faculty list and, uh. She sent me over. I'm… uh, r-really sorry if I'm intruding or if it's a bad time...”

“There's no need to be so nervous, Twilight.” Fluttershy gave her a supportive smile. “Come on in. Put on a lab coat. I'd be happy to help you out if it's on Princess Celestia's behalf. Even if I am a bit curious why she'd want me, of all ponies.”

“Well, really, this is more my inquiry.” Twilight levitated a labcoat and gingerly put it on, and Fluttershy led the way into the greenhouse. “You see, I took some soil samples from the riverbeds leading into Ponyville.”

“Whitetail River?” Fluttershy frowned, looking back. “That's government owned property, Twilight Sparkle. They've been pretty stern on not letting anypony in there. I should know, I've tried to get clearance to gather samples of my own.”

“Y-yeah, I know. I kinda got arrested trying to get that sample? I'm out on bail.”

“...I see. You lead an interesting life, it seems.” Fluttershy shook her head. “The soil sample you have on you… it's the one you took from the Whitetail River?”

“Of course.”

“You're sure it is? Cause, like. If I were them, I definitely would have confiscated that,” Fluttershy said. “Or if I was feeling particularly like I had something to hide, I would switch it with an ordinary sample.”

“That's… um… I mean, maybe?” Twilight withdrew the sample from her jacket pocket in her telekinesis.

“Twilight, this is my field. Trust me when I say it isn't the first hoop I've had to jump through trying to gather credible data.” Fluttershy took the sample in her hooves, turning it over a few times. “I've seen it happen before. I've learned that being passive and unassuming is the best way to get your hard work stomped on by bigger ponies than you.”

Twilight said nothing, but she bit her lip and nodded.

“My point is, don't give them the benefit of the doubt. Ever. I don't want to sound like a grump, but I think any industry that'll destroy as much of Equestria's ecosystems as them don't really deserve it. But who listens to the dirt scientists of Equestria?” Fluttershy rolled her eyes.

Twilight gave a small nod. “Probably more than they do the homeless freelance journalist.”

“With, um. Respect. You do have Princess Celestia, as well.” Fluttershy said softly, almost under her breath. She started unclipping the buttons on her labcoat as she spoke. “She seems to be intent on treating you with respect, from what I’ve heard and read about her.”

“She really, really has.”

Fluttershy grinned. “So much so that I wonder if she’s taken a fancy.”

At that, Twilight nearly sputtered. “Y-you think she what?!”

With a light giggle, Fluttershy shook her head. She opened a cupboard, withdrawing a few reusable plastic containers and tossing one to Twilight. “I’m just teasing you Twilight. Here, take this.”

“W-why?”

“Well, we’re going to collect soil samples together, aren’t we?”

“Aren’t you busy? I don’t want to be a nuisance...”

“Twilight Sparkle, I’m looking at an opportunity to help Princess Celestia get an upperhoof at slowing the destruction of my forests. Why would that be a nuisance to me?”Before Twilight could muster a reply, Fluttershy let out an audible gasp. “Oh. Oh my.”

Then, she lowered into a bow, and Twilight knew who she’d see as soon as she turned.

“That’s not necessary.” Celestia said gently, as she stepped into the Greenhouse and gave Fluttershy a warm smile. “I see you two have made fast friends.”

“It’s an honour to be enlisted to help you, Your Majesty!” Fluttershy said excitedly, nodding her head a few times. “I was just discussing with Twilight how I’d like to go collect dirt samples with you! Trust me, it’s a lot more fun than it sounds, and we’ll get to see all kinds of wonderful birds and little critters and flora and--”Celestia chuckled as Fluttershy broke off, blushing a little. “S-sorry. I’m, ah. A little excited by this turn of events. Are… are you going to help save the forests, Princess Celestia?”

“I would consider it a dire sin not to do so.” Celestia nodded her head firmly. “Would you object to a teleportation, Professor Fluttershy? I believe I can get us there and back without interfering with your schedule too dramatically.”

Twilight perked her head at that, but said nothing. If anything, she smiled a little to see Celestia once against testing the limits of her magic. No longer treating her jagged horn like it were some fragile apparatus about to break. As far as Twilight was concerned, it was the very conduit that brought sunlight and life to Equestria—a long, proud, ivory shaft of potential. It was as majestic to Twilight as the mare it was attached to.

Fluttershy had said something in reply but Twilight hadn’t quite been paying attention, thought she did notice a few stray sparks springing from it as Celestia readied a teleportation spell.

And then, a flash flooded through the Greenhouse, and the world vanished…

...only to be replaced by the bright sunlight and sound of a nearby running stream.

Fluttershy instantly let out a long, contended exhale, her wings rustling and unfurling to catch the cool spring air. She closed her eyes and simply stood still for several moments.

“This is the Whitetail Woods, Twilight Sparkle,” Fluttershy said eventually. “It’s really a wonderful place… and it’s home to one of the largest animal preserves in Eastern Equestria.”

“One of the only animal preserves in Eastern Equestria.” Twilight replied softly. “I’ve read. And despite that, about thirty percent of it’s been clearcut, sixty percent of it has been in some way negatively affected by these effects, whether through air pollution, water, or forest fires.”

Fluttershy gave a little nod. “Actually it’s more like eighty-percent, now. A lot of this forest feels like a ghost from when I was a filly.” Shaking her head, Fluttershy turned back to Celestia and Twilight. “I don’t get to come here nearly often enough. Thank you, Princess.”

“It is my pleasure, my little pony. Now, sadly, I do have other arrangements to attend to today. Getting waylaid by a gaggle of intrigued ponies was an unexpected but welcome surprise to my day’s schedule.”

“We’ll be a few hours gathering samples anyways.” Fluttershy shrugged. “And it’s time I’d love to spend nowhere else.”

“I shall see you two soon, then.” Celestia said, and as her horn began to glow, she leaned over to give Twilight a little nuzzle.

Then, a flash, and she was gone.

“Definitely a fancy.” Fluttershy flashed Twilight with a mischievous smirk, adjusting her saddlebag and setting off towards the shore of the babbling brook. Twilight blushed but didn’t protest, and fell in line behind Fluttershy.

“You said you lived here when you were a filly?” Twilight asked. Fluttershy quickly knelt down before the brook, taking out a glass vial with her wing and collecting a sample of water into it.

“Oh, no, no.” Fluttershy shook her head. “I lived in Cloudsdale. I just spent a lot of time down here, and found myself liking it more and more.”

“Ah… I… guess that’s one of the perks to having wings, hrm? Can just up and fly when you don’t like someplace.”

“It’s not really that simple, I’m afraid. Flying is… hard. I’ve never been very good at it." She paused her work to give her wings a backwards glance, as though she were confirming they were even still there in the first place. "I feel safer with my hooves on the ground. I used to get bullied for it a lot, so I would come down here to hide from them. The more time I spent, the more I found myself liking it down here.”

“Before the Industry started destroying it.”

Fluttershy winced a little, and gave a small nod of her head. “I wanted to protect it no matter what it took. At first that meant… well, doing what you do. Protesting, hoping things would change if I got angry enough. But I’m not loud enough, and the Industry find it pretty easy to ignore anypony who isn’t loud enough.”

“So… dirt specialist?”

Fluttershy gave a little chuckle, sealing the lid on the water vial and stowing it away in her saddlebag. “I studied environmental protection for my first two years, and then they shut down the course. Three guesses as to why. I used the credits I had to change majors, and… dirt specialist. It was the best I could do with what I had.”

“It’s further than I got.”

“I don’t believe it matters how far you get, Twilight Sparkle.” Fluttershy glanced over, her left wing prodding open her saddlebag and her hoof fishing out a petri dish. The whole while, she didn't break her gaze with Twilight. “I think it matters what you stand for, and how hard you fight for it. If we all weigh our accomplishments against eachother, we’ll just get discouraged because we’re not all the same. That sorta thinking is how you make a flightless pegasus feel like she doesn’t matter at all, and she never will.”

Twilight nodded, a small smile forming. “Equestria isn’t very friendly to ponies who think like that, are they?”

“Equestria doesn’t have time to be friendly when they’re being lied to and deceived and can’t even know what’s right from wrong. That’s why it’s a good thing there’s ponies like you who are making that right.”

Twilight’s smile grew a bit more confident, and it stayed that way as she and Fluttershy continued their work. Twilight learned quickly to remain quiet and let Fluttershy lead on, as she carefully and meticulously felt at the ground with her hooves while she walked along the shorebank. Sometimes she stopped, only to eagerly show Twilight a frog hiding in the mud or a catfish swimming along through the murky water.

Their work was tedious, but it was soothing, too. Birdsong above, softly running water below. The canopy of trees too thick to reveal the mountains of smog lining the outskirts of Ponyville. It was an hour gathering the first few samples, and then Fluttershy suggested they head a little further down stream where she suspected there was a dirt road snaking away from one of the mining quarries. The perfect place to dump waste, and the perfect place to test.

They walked for nearly an hour, and the canopy of trees grew thinner as they did. The Sun had started to peak below the treeline, the shades of dusk sweeping through the growing gaps of the trees ahead. The air itself felt stranger, and Twilight couldn’t entirely tell why. It wasn’t until Fluttershy spoke up that she realized.

“No birds. Looks like there’s more light ahead, too.”

And indeed, there was. Another few minutes of walking, and it became obvious why. The creekbed had gradually been tapering away into mud, then dirt, then clay. The curved edges where a roaring river had once been ghosts of a once thriving ecosystem.

And ahead, the vast, sprawling plain of death that had been so commonplace. So universal across Equestria.

“And this… is what we do.” Fluttershy sighed. “The cost of our cities and the Industry’s lies.”

Twilight gave a sad nod, and fished out her camera from her saddlebag. The Sun was setting on the clearcut plain, casting the entire somber sight in a ghostly orange haze.

It would at least make for a good cover page.

“Captain Armor!”

Shining Armor’s Royal Guard saluted as he stepped out of the elevator.

He nodded back at them, steppin out onto the roof. There was another hallway that led forwards, through the cool, imperfect corridor dug into the rock. The square of sunlight that had first assaulted him was ahead, and he led the way to it.

Reflecting in the pale afternoon sunlight was Celestia’s crown and regalia. Discarded, as she’d undoubtedly made her escape from the very spot. Her damned hoof shoes were still in place.

“So. Do any of us want to offer a theory as to who our mystery prisoner was?” he deadpans, levitating the crown in his telekinesis. There was an awkward chorus of chuckles behind him. “So, she’s still alive. Which means that below us is a facility that was designed to imprison, torture… and all but assasinate the Princess that all of us, a generation ago, pledged our lives to protect. Is that the situation as I understand it?”

The chorus of chuckles was echoed as an uneasy slew of agreeing mumbles. Shining turned back to them, narrowing his gaze.

“Princess Celestia served this nation up to the day of her death. She was mourned. And now she is alive, and out there someplace. Likely scared for her life, alone, and hunted. We are to find her, help her, and find out what the hell happened here.”

They all nodded. Of course they did. They’d been his guard since the days when they’d served under Celestia. They were still around now, relics. Relics to be silenced, disposed of, quietly deposed, when their necessity was complete.

But Flim Flam Industry had trusted him with cleanup. With covering up their crimes, and with lying to his own guards in the process.

But loyalty in Princess Celestia wasn’t always easy to discard. Shining had thought it had been. He’d thought it had vanished long ago, and evidently the state had assumed such. Somepony to help them shove Celestia and their desperate attempts to contain her quietly back into the dying light.

Twilight. Princess Celestia had asked about Twilight. She had said she was looking for her. And Shining had been, too. For so long, he’d wondered just what had gone wrong with his sister.

But perhaps nothing had. Perhaps it was the whole damned world around them that had gone wrong instead.

“Guard the evidence we collected today with our lives,” he said firmly, looking over his guards. “I want photographs of it all. I want it recorded down permanently, until we’ve gotten a crystal clear idea of the safety of Princess Celestia, and the identity of those responsible for depriving it from her.”

His guards saluted.

And Shining thought of Twilight and Celestia. Maybe they did have a chance. And maybe he could help.

Shining Armor exhaled when he got to the front gate of the facility. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath the entire walk up the dirt road from the clearing behind them.

At the gate, three more of his guards stood waiting. They saluted as he approached, though it was quite clear their focus was still on the buildings behind—the long radio-tower pointed upwards, the satellite dishes mounted to the tops. It was a little strange, seeing a radio-communication building so far in the woods in the valley between two towering Vanhoover mountain peaks.The poor troops were probably wondering what had taken Shining and his platoon over six-hours scouting out.

“S-sir… what was...”

Shining held up a hoof. Fishing out a cigar, he lit it and settled down by the gate, leaning against it a little and staring back at the compound. Behind him, his lieutenant spoke up.

“A research facility, Private Shallow.”

“A prison.” Shining responded, shaking his head. “It’s a small power facility on the surface level. There's a hydroelectric dam about a kilometre down the road from here, and it looks enough like some innocuous monitoring station to not seem suspicious to any pegasi flying over. But inside, it's a far different story. There’s a network of tunnels beneath that go far, far underground. Some of the power was being rerouted to Whitetail. But the rest is...”

“Is it… foreign, sir?” The poor guards looked between the lieutenant and Shining. “Belonging to the changelings, perhaps?”

Shining shook his head. “No. This is Equestrian technology. Equestrian names. There’s Equestrian writing and state standardized academic books inside. It is...” Shining shrugged. “Something that the State has been keeping hidden away from the public eye.”

“And something apparently affiliated with the Late Princess Celestia. Efforts to revive her, perhaps?”

“Unknown, at this time. And I would cease speculation if I were you. At least until we have some answers.” Taking one last draw from the cigar, Shining snuffed it out with his magic and then motioned one of the guards closer. “This evidence. I don’t want it ending up in the hooves of the State, understood? We’re gonna keep this investigation between us as long as possible.”

“S-sir?!”

“I mean it.” Shining said firmly. “This means no discussing it with anypony, no leaking of any evidence, and no tracking down of any identities without my association. This is my investigation and it won’t fall victim to another State cover-up.”

He spoke with confidence… with a decade of loyalty and service finally back in his voice after having been imprisoned by blind, hopeless apathy for so long. And from the expressions on his guards faces, they could tell it, too.

The last of Princess Celestia’s loyal guards saluted, just as somewhere, far away, a lonely unicorn in the library of an even lonelier dead city awoke to the sleeping white form of a broken mare who had once been something important.

Author's Note

Everything We Forget (XVI)

Shining Armor cast a glance behind him at the guards he’d taken with him into the apartment complex. There were two of them besides himself--a mare and stallion, both standing at attention behind him.

Seventy hours. It had been seventy hours, since the Industry had mobilized their clean-up efforts, and Shining’s own guard had begun their little revolt.

The rustling of their armour was the only sound in the hall of the apartment complex’s thirteenth floor, but the silence was promptly shattered by Shining Armor’s hoof rapping on the wooden door of the apartment before them.

More silence, for nearly a minute. Shining Armor figured he knew why, and he could see the dancing of shadows in the crack at the bottom of the door. A curious pony, undoubtedly peering with fear from the apartment door’s peephole. Shining Armor cleared his throat and spoke clearly.

“Miss Evening Flicker? I think you’d better open up. You might be in danger, and we can’t help you unless you let us.”

There was more silence. Behind him, a unicorn guardsmare piped up nervously.

“M-maybe she’s not home?”

Shining Armor gave a little shrug. “It’s possible. Shallow Step, can you go and wait over by the elevator? Come get us if you feel anypony coming up.”

“On it, sir.” The earth pony guard in question saluted, and started back down the hall where they had come. Shining turned to the remaining unicorn still with him, nodding towards the locked door before them.

“Aura Gleam, you’ve got this one?”

The unicorn guard nodded, trotting forwards with her horn already alight. “You’ve got it, boss.”

She brought her horn close to the door’s lock, frowning as she focused on finding the specific tumblers she needed to manipulate. She worked quickly, and in less than thirty seconds she let out a satisfied exhale of breath from her snout, taking a step back to give Shining room once again.

Shining grinned at her with pride. “Good work, Aura. With me, please.”

And then he turned to the door and carefully twisted the knob. The sound of a surprised ‘eep!’ and quickly scurrying hooves greeted the action, and the mare within hadn’t even a chance to hide before the door was pushed open fully.

“Please!” The earth pony mare looked at them with widened eyes. She was a mare probably in her mid-twenties, with a cutiemark of an ornate wax candle adorning her flank. The blinds of her apartment were drawn closed, and all of the lights turned low. "I already promised them I wouldn’t talk! You don’t have to take me in!”

Shining Armor shared a glance with Aura, who responded with a hopeless shrug. ‘This one’s all you’, she might as well have said.

“T-that’s… not what we’re here to do.” Shining Armor promised, stepping inside and gently closing the door behind them. “We’re here to ask some questions.”

“A-a-about my work?”

Shining nodded. “About your work. Jigs up, as they say.”

“You’re… police? With the State?”

“The Royal Guard, ma’am.” Aura Gleam said, pausing beside Shining. “Militia for hire ever since the Silent Revolution.”

“Would you take a seat?” Shining asked softly. “I promise you everything is going to be alright.”

The poor mare’s legs were wavering, and Shining was half-worried she might pass out in terror right then and there. She obeyed his politely spoken request without much protest, her shaky hooves carrying her to the chesterfield in the middle of the room, where she sat down with only a little bit of trouble. She was still breathing heavily… Shining had been expecting unrest, but not quite this level of genuine terror.

“Who is ‘they’, Miss Flicker?” Aura Gleam asked, sitting down opposite Evening Flicker after Shining did the same himself.

“T-they?”

“‘I promised them I wouldn’t talk.’” Aura Gleam quoted calmly. Shining saw her magic flaring in the corner of his eye as she drew a notepad from her saddlebag. “Sounds like you had a run-in before we showed up.”

“O-oh. W-w-well… you’re not the f-first guards to show today.” Evening Flicker confessed. Her eyes seemed trained on everything besides the two ponies in front of her, but not in the premeditated way Shining had seen liars prone to do. “I-I just swept floors. I d-d-dusted. I didn’t hurt anypony, I swear.”

Shining opened his own saddlebag wordlessly. There was a tape recorder within, which he levitated out and placed on the coffee table, activating it without any ambiguity. He’d also had copies of the photographs of the exterior of the SunTrotter facility printed out before they’d set out, and he gently set them down on the coffee table before Evening Flicker. “You swept the floors of an expensive state cover-up, Miss Evening Flicker. And right now, they’re no doubt worried just how much of it is going to get out.”

Evening Flicker squeezed her eyes shut, nodding her head many times rapidly.

“I can keep you safe. My guards, they can take care of you. But I need your help.”

Evening Flicker paused, looking up at them with widening eyes. “Why are you helping me? W-why would me being around help the Industry?”

“We don’t work for the Industry. We’re…” Shining exhaled, struggling to find the right words.

“We’ve gone rogue.” Aura Gleam cut in. “We swore an oath to serve the Princess until her death, and it’s what we intend on doing. No matter what.”

Shining chuckled at the guardsmare’s intensity. Ever since they’d investigated the facility, Shining had been watching with pride as youth and purpose rapidly flowed back into his beloved troops. “Pretty much. And besides that, I can’t sit by and let you become another dark secret swept under the state rug.”

Evening Flicker exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as the long breath left her. “Thank you. Thank you so much. T-the way they spoke to me last time, I was so certain they were going to…”

Suddenly, she froze up a little, glancing behind her at the shuttered window. “They could have seen you come in. They’re watching, y’know. If they saw you and your--”

Shining Armor shook his head. “We teleported directly into the main lobby from a block over, Miss Flicker. There’s no way they saw us come in.”

Evening Flicker let out another relieved sigh. “W-well. In that case, what can I do to help you? T-t-tea?”

Shining chuckled. “Thanks, but I had a cup of joe before we headed in. And you can start by detailing your average experience working for Flim Flam Industry’s expensive Princess Celestia imprisonment project.”

Evening Flicker nodded her head, looking down at her hooves again. Shining hadn’t exactly intended it as an insult towards the mare herself, but she looked down with an expression of shame nonetheless.

“They didn’t tell me, y’know. When I took the job. I only found out later on from some of the guards. I never would’ve, if I’d have known…” She swallowed with difficulty. “I only talked to her once in the five years I worked there. She called me by my name and said ‘t-t-thank you.’ They told us all that she was dangerous and we shouldn’t talk to her, but…”

Shining nodded. “But you never really believed that, did you?”

“We all knew what we were doing was wrong. But they paid us well. They… made us aware of what would happen if we ever let slip what we did.”

“Threats?” Aura tilted her head. She’d been writing intently, but stopped for the single word question. “Against your life?”

“Not explicitly. We signed contracts. We all knew the Industry was dangerous. But… my family was in debt. We were going to lose our home, our lives… and, well. They offered me a lot of money for such a simple job… what choice did I have?”

“The others.” Aura pressed on. “Your colleagues, they were all similar stories?”

Evening Flicker nodded again. “Most of them, yeah. Blackmailed ponies, ponies in debt, ex-cons. Folks given a chance to have their lives given back to them in exchange for them shutting up and working without question. We didn’t talk about who we were hiding and we knew they wouldn’t react kindly to our doing so if we did.”

“All of those cameras,” Aura said, glancing over at Shining. “The ones in the pics. Weren’t really for Princess Celly, were they?”

“Probably not entirely. Did it ever happen while you were there, Miss Flicker? Ponies going missing?”

“N-not often. But it did, yes. I sometimes thought about keeping a diary, in case I e-e-ever…” She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut and sinking her head down towards the floor again. “But if they found out I was doing that, I definitely would've disappeared, too. I’m afraid I… I don’t remember the names of the ponies who left during my employment. I just swept and dusted.”

“I understand.” Shining gave her a small smile. “You’ve given me a lot as is, Miss Flicker, and I understand it isn’t easy. And if what you’re saying is true, there’s others like you who might be just as afraid, and rightfully so.”

“B-but you’re going to help them, yes?” She looked up at them with widened eyes. “A-and the Princess, too? You’ll help her?”

“We will. I promise.” Shining gently rose to his hooves, nodding his head firmly. “Aura, you mind sticking around here for a bit? In case Miss Flicker gets any unexpected guests?”

Aura Gleam saluted. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you. And Evening?”

The earth pony looked up at Shining expectantly.

“The time will come… maybe sooner than later… for all of this to come out into the open. And when it does, I think it would be best if you were… public. If ponies knew about you, and what you did and saw, then it would be very difficult for the Industry to make you vanish.”

“A-are you asking me to testify?”

“I’m asking for a statement.” Shining nodded. “When the time comes. And I aim to ask the same of your colleagues, too.”

“They… might not all tell you what you want.” Evening Flicker bit her lip, before elaborating. “The guards, in particular. I… I think the Industry picked a lot of ponies that they figured might… enjoy the power, y’know?”

Shining glanced over at Aura, who glowered.

“Power trippers.” She said, baring her teeth. “Musta felt good to some of ‘em to have the right to boss Celestia around.”

“Exactly,” Evening Flicker said. “I sometimes overheard the nurses talking, when we were having our cigarettes outside the facility. I think they’d be able to tell you lots more.”

“Thank you, Evening Flicker.” Shining gave her a grateful bow of his head. “Take care of her, Aura. I’ll see the both of you soon.”

In a flare of bright yellow light, Celestia was thrust from the forests outside of Ponyville and the several dozen kilometers of farmland and forest remains between the smaller community and Old Canterlot.

She gasped, the sudden change in air pressure taking her by surprise for a moment. Or perhaps it was simply the fuming vapours from New Canterlot a thousand meters below.

From above, the newer city really was beautiful. Streetcars like specks, racing about. The warm glow of neon casting the rainy fog into a haze of shifting colours. Buildings like monoliths, reaching up as if to greet the old mountain rising much further above it.

She knew it would be impossible for her to ever divide it from what the city’s sudden creation had cost. But perhaps she might find herself welcomed there nonetheless, some hypothetical day into her nearby future.

Perhaps she did have a place in progress’s forward march. It had been all that she’d ever wanted.

Her wings took her on a gentle glide around Old Canterlot, so that she could survey her old capital from above. If the buildings were ponies, they would belong in a retirement home. Old facades of her castle, still showing the same damage they had shown during Chrysalis’s invasion. No funds in the treasury to fix it, when she’d had to spend them all on hastily reassembling her long dormant militia. Towers stripped down--easier to tear them apart then fix. More efficient, too. Sacrifices of stone for the blooming city down below.

That was okay, Celestia thought. She didn’t need a regal castle anymore. She’d been more at home sleeping on the floor of a library with a pony she loved then she’d ever been in the lonely, glistening halls of the Royal Palace.

The thought made her pause, but only for a moment. An uneasy frown. A gentle, patient reminder in the back of her head, that it wasn’t what she deserved.

And then, a similarly gentle smile of her own, as her mind replayed Twilight’s own quotations back to her.

Finally, she flapped her wings in order to change direction and propel herself forwards. She crossed over the wall dividing Old Canterlot from the abrupt cliff it was built upon. The cobblestone streets webbed out beneath her, the occasional pony glancing upwards as she passed.

Her wings carried her towards the west end of Old Canterlot, where the streets grew narrower where the extra space for chariot traffic had no longer been needed. Old stone houses, built in close proximity. They were nice houses, but ones without much by way of lot-size nor diversity amongst their design. Much of her castle staff had lived here--it was one city park away from the main road leading up to the Palace, after all.

Raven Inkwell had been an exception, her duties needing her by Celestia’s side as often as possible during the working day. Now, though, it seemed that with the gradual conversion of her Palace into a storehouse, Raven had moved herself to the more populated parts of Old Canterlot.

For what it was worth, the neighborhood that Raven had been relocated to was considerably more livable than where Twilight had been forced to call home. There was nopony huddling by the warmth of a barrel fire, and only about one in every ten buildings was boarded up and abandoned. Down the street, a quick flutter of orange shot from between the tightly packed buildings, and rose higher, cawing out excitedly and spreading its wings to meet Celestia in the air.

She chuckled. “I appreciate the directions, Philly. Mum’s eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

“Quorkkkk…” The bird replied, swirling back around and starting to once again fly ahead of Celestia at a more rapid pace. Celestia chuckled.

“Easy now. You might’ve just molted a few seasons ago, but I’m no spring chicken.”

Philomena responded with a few squawking complaints, and Celestia rolled her eye at the mockery, grinning at her avian friend’s mischief. Philomena slowed her flying all the same--or rather, she settled on flying wide circles around Celestia while still making sure to stay in the lead. Grinning, Celestia lit her horn, and in a burst of light she vanished, only to reappear a few dozen feet ahead of the racing bird.

Philomena responded with a betrayed ‘Aurk!’, flapping her wings harder to try and close the distance. Unfortunately for the phoenix, Celestia had already begun her descent, her hooves promptly touching down on the cobblestone street in front of the address sign for 58 Epona’s Hooves Road. A quaint little bungalow house the same as all the others on the street, this one with a little garden of well-cared for sunflowers in the small area that was technically the front lawn. Philomena plopped down on Celestia’s head unceremoniously, clearly still perturbed at her owner’s trickery. Still grinning, Celestia tapped lightly on the door.

It was answered quickly by none other than Raven herself, who seemed to have been expecting her. Or perhaps she’d simply seen the oversized swan and her avian friend from one of the front windows. Either way, Raven greeted Celestia without hesitation, and instead a smile and embrace. “You actually came, Princess.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the cheese in Prance,” Celestia replied, “Its been awhile.”

“Day before the trial.” Raven nodded. “Quite a lot has happened since then.”

“And not a lot’s changed. I suppose that is on me.”

Raven chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Are you kidding, Princess? You didn’t seem content on just kicking the hornet’s nest. You took a flamethrower to it.”

Still chuckling, Raven led the way into her humble bungalow. The interior was… for all intents and purposes gorgeous, albeit considerably cramped. Raven had always been a mare of minimalistic taste. Her room in the Palace had reflected that, and it had been a favourite of the maids for its exceptionally low maintenance demands. Now, though, the bungalow seemed to be an organized clutter of memorabilia from the old Palace--old banners that had hung over the court. Cracked stained-glass, framed and hung on the wall as decor. Vases and curtains and rococo style coffee-tables and chiffoniers.

“I kept as much as I could.” Raven caught Celestia’s glances. “The castle maids took some for themselves, too. It wasn’t all destroyed. You can take whatever you like, if you want.”

“Thank you, Raven, but I’m quite alright,” Celestia said. As she made her way into the living room, Philomena spread her wings and hopped off her back, flapping a little to land on Raven’s head instead and give her surrogate mother a greeting, dove-like coo. Raven smiled at the attention, her horn glowing red as she used her magic aura to stroke the back of the phoenix’s head.

“How has life been treating you in the past few months? I suppose you’ve been enjoying retirement, yes?”

Raven gave a mirthless laugh, sitting down on a loveseat while Celestia took the chesterfield to herself. “It’s dull, to be honest. I’ve been keeping up with your going-ons, and visiting with some representatives from the Industry often enough.”

“Oh yes?”

“They offer me a lot to try and help take you down. Offer some testimonies, help them stir up some dirt. Or, when they’re feeling a bit more reasonable, they want to know what settlements you might agree to in exchange for an early retirement for yourself.”

“They… are quite desperate to hold onto their power, aren’t they?”

“I think they know they can’t keep it long. And I think they know the only reason the entirety of Equestria doesn’t see them as a bunch of profit-blinded, kidnapping sociopaths, is because you’ve chosen to be patient with them.”

Celestia smiled, peering down at her hooves. “A half-truth. To be candid, part of me has simply been afraid, Raven. Afraid of failure, of rejection. Of having to see my ponies turn away from me for a second time.”

“Well, I won’t lie and say you won’t see some of that. But I do believe I can say with confidence that the majority of ponies who are, ah. Exceptions to the success of the few… see your return in a sort of positive light. The Crystal Ponies still see you as some manner of saviour. The thestrals miss the laissez-faire freedoms you granted them. That’s to say nothing of the thousands of factory workers and farmers demanding safe working environments.”

“If… if it were to come down to a vote, Raven. As it would, if I play the Industry’s game. Would… would you see me winning?”

Raven bit her lip. There was silence for a moment, during which Philomena lifted off Raven’s head and landed on the sofa behind Celestia, plucking her mane-braid curiously with her beak.

“Big question, Celestia. But the short answer, as I see it, is no. And solely because… well, I suspect you already know why.”

“The Industry themselves would be counting the votes.” Celestia sighed. “They are the State. It doesn’t matter how well or poorly I do, because it would not be reflected in the count.”

Raven gave a little shrug of her shoulders, her lip twisting into a small frown. “Nothing against you personally, Princess. But I don’t see you winning by playing their game.”

“I’m too weak to do anything else, Raven. I’m not the mare I was when I fought Discord, or Sombra, or Tirek, or…” Celestia broke off, exhaling deeply. “At the risk of turning myself into a cliche, I truly am too old for this.”

Raven shook her head. “They built their kingdom with matchsticks, Celestia. It’s all just lies and thinly painted truths.And nopony ever said you had to do any of this alone.”

“Then what? Nopony would follow me into a revolution, Raven.”

“I would,” Raven replied without hesitation. “And you know others would, too. They only stopped following you because you died.”

“I… I aim to just ask for a chance. Nothing as radical as a bloody revolution. Just a chance to help guide us out of this dark time. And if I’m not wanted, I would be too weak to do anything but stand down on my own accord, anyways.”

Celestia’s head sunk as she said the last part, and Philomena took notice enough to chirrup quietly and gently nuzzle her beak into Celestia’s ear. A trickster of a bird, Celestia thought, until she wasn’t.

“Well, if that’s your plan, I’d recommend you keep the course you’re on.” Raven replied. “Their reputation’s been unraveling every single time they’ve been called into question. Give your journalist friend the resources and attention she deserves, and that’ll speed up even more. She’s a bright mare, and ponies listen when she has things to say. They aren’t lies anymore, and everypony knows it.”

“Will you come back, Raven? As a secretary? I would like for Twilight to have the chance to learn from you.”

Raven descended her head into a polite bow, a sly smile on the aging mare’s face. “I would be honoured if you’d still have me. After all we’ve been through together, the thought of something resembling normal is better than anything I have now.”

The conversation lulled into peaceful silence, both mares content in each other’s presence for a few precious moments--moments that were promptly broken by Philomena interjecting with a loud ‘squawk!’, apparently finding the exchange insufficiently entertaining.

They both chuckled, and Raven took it as a signal to dig out their old cribbage board from a cabinet underneath her gramophone and radio-console. The afternoon was largely unimportant, and Celestia was content.

When Celestia left Raven's, Philomena had decided to stay. Celestia was disappointed, but unsurprised. The old bird has always been fond of her late afternoon naps, and the distance to Twilight and Fluttershy would be a mighty one for the phoenix to cover.

She herself would have to make good time if she were to meet them before sundown.

Outside of Ponyville was hideous.

Celestia couldn’t believe her eyes. When last she’d flown across the wilderness between Ponyville and Canterlot, the country itself had been shrouded in darkness, and the rumblings of distant thunderclouds. Now, though, the sins of her little ponies were exposed for her to see with excruciating clarity.

Vast, immense gorges cut into the soil of the old forest. Along them, haphazardly welded piping snaked along, like pulsating, bloated veins.

The entire area had been deemed a ‘no-fly-zone’ by the Ponyville zoning committee. Celestia couldn’t have imagined why. The damage seemed strangely segmented. It was as though these great gashes in the wilderness had been jaggedly cut in order to be as efficient as possible. It hadn’t been more than a decade, and yet the entire place was almost unrecognizable in places.

The city of Ponyville itself was bordered by the Everfree forest on its South and the Whitetail woods on its North. The Whitetail Woods during Celestia’s rule had been largely interrupted. A lonely train-line had been carefully dug into the wild, tunnels dug where appropriate and the occasional bridge over a sizable river built. The entire railway had taken her construction crew decades to build... and it had been done nearly a century ago. She’d kept it maintained over the years and it had seemed to do the trick in bridging Ponyville and Canterlot for those who couldn’t fly or walk the distance.

It had seemed that all of this untapped space had made it an unfortunate candidate for much of Flim and Flam’s wrath, as far as Celestia could see. Its trees had been cleared and its rocks moved more than Celestia had remembered. There were not nearly as many of the terrifying factories she’d seen during the trainride between Old and New Canterlot, but rather the forest had seemed barren in places Celestia hadn’t remembered it being. It had been dug into for its resources themselves, at a distance far enough from the delicately carved railway route and the outskirts of Ponyville itself.

It was deceptively isolated destruction. It had been the work of the same ponies who had managed to develop an entire facility devoted to housing an insane and anxious dying alicorn in enough isolation that she hadn’t been discovered until a decade later.

It was the work of ponies more evil than Celestia felt Equestria would have believed them capable of.

But the signs were as obvious as the stars in the sky to her. Part of her felt to blame for coddling them for so long. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time planning out her retirement to have abruptly died in their minds. Yet from their perspective, that was how it had happened.

Their Princess had died overnight. In her sleep, peacefully, but it had happened.

And she had been cremated. It had been attended.

A quiet coup had occurred in her country, and they’d been largely lied to about the details.

Celestia hadn’t wanted to return to life like this. She didn’t want to frighten them into trusting her again. She hadn’t wanted to affirm the idea that her will was some sort of unshakeable testimony.

“Nightmare Moon.” She said quietly as she flew, her horn aglow as she gripped the Moon in her magic. “Would you like to fly with me?”

Silence for several seconds. Then, in a billowing purple mist, she was flying beside her.

“Good evening, Celestia.”

“Sister.” She breathed.

“You still don’t get it.” She shook her head. “I’m no more your sister than I am Luna.”

“Where is the line, Nightmare Moon? Where does she end and you begin?”

“She has ended. I just carry some of her memories. Her emotions. Her personality exists within mine, superimposed against me. Like an echo. Luna was a being of flesh and bone, and when flesh and bone ends, that’s it.”

“But yourself. You’re more a… a magical construct, yes?”

Nightmare Moon nodded. “That is essentially what I am, yes. Formless, but able to influence the world on a magical level. But, as to my relationship with your sister… she was like a troubled friend to me. We grew close, as companions. Growing more into separate beings as time went on, but still forced to be together in order to survive. Luna spent so much time in the Dreamscape near the end that reality stopped mattering to her, and I feared I’d be locked in her subconscious for eternity.”

“But you still carry her memory now, yes?” Celestia exhaled. “A friend of Luna isn’t something I’ve had the chance to talk to in a very long time.”

“You really shouldn’t.” Nightmare Moon scowled. “I’m the evil that sent Equestria down this hopeless path.”

“Even you wouldn’t have done this to my Equestria.”

She tutted. “I would’ve doomed it to a night Eternal.”

Celestia shook her head. “You wouldn’t have. You knew where to find the Sunstone when the time came. I had trusted it with you for a reason. We had crafted that artifact together, don’t you remember? Don’t think some part of me didn’t want to believe you remembered.”

“She turned on you, Celestia. She wanted to kill you, and I would’ve. To say nothing of what we would have had to do to keep our own power secured after. I need to carry this guilt if I want to find my own peace.”

Celestia looked at her, her eyes growing wide. “You... do?”

Nightmare Moon gave a single nod. “Why do you think I’ve tried to take Sparkle under my wing? She can do it, can’t she? She can take our Sun and Moon.”

Celestia nodded. “I trust that she can. I believe I have until... how long do you figure, Nightmare Moon?”

“Until she must? I predict the two of us collectively have a decade more in us.”

Celestia nodded. “Tirek?”

“Yes, and it seems Sombra just as much. We might have longer, but… I can't say for certain.”

Celestia sighed, and nodded. “I took the front lines, then. Dark magic is... unpleasant.”

“Which is why we let the mortals take the blunt end.”

Celestia scowled. “This is why I didn’t let Luna handle war procession. Exactly this.”

“We never owed them anything, Celestia. We have the right to want to protect ourselves. You were the one who always told her that.”

Celestia exhaled sharply. “When was the last time we talked like this?”

“For me? About two years. I’d asked you if you’d please take over my night-court.”

Celestia shut her eyes as she flew, nodding gently. “We’d fought then, hadn’t we?”

“Luna threw her crown at you. I think that qualifies as a fight, yes.”

“Its been a thousand years for me.” Celestia gave Nightmare Moon a sideways glance, and a small smile. “A thousand years, since I’ve talked to you like this.”

Nightmare Moon said nothing for a good while, looking down at the grotesque landscape below. “A decade isn’t long enough for you to fix this, Tia. Not at all. Think of all that Equestria lost in that time.”

“It’s longer than I thought I would ever have.”

“It’s nothing, compared to the lifetimes we’ve seen come and go.”

“And it’s an eternity, when one became resigned to their fate as a battery in a birdcage for some infernal device.”

Nightmare Moon’s grim expression gradually turned to a bittersweet smile. “What would you tell her, Celestia? If she were here, now. If you had the chance.”

Celestia fell silent. The two flew on over the dead forest as Celestia thought, and Nightmare Moon patiently waited.

It seemed like a trick question, to Celestia. What would she say? What wouldn’t she say? What wouldn’t she give, just for the chance to say a single word to her sister one last time? To see her smile or frown or laugh or cry. To look into her younger sister’s face with her own ancient, tired eye… the face that even her own memory had begun to dull and fade like a photograph left out in the sun for too long.

“I’d tell her that every night that passes without her feels colder than the last.”

Nightmare Moon closed her eyes, chuckling. "Empty words I'm sure would have made everything peachy keen. Until next time, Celly."

As abruptly as she had appeared, Nightmare Moon had vanished by time Celestia looked in her direction.

Celestia's horn lit, and soon enough, so did she.

iii

As the sun set, Celestia reintroduced herself to Twilight and Fluttershy by abruptly thudding down onto the ground in front of them.

Fluttershy had been intently marking their samples down into a notebook with a ballpoint pen, but she jumped to her hooves with a little ‘eep!’ when the soft vibration of the alicorn’s landing hooves echoed nearby. Twilight was musing over a few photo-negatives, holding them to the dying light in her telekinesis.

“Oh dear. I apologize.” Celestia frowned. “For both my abrupt return, and my delay in doing so.”

“It’s quite alright, your Majesty,” Fluttershy said, already collecting herself and jotting down the last number into her notepad, closing it and carefully nudging it back into her saddlebags with her snout. “We were just finishing up anyway.”

“I hope I haven’t kept you from your duties back at the university, Professor Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy waved a hoof. “Oh, ah… nopony ever comes to my after-class office hours. I… I would’ve been spending my evening lounging in a beanbag with my marefriend, watching nature documentaries.”

Celestia chuckled. “Fair enough. I can still get you back in time for that if you’d like.”

Fluttershy pursed her lips, as though tempted by the prospect. “I can run the samples first thing in the morning, and drop a line when I’ve got the results. If… if you don’t mind me doing that without you.”

“You’re the professional, Fluttershy,” Twilight said. “I’m happy leaving it in your capable hooves.”

Fluttershy blushed and gave a grateful bow of her head. “I’ll keep them safe and keep you in the loop. And I’ll have the academic office fax you over a few copies of my own publications on the region for you to reference.”

“Facts over… what?” Celestia frowned, her voice low. It was a question whispered at Twilight more than Fluttershy, but Fluttershy caught it with ease and responded in her own whisper of a voice.

“I’ll just send you a telegram so you can pick it up yourself.” She smiled. “I’m sure that would be just as quick with your magic.”

Celestia bowed her head gratefully. “Speaking of. I’m prepared to send you back to your greenhouse if you would like, Professor Fluttershy. I would hate to take up any more of your time unduly.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I’m ready. Whenever you’re willing, Princess.”

Celestia’s horn lit, the pegasus becoming a little more yellow for a moment before vanishing with a little ‘pop’. Celestia exhaled when she finished, and Twilight saw her hooves waver a little bit.

“Y-you okay, Celly?”

“Fine. A little exerted. I have performed more teleportations than I perhaps should have.”

“Well then maybe that should be your last for the evening.” Twilight gave the princess a sideways glance. And then, she stepped a little closer as the two once again focused on their surroundings. Celestia’s horn was still lit as the sun was cast downwards, but it was a magic that seemed far more effortless to the solar princess.

“Depressing, isn’t it?” Celestia sighed, wrapping a wing around Twilight as a chill breeze crept over the clearcut plain. “No matter our success… I will always miss flying over these woods.”

“Trees can grow again, Celestia.”

Celestia opened her mouth with a reply, but closed it just as quickly. “Yes. Yes, I suppose they can.”

“How was your visit?”

“It was… inspirational,” Celestia said. Wordlessly, she began to lead them back towards where the treeline had begun to crossfade into consecrated dirt and mud. “I visited Raven. You recall her, yes?”

Twilight nodded. “How is she?”

“No longer hopelessly resigned. She had always worked best with a defined purpose or goal, and I feel she’s a mare who’s regained one now.”

“That seems to be going around.” Twilight nuzzled her head into Celestia’s wing. “Happy to hear it, Celestia.”

“How about you? How did things go?”

“Productive. And… as depressing as this part of it was, the actual forest is… it’s beautiful, Celestia. I didn’t know so many things could live so close together and all have their own place.”

“She’s a wonderful mare, isn’t she? The professor.”

Twilight nodded her head a few times. “I didn’t think ponies like her could even exist anymore without having their souls squeezed out of them.”

“I do believe you would be quite surprised by just how common they are.”

They continued on in silence, as the trees began to slowly creep back upwards the deeper they trod into the tattered remains of the Whitetail Woods. Celestia had taken them alongside the ghost of a riverbed--one likely connected to the same still-living stream where they had taken their samples--and she peered down at it as they walked with a sort of pensive melancholy.

Someplace above, a squirrel chattered out an alarm to the silent forest. A crow called in the distance, as if by reply. Together, their hooves trudged through the hallowed ruins of an ecosystem.

“It will be well past midnight by time we make it back to Old Canterlot,” Celestia said, peering up at the fading purple sky. “W-would you… would you like to rest here, instead?”

“In the forest, you mean?” Twilight smiled. It was a forest struggling for its future, certainly. But it was more than Twilight had ever seen before. There was still a chance it would be more than she might ever see again. It was as Celestia said… a day might come where there were no more groves of trees for them to walk through, and when that happened, this would be a moment her mind would always bade her return to.

If it were a moment that might be so eternal, Twilight wanted it to matter.

“I’d love that.”

They found a flat area in a grove of trees, not far from the dead river, and within earshot of another still trickling someplace unseen. Celestia set down with a mighty exhale on a bed of moss and flowers, crushing both under her weight but closing her eyes in bliss. Twilight sat down a bit more gently, but stayed close enough that Celestia’s wing was able to find her once again and pull them together.

The sun continued to set, and the air grew colder. Celestia’s horn lit, and the familiar crown that was the Sunstone materialized on top of Twilight’s head.

“Thank you,” Twilight said. “But I want this moment to last a little longer, if that’s okay with you.”

“Twilight.” Celestia glanced over, a warm smile on her face. “If this moment were my last, it would be more than I could ever dream for.”

“I think these are my favourite so far.” Nightmare Moon pointed with a wing at the skies.

Twilight nodded. “I’m, ah. Not used to seeing these many. Old Canterlot is in a bit of a bad place for that.”

“That infernal city below, yes?”

“New Canterlot.” Twilight exhaled sharply, and nodded again. “Light pollution basically works the exact same way that crap does.”

“The smoke. They’re burning what?”

“Coal, mostly. It’s the cheapest thing to mine, so it’s what Flim Flam Industry use.”

Nightmare Moon shook her head sadly, bringing a hoof to the bridge of her snout. “Why, sister? Why did it get this bad? You let go of the reins for twelve years…”

“Hey. She was abducted.” Twilight narrowed her eyes, turning her head to glare over at Nightmare.

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense. As though they could possibly contain an alicorn of her power in their primitive mortal dwellings.”

Twilight shook her head, lighting a cigarette and settling down next to Nightmare Moon. “She doesn’t talk about what it was like. So, I don’t really want to assume what it was like for her.”

Nightmare nodded. “She has nightmares about it often, yes?”

“And she insists she’s fine. That she doesn’t need any help with them.”

“And she’s afraid to ask me, yes?” Nightmare Moon exhaled, looking back up at the stars. “Probably assumes I don’t have her best interests in mind?”

“To be fair, I don’t entirely know if she’s wrong in thinking so.”

“You hurt me, Twilight. And here I thought we were friends.”

Twilight gave a little chuckle. “Anyways. I want to help her with it, cause it seems to, ah. Be eating at her a little.”

“You’re a librarian, yes?” Nightmare Moon said. “Have you any books about Dreamwalking?”

“Not a single one. I have a mention of one in the index of a book on Arcane Studies In The Post-Crystal Empire Colonies, but no actual book to match the source reference.”

“Figures. Luna was pretty thorough during her little tantrum.” Nightmare Moon shook her head. “I know where we can find some. That is, if you’re interested.”

“In… in studying dream-magic?” Twilight blinked, and her eyes grew wider. “B-books on studying dream-magic? They exist?”

“Not exactly. But some still study the art. Luna had her own little cults she liked to hang around with to keep the fires burning in her little arcane traditions.”

“Nightmare Moon, you’d be asking me to learn a form of magic that most mages agree has been extinct for the greater part of six generations.”

“Six…” Nightmare Moon shook her head. “No, that can’t be right.”

“If you know who we can talk to. But I’m not guaranteeing you we’d actually find anyone. Equestria is a very different place now. And after Celestia’s guards fall, even more of the Canterlot archives were destroyed. Why do you think I live alone in an enchanted library? I am the ponies keeping the lights on for your sisters’ little arcane traditions.”

Nightmare Moon was silent for a good while. Twilight took it as a cue to fall silent herself… she hadn’t exactly noticed that she’d raised her voice, and even so she’d gotten relatively used to doing so around Nightmare Moon without the imposing alicorn caring too deeply.

Eventually, when Nightmare Moon did speak again, it was at a far lower register. It was almost a whisper, and Twilight had to tilt her ears a little to entirely catch it.

“I’d wanted revenge on her, Twilight. I hadn’t wanted to destroy everything that she’d built.”

“And you didn’t. B-but…”

“But why? Why does she not take it back?”

“I’m quite certain it’s cause she’s dying, Nightmare,” Twilight replied. “I mean, wouldn’t YOU be a little afraid to put your entire life on the line based entirely on your trust of me?”

“That… isn’t what I’m doing?”

Twilight jumped. She couldn’t help it, and it evidently looked comical enough to Nightmare Moon to warrant an un-regal snorting laugh, and it was one Celestia echoed in her own hushed way as she settled down next to Twilight. It was its own rather un-regal affair in itself, less like a monarch resting, and more like a tired old dog collapsing onto the living room rug after a long walk.

“H-how long have you been listening?”

“Long enough to hear some awfully presumptuous blasphemy about me from the both of you.”

“So we’re wrong then, Celly. You do want to tell somepony about the dreams you’ve been having.”

“Well, I certainly am a little conflicted about the idea of you teaching my student how to efficiently snoop into the private affairs of those she cares deeply about.”

“I offered nothing of the sort.” Nightmare Moon brought a hoof to her chest, giving Celestia a sarcastically offended look. “But so long as your mind is on the subject, what are your thoughts?”

“About her learning some of Luna’s old traditions. I like the idea.”

“And about me potentially using them to help you with your trauma?” Twilight, who had until then been still blushing profusely and hiding with her gaze in the dirt, perked up and responded shortly.

“T-that too, I am… of the mind that I would appreciate.” Celestia nodded slowly. Her left wing settled around Twilight, her right extended out to catch the cool spring breeze.

Nightmare Moon made a gawking expression, shaking her head. “Gods, you two are horrid. Always the cradlerobber, Celly.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” This time it was Celestia’s turn to blush a little, and her wing-hug around Twilight grew a little stronger and more possessive.

“Uh huh, well. Visit the Hollow Shades, then. I’m quite certain a few tribes of thestrals have means of serving as efficient dream-magic conduits.” Nightmare Moon rose to her hooves, giving her wings a little shake. “Now, I suppose I should leave you two to gush in your collective melodrama.”

“You’re welcome to spill some of your own, Nightmare Moon.” Twilight replied, grinning.

Nightmare Moon tilted her head upwards at the sky. “Not if the spin of Luna’s constellations are to be trusted.”

Celestia nodded. “The reason I awoke to you two chatterbboxes is because it’s time for you to raise the Sun, Twilight.”

“W-wait…” Twilight rose to her hooves, too. “But I can’t… I never…”

“And I don’t expect you to on your first try. It is no small feat.” Celestia responded patiently. “But if you do not try, you will never know.”

“You raise the Moon with ease now, Twilight.” Nightmare Moon managed a small smile. It was a little uncertain… as though the alicorn herself wasn’t sure she was quite certain she was doing it correctly. “More than I think Luna would have hoped for from a mortal mage like you. I can see why Celestia chose you as her student.”

“Every single day, she gives me new reasons to be thankful for meeting her.” Celestia responded with a warm smile.

“Ack. The sappiness could kill a mare.” Nightmare Moon’s nose scrunched a little, and she shook her head. “Until next time, Sparkle and Sister.”

In a haze of purple mist, the darker alicorn was gone. Celestia gave a little laugh, though it tapered into a more somber smile on the old mare’s face.

“I missed her, Twilight. In a thousand years, I never would’ve thought I’d have heard her talking to me like this again. None of the taunts, none of the curses. You did a wonderful thing in trusting her where I couldn’t.”

“It isn’t exactly hard to distrust a mare who took out your eye in a fit of rage.” Twilight pointed out, pulling her saddlebag closer and fishing out the Sunstone from within. “Are you sure I’m ready for this, Celestia?”

“Since the moment I escaped.”

Twilight smiled, and her horn began to glow. She cast out into the inky, starless section of the horizon, and Celestia’s horn lit, too.

Gently, she levitated her and Twilight off the ground by less than an inch and shifted them a little so that they were facing towards the eastern sky. She felt for the sun herself as she set them down, finding it where she’d always found it, right next to Hydra completing her pilgrimage across the starwheel.

And with both of their magic gently guiding it into the cool Equestrian sky, the morning shone with a particularly bittersweet reddish hue.

Shining Armor nursed the styrofoam cup of coffee hovering in his telekinesis, giving it a little sip.

It was drizzling, and he held an umbrella in his telekinesis, too, held just high enough that him and the earth pony guard standing next to him were kept relatively dry.

“Our contact was sposed to be here fifteen minutes ago,” the guard grumbled, sipping his own coffee and glancing around. The public park they were waiting in was one of the newer ones in New Canterlot, built within walking distance of New Canterlot General Hospital and the mainline streetcar terminal. Normally a busy affair, but it was the middle of the day, and had been raining since the night before.

One hundred and ninety five hours.

Shining had slept maybe thirty of them. Celestia had been free for more than eight days now, but still, silence.

“...starting to wonder if she’s even going to sh--it.” The guard stopped, and Shining saw him tense from the corner of his eyes. “Somepony’s coming.”

The earth ponies under his guard were privy to subterranean vibration, and Shallow Step had a particularly trained hoof. Shining turned around, and saw that a hooded, raincoat-clad pony was making their way towards them.

“Armor,” she said simply, and Shining nodded. Much of her facial features were obscured by her hood, but Shining could see enough of her facial structure to tell she was a mare and an earth pony.

“Mhm. Miss Ember Blossom, I presume.”

“There were some ponies scoping out my place. I had to take the back alleys here. That’s why I’m late.”

Shining nodded. “I’m just grateful you got the message to begin with. It’s not easy being discrete through a wiretapped phone.”

“This place isn’t private. You’re a unicorn, you can teleport. I give the address, you get us there, no questions. Then, and only then, I talk. Got it?”

Shining shared a glance with Shallow Step, who grimaced and spoke first. “Ma’am, I can assure you that--”

“These are my conditions. The information I have is worth whatever risk you run in trusting me.”

Shining sighed, and sipped his coffee. “I’m listening.”

“Additionally, if you don’t have a safehouse ready for me before we’re done talking, I’m reporting you to the police immediately. I have a family, who I cannot put in danger by my helping you.”

“A cabin is being prepared in the Everfree.” Shining nodded. “Running water, electricity, and two of my guards are already stationed there and ready.”

“Good. Then you teleport me there afterwards. The address is 182 Red Plume Road. Our destination is on the tenth floor, in the third room down the hall. Is that enough detail for a teleport?”

“Co-ordinates would work better.”

“Is it or is it not enough detail for a teleport?” The mare’s voice was quiet but impatient, though her body language suggested tenseness and fear more than annoyance.

“I’ll do my best, Miss Blossom.” Shining sighed, and his horn lit to life. He leaned a little closer to the guard, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Shallow, brace yourself. We don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

Shallow nodded. Shining’s horn grew a bit brighter, and he closed his eyes to focus on his destination. Teleporting via street address was difficult, moreso when one was only partially familiar with the destination in question. Shining had done enough P.I. work in New Canterlot to know his way around, but he was still a little wary about his teleportation skills all the same. Nonetheless, he hadn’t much of a choice in the matter, and so in a flare of blue light, the three ponies were taken from the rainy public park, only to be flung into the dry, air conditioned air of a small office, unlit and quiet.

In front of them was a window, slanted sharply downwards, so that the torrents of pouring rain were a waterfall lit pink by the neon-light of a billboard across the street.

“My husband’s office.” The mare said. “He’s out of town with my daughter right now, so we have this space.”

Exhaling, the mare lifted the hood off of her head, unclasping her raincoat and tossing it unceremoniously onto the office desk. Her eyes were bloodshot, with heavy bags beneath them, but she gave the two guards a weary smile. “I apologize for all the distrust. I’ve had an eventful few days.”

Shining nodded. “I believe that’s true of most of us, as of late.”

“She hasn’t been found yet, has she?” Ember Blossom shook her head. “I hope she’s alright. Her health was… rough, last they had me check on her. I hate to think what so much exertion must be doing to her.”

“You were her primary caretaker, then?”

“No, that was Raven. The older mare. Her old secretary. I was just the physician on call when her health dropped below average.”

“Which was often?”

“S-sorry, u-uh…” Shallow Step cleared his throat, raising a hoof. “J-just gonna start up the tape recorder, so we have Miss Blossom’s statements on record.”

Ember Blossom gave Shallow a little nod, and patiently repeated herself as soon as the guardstallion had pressed the record button on the reel-to-reel tape-recorder. “My name is Ember Blossom, and I was the physician in charge of Princess Celestia’s physical health during the last five years of her captivity.”

Shining gave her a grateful smile. Her clarity and confident tone would work wonders when they inevitably had use of the tapes Shallow was making. “You were saying you were on call, when her condition dropped below average. Was that often?”

“Well, sort of.” Ember Blossom made a so-so motion with a hoof. “They kept redefining what her ‘average’ was. If her state of health was a five when I met her, it was a one or two by time she escaped. I cannot think of a better term than ‘decay’ to describe what happened to her during those final few years.”

“Can you elaborate on that at all?”

“Sure. It was an effect that was comparable to individuals suffering from crystallized psoriasis--a previously unresearched skin-disease brought about by dark magic injuries sustained during the Crystal War.”

“Celestia was a sufferer?”

“I said it was comparable, but not that she was a sufferer. We had difficulty explaining what was happening to Celestia. She claimed it would only be healed via direct exposure to sunlight, which was something that she wasn’t granted during her captivity.”

“Was there a reason given as to why?”

“To her? No. To me, yes, because I pressed on the matter incessantly,” Ember Blossom said. “It was because they were worried she would use the opportunity to escape. Which, as we now know, was not entirely unfounded.”

“Why did you press so hard on the matter?”

Ember Blossom shrugged. “On the off chance that it might indeed save her failing health. I was in charge of her physical health, after all.”

“Why were you, specifically, hired?”

Ember Blossom grit her teeth, looking away and not immediately answering. Shining saw her glance at the tape-recorder in Shallow Step’s hooves, and then back at Shining.

Shallow Step hit the stop button on the tape recorder, and Ember Blossom breathed out a sigh of relief. “Because I was fifteen-thousand bits in debt, six months pregnant, and had just gotten fired from a nursing position.”

“In a word, desperate.” Shallow Step said gruffly. Ember Blossom’s head sunk, her gaze going distant. Shallow glanced over at Shining, and then, in a nervous voice, “I’m unpausing the tape recorder now...”

The clicking of the ‘record’ button broke the silence.

“Desperation,” Ember Blossom said immediately. “I was in a poor position, it was a tempting offer.”

“Similar to another colleague of yours I spoke to. She mentioned that such was more or less the norm.”

Ember Blossom rose an eyebrow. “Did she mention the guards? That’s why you tracked me down, isn’t it? Who better to testify than the prisoner’s physician.”

“She did mention the guards, yes. Can you share anything there?”

“Yes, I can, ” Ember Blossom said, her eyes locking with Shining’s. “I’ll begin by saying not all the injuries I saw were a result of Celestia’s state of health. There were bruises, too. This was immediately after Celestia had attempted to escape the facility, and the guard force had been tightened significantly.”

“You said bruises. Suggesting…?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. Celestia told it to me herself. She had lashed out at the guards in her attempt to escape. As soon as they regained the upperhoof on her, they lashed right back at her.”

Shallow Step bristled. “Damned children with nightsticks, that’s what those Industry mooks are.”

“Easy, Shallow…” Shining glanced over.

“No, he’s well within his right,” Ember said, shaking her head. “They were unqualified and untrained and they enjoyed their jobs far more than the rest of us. We were all quite relieved when they began phasing out the guards again.”

“Why did that happen? What changed?”

“They discovered it would be cheaper to sedate her using pharmaceutical methods. We only stopped those when her health began to grow even more dire during the last three or four years of her imprisonment. By then we assumed she would be too weak to get too far anyways.”

Shining gave a grim nod. “You’ve been very helpful, Ember Blossom.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Ember replied. “I have… much to atone for, through my association with them.”

Shining glanced over at Shallow, who was in the process of removing the tape from the recording device and tucking it away into his saddlebag. Breathing out a long sigh, Shining gave Ember a single nod.

“I assure you the feeling is more mutual than I feel comfortable admitting.”

Author's Note

A Rot That Slowly Consumed Equestria (XVII)

Dusk Ruby was watching.

She was perched high above the Hollow Shades, laying on her back on a branch at the topmost canopy of the Farseeing Cypress.

The tree was old--far older than she was. Far older than any of the other thestral elders, too. Some claimed they were older than the Sun Goddess herself, but Dusk Ruby had always found that to be a ridiculous idea.

After all, if a tree could outlive a goddess, why would they fall so easily to the machines of mortal ponies?

The Farseeing Cypress was one of the last of the Eternal Cypress still standing. The others, located closer to the East, where the Shades bordered the farmlands outside of Fillydelphia, had been the first to fall to the wrathful machines. And why wouldn’t they be? They towered far above the others… even from the grasslands outside the Hollow Shades, one could see them looming above the rest of the forest canopy. Monoliths of nature, the product of growth and age. So similar and so different from the towers Ruby had heard tell of, in the cities far away.

When the ponies of the cities had come, they had seen beyond the centuries of legacy the old cypress possessed. It didn’t matter as much as the hardwood they’d been made from, and so, they’d been chopped down. Hauled into the angry machines and devoured. Turned to sawdust before Ruby’s tribe’s horrified eyes.

Dusk Ruby had been young when they’d been taken, but not too young as to not remember. It existed in the same dreadful yellow haze that the Sun Goddess’s death existed. She remembered the confusion and panic in her people’s faces, but not the details of why. She remembered the fear, without all of the facts.

Into the ensuing years, the damage continued. Ruby grew older. The forest grew smaller, and her people grew closer together. It wasn't as though they had much of a choice. Once they’d been segmented into different tribes--alike, but apart. Friends and not family. But as the forest shrunk, it pushed them closer together. When the machines came again, they would have to be ready; there wasn’t enough to ignore anymore. And every forgotten acre of the Hollow Shades was one sacrificed to the angry maws of destruction, spewing their filthy refuse into the sky.

And so, age gave Ruby purpose. Purpose gave her a spear perched on her back, and the Hollow Shades sprawled out around her to watch over. It gave her endless afternoons of sprawling wastelands where the Hollow Shades ended, scarred and tattooed with the treadmarks of machines long passed. Grasslands turned to dirt where trees had once been, so that the natural prairie bled away, like a tree decaying with rot. There were more like her, perched on the other tall cypress trees lining the threshold of forest and field, and when the smoke of the encroaching devices loomed over the distant horizon, they would be ready. And they would fight, for all the nothing it was worth, to slow their arrival.

And perhaps they might save the acres of forest that would have been lost to inaction and passivity.

A losing battle, Dusk Ruby knew. They’d lost so much, and it seemed like hope was the only thing the machines had yet to devour. And even it sometimes felt as though it was looming in their all too eager maws.

She settled back, her head propped up by the base of the tree. Her spear was folded over her hindlegs, a membranous wing outstretched to catch the breeze. It was blowing towards her, the tops of the cypress waving flags pointing the way back to the village. The rivers of grass dancing in weaving streaks, tracing the route from the earth pony village at the edge of the grasslands, where they sometimes visited to talk and trade and enjoy the occasional barn dance. The rain was falling gently from the early morning sky, and it felt nice on her unkempt mane and outstretched wing.

Her ears perked upwards, for they’d always done her kind better than their eyes ever could. Though, surprisingly, it was her snout that helped her more. The smell of smoke, carried across on the breeze, reached her, and she quickly straightened herself up. The spear was returned to its holster on her back, and she trotted someways down the branch of the tree. Eyes strained, and she could see the plumes of smoke rising across the mid-afternoon sky.

Far, further than the earth pony village, but the wind was strong enough to carry an early warning. They were coming.

Her wings spread. She kicked off the Farseeing Cypress, entering a nosedive to gain speed before clipping her wings and flapping them. She tore across the sky in a blur, clicking her tongue as she did--calling to any who would listen, that the time had come to defend their forest once again.

One of the others must have seen Ruby spring to action--or more likely, they heard her call them--because soon enough there was another set of leathery wings beating the heavy sky.

“Malinalxochitl.” A stallion called He Who Sees A Thousand Miles flew close to Ruby, giving her a nod and speaking her full Thestralian name via a few quickly punctuated clicks. “You see them?”

She shook her head. “Smell. The winds carried their engines to me. I cannot see them yet, but I can see their smoke. A forest fire, perhaps.”

“But not likely. It is the rain season.”

“It is always the rain season these days.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Have you not noticed?”

He Who Sees A Thousand Miles chuckled. “The elders warned of your tongue when they asked me to join you for the afternoon watch. I’ve learned it’s not a warning unfounded.”

Ruby laughed back. She liked Sees. She knew he liked her back, or perhaps the many hours spent perched atop the cypress together chatting meant nothing beyond the idle murder of endless dull time.

“Go to the village and let them know that they approach,” Ruby said. “They are far, and will likely stop at Hayseed. I will stay, and fly over.”

Sees nodded. “Good luck, Malina. Luna guide you.”

“Luna guide you.” Ruby returned, and Sees changed his trajectory to head back towards the Hollow Shades. Ruby had already left it behind, unsullied plains below her wings now.

The rain made it hard to see, and her eyes were not the greatest in the first place.

And so, it was with surprise that the sound of voices filled her ears the further into the fields she flew.

She stopped her forward flight, hovering for a moment and perking an ear to listen closer. Yes, there were certainly voices from somewhere in the plains. Female, both of them. One quick and restrained, the other patiently authoritative.

She flew in their direction as quickly as her wings could take her. And, even with her pathetic eyesight, she eventually made out the distinct parting of the long grasses, tracing the way back to Hayseed where the two mares had undoubtedly come. Ruby brought her flightpath over top of them, and when she did she made out the distinct colours of purple and white jutting from the beiges and muted yellows of the grassfield.

A tall mare, and a shorter one.

And when she landed, it was with awe that she did so.

She was scarred, and her mane was shorter, but there was no mistaking the regal stance and casual beauty of the Sun Goddess herself.

Ruby descended in a bow immediately. And the Sun Goddess spoke, in Ruby’s own native tongue.

Or, she tried. And that, at least, was more than the machines ever did.

After the sun was cast on its course into the morning sky, Celestia vanished into the trees. Not any manner of mysterious disappearance, rather she cheerily trotted back into the woods with a little ruffle of her wings and a mighty yawn.

Twilight found her in a nearby clearing, plucking a few wild flowers and dandelions in her telekinesis. Catching Twilight’s glance, she looked over her shoulder with a smile and levitated some over to Twilight with a sheepish grin.

“Breakfast, Twilight,” Celestia said simply. “There’s more to a pony’s diet than instant noodles and takeout.”

Twilight blinked, accepting the flora in her own magic but not quite knowing what to do with them.

Celestia, however, began munching down on the flowers. “I feel well rested enough to teleport us back to Old Canterlot, if you’d like. It’d be prudent to be home soon so we don’t miss Professor Fluttershy’s call.”

Twilight tentatively took a bite of a dandelion herself. It was surprisingly tasty. “She probably won’t have those results until late this afternoon. Was there anything you wanted to do in the meantime?”

Celestia frowned thoughtfully. “Well. There was what Nightmare Moon mentioned.”

“About dream magic?”

Celestia nodded. “About the thestrals, in general, as well. I haven’t yet interacted with them since my return, but given the state of deforestation around the Whitetail Woods, I imagine presenting myself as an ally to them might be wise.”

“They’re pretty isolated, right? Mostly live on their own, in forest villages. I don’t really see much of them around Old Canterlot.”

“It couldn’t be a more different living environment from what they’re no doubt used to. Imagine living amongst this…” Celestia waves a hoof at the tall trees around them, and down at the sparking layer of gossamer coating the damp morning grasses at their hooves. “And giving it up to live from the heat of barrel fires and whatever rays of sunlight are brave enough to penetrate the smog.”

“About twenty percent of Equestrian forests.” Twilight recited. “That’s how much have been clear cut entirely. They’re probably scared to death.”

“But it is not too late to help. It is not too late to let them know that they can ally themselves with me and reverse the destruction plaguing them.” Celestia finished up her wildflower breakfast, freeing her snout of stray bits of stems and petals with a hoof. “And we can do this, while also asking about the possibility of your learning dream magic.”

“...If… if I do, Celestia. And that’s a big if, but if I do…”

“I would want you to help me.” Celestia nodded, reading the unspoken question from Twilight’s wary face with ease. “I’m ready to try and find peace. I don’t wish to stay in the pit that the Industry dug for me any longer.”

“We can get you out of it together. After you take your throne back, I won’t be going anywhere.”

“I know, Twilight.” Celestia smiled warmly. Her horn lit. “Shall we head back to the library? Wait for Fluttershy’s call and begin making preparations to travel?”

“Wonder if maybe it’d be a good idea to move our, ah. Base of operations... outta my library. Get you some place more like home?”

“Its felt quite like a home to me. Truth be told, living in an old library has felt quite enchanting. If anything, perhaps we can move my operations into there.”

Twilight chuckled, blushing a little at the ‘home’ remark. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Celestia smiled. “To Canterlot, then?”

“Let’s go.”

In a flash, they were suddenly thrust back into the musty smell of old rotten books and blizzards of dust swirling about from the sudden disruption in air pressure Celestia’s teleportation had caused.

It was darker in Old Canterlot than it had been in the Whitetail Woods, and the lack of electric lighting in the library only contributed to the crypt-like darkness of the dusty main reading hall. Twilight shrugged out of her saddlebags, depositing them on a long table in the large reading room. She frowned, noticing a conspicuous paper envelope that had been deposited through the slit on the bottom of the locked double doors that lead to the streets of Old Canterlot.

A letter. She levitated it over curiously. Beside her, Celestia peered over as well.

"They really did address it as 'Condemned Library.'" Celestia observed. "How cheeky of them."

"Betcha a million bits it's a court summons."

Celestia didn't refute it, and it turned out to be a good call, because as Twilight read the contents, she exhaled deeply. "Yup. I've gotta show later this month."

"Honestly, it might work out to out benefit, if it is done with the same intentions of publicity as their hearing with me was." Celestia offered. "Besides, I'll be there. It will be fine."

"I hope so." Twilight exhaled, starting towards the staff lounge of the library with a yawn. “Pot of coffee, Celly?”

“Tea if you have it, dear. Coffee is fine otherwise.”

Twilight filled up a kettle and flared her magic around it, yawning again as she willed heat energy onto the underside of the kettle. No electricity meant magical alternatives, and Twilight had plenty of those in store.

She had her coffee press percolating in a few minutes, and she carried it out with her to the reading hall once again.

There, Celestia was peering thoughtfully at the telephone, as though expecting it to ring at any moment.

“Your telephone is blinking red, dear,” Celestia said, as she heard Twilight approach. “Is it quite alright?”

Twilight frowned. Indeed, a small gemstone she had fitted onto the telephone’s electronic panel was glowing red, fading, and glowing red again, in a steady rhythm.

“O-oh, that. That’s my alert system. It… lets me know if I got any unwelcome calls while I was gone. Took me forever to set that up. But it works wonders for screening calls.”

“‘Unwelcome calls.’” Celestia repeated. “Such as?”

“Oh, y’know. The Industry’s taxation departments. New Canterlot Retailers wanting to send me the latest edition of their catalogue. My brother. Stuff like that.”

Celestia narrowed her eyes. “One of those things is not like the other, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight sighed heavily. “I know. But he’s just so nosy all the time!”

“Because he cares about you.”

“I never asked him to do that, though! I can take care of myself! I’m--”

“Twilight,” Celestia said it with distinct firmness. “Please, call him. Make sure everything is alright. Your older brother has the right to be concerned about you.”

Twilight sighed again, but nodded, spitefully grabbing the receiver and working the dial with a glare, as though her brother’s phone number were offensive to her. “Fine. Fine, I will.”

It took Shining Armor a few rings before he picked up, and Twilight could hear the freshly-interrupted sleep in her brother’s voice. “H-hello?”

“Did you try calling me, Shining?” Twilight didn’t bother wasting time with pleasantries.

“Twily? Y-yes! I did! Where the hell… you got home okay?”

“Celestia and I took a bit of a field trip. I’ve been away from my line until, like, ten minutes ago.”

“Uh huh, well. I just wanted to make sure the two of you got back in one piece.”

“Er… is everything okay, Shining?”

“Well. Can we maybe meet up? There’s something I need to give you and I think it’d probably be safer if you had it. Make sure the Princess comes, too.”

“Safer?” Twilight repeated, her telekinetic grip on the phone tightening. Beside her, Celestia peered over curiously, an ear perked to try and hear Shining’s side of things. “You’re kinda freaking me out, Shining.”

“Yeah, well, my place was ransacked. Found out as soon as I went home and got done sorting out your release. So maybe ‘freaked out’ is a valid state of affairs for us right about now.”

“Gods above.” Twilight grimaced. “Alright, w-well. Stay safe. Where do you want to meet?”

“Come to my place. I’ll be waiting. Celestia knows the way. Now, I’m not sure how private our phone lines are, so…”

Twilight took that as a cue to hang up, which she did without ceremony, thrusting the receiver back down onto the cradle and sinking her head in her hooves.

“That sounded dire.” Celestia was beside her in a moment. “Is your brother alright?”

“I… I don’t know. It… could be a trap. Sounded kinda sketchy.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Twilight dear. It’s your brother. He cares deeply about you. He’s part of the reason you’re not still back in prison right now.”

Twilight sighed. “I know, I know. But I don’t entirely think he sees my affiliation with you as a safe place. ‘Caring deeply for me’ might not be on our side the way you think it is.”

“We don’t know that for certain, Twi. Let’s try trusting him and work our way back from there, yes? If I can put my sibling squabbles aside for the purpose of progression, perhaps it’s time we start working your own.”

Twilight exhaled, finally bringing her head up from the safety of her hooves. “What if Flutters calls while we’re gone?”

Celestia frowned, and pointed at the telephone. “I will remain. If she calls, I will answer it. You go fetch your brother and find out what he wants.”

Twilight sighed, nodding her head a few times slowly. “Fine. Just let me grab a travel mug for my coffee. Got a feeling I’m gonna be needing it.”

iii

Shining’s apartment was a dump.

Twilight figured it was perhaps a little hypocritical to think so given her own living conditions, but it was simply factual. There was trash in the halls and the elevator was out of order, which meant Twilight had to lug herself up six flights of stairs and was completely out of breath by time she reached the top of them. The paint job on the walls was likely older than Twilight was, chipping away in places and covered in spidery cracks. The smell of rot and dust hung over everything.

She caught her breath at the top of the steps, and when she turned into the main hall she saw that her brother was already waiting for her.

“Heard you coming up the stairs.” Shining was standing in front of an open door, and he trotted over to Twilight with a small smile. “Where’s the Princess? Didn’t wanna come?”

“She’s waiting at home. Got some business to take care of there. Now what do you want, Shining?”

Shining sighed. “Geez, Twi. I’m not trying to inconvenience you by asking you to come here, y’know.”

Twilight brought a hoof to the bridge of her snout, nodding her head. “I know, I know. What can I do to help?”

Shining’s horn lit, and he closed and locked the door to his place behind him. “I’ve got some things I need to hand over to you. Documents and the like, that I’ve been collecting for the past few weeks. Since Celestia’s escape, actually.”

Twilight blinked. “You...you what. They didn’t… that’s not why they…”

Shining motioned back towards his apartment and nodded. “Wasn’t dumb enough to keep them there, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I… well, I think it’s good stuff, Twi. Stuff that you’d like to have. Wanna go take a look?”

Twilight nodded rapidly. He might as well have asked her if she wanted to go to a bookstore with him.

Shining snickered. “Figured. Though, it’s… a lot to take in. So consider this your warning.”

“Uh huh. Just get me back in time for lunch and I’m sure I’ll cope.”

Shining shrugged. “If you say so, sis. Come on, then. We’d best not waste time.”

Twilight valiantly suppressed the urge to complain the entire way back down the stairs again, her legs already sore from all the walking she’d done yesterday in the Whitetail Woods, now forced to endure even more physical activity. They exited into the muted haze of early morning Old Canterlot, and Shining Armor wordlessly led the way down a series of backstreets with the same purpose to his step normally reserved to his on-duty behaviours.

“So. Field trip with Celestia, hrm?” he asked, glancing back at her. “How’d that go?”

“Pretty well. We, ah. Continued the research I was trying to do when the Industry arrested me. Celestia is waiting at home to get the results from our contact.”

“Gotcha. I’m sure that’ll be quite the revelation.”

“Where are we going, Shining?”

“Aura Gleam. Colleague of mine. Now shush, you’re going to spoil the surprise.”

Twilight looked away, a slight pouting expression on her face, though she didn’t protest. They walked on in silence, for another couple minutes, before Shining stopped before a narrow duplex house. He tapped the button on the intercom, and after a few seconds a mare’s voice rang out. Young, and with a vaguely Trottish accent.

“That you, boss?”

“It’s me, Aura. Bad time?”

“When was the last time it was a ‘good time?’” came the smarmy response. Twilight could practically hear the eyeroll in the mare’s voice. The door let out a little buzz as soon as she finished speaking. “Door’s unlocked. Flatmates are out, so you’re good to come up. You’re alone?”

“Got my sis in tow. The Princess’s assistant. The journalist. See you soon.”

Shining led the way up the stairs, towards the second floor of the duplex. A unicorn was waiting for them at the top of the stairwell, a small smile on her face. She was dressed partially in the old Royal Guard uniform, the armour sagging on one side where she hadn’t yet fastened the ties, and her manetailed mane unimpeded by the generic golden helmet Twilight had seen them all wear.

A member of Shining’s old guard. Twilight’s age, though even partially in the armour she looked so much older. “Hello! Your broth--er, the Captain--talks about you alot. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

“Thanks.” Twilight nodded, unsure quite how to react.

“I’m Aura Gleam. Please, come in.” The unicorn led the way into her home. It was tidy, organized, and very minimally furnished. Shining navigated over to a little sofa, and motioned for Twi to do the same.

Aura Gleam, meanwhile, trotted over to the kitchen and dining area, her horn aglow as she opened a top cupboard. A few pots and saucepans hovered out, the unicorn delicately putting them down on the countertop. Then, from deeper in the cupboard, she withdrew something else. A faux-leather briefcase, which she drew out and started back towards Twilight and Shining carrying.

“Private Solar Wind came by two days ago to drop it off,” Aura Gleam said, levitating it over to the coffee table and putting it down, still closed, on top. “Was going to be sending it over to Private Shallow if you didn’t show today. Like you asked. Take turns protecting it.”

Shining nodded. “It’s going to be in Twi’s care, now. This is what we’ve all been working for. Go ahead, Twily. Check it out.”

Twilight’s hooves had started to wobble a little, but she drew the briefcase a little closer all the same. It was heavy, and the contents within shifted as Twilight held it. Aura scooted the coffee table a little closer, offering the surface for Twilight to expel the briefcase’s contents on. Twilight opened it with a hoof, and within there were a half-dozen envelopes of varying sizes. They were labelled in shorthoof that Twi couldn’t read, so she grabbed the largest looking one she could see and emptied it out onto the coffee table.

There was a small clattering sound as nearly a dozen analog audio cassettes sprawled out. They were all labelled with a strip of tape and permanent marker; Orderly 3. Guard 1. EMT. Anonymous employee #12.

“Interview tapes, Twilight.” Shining piped up. “We’ve been collecting them since Celestia escaped. Testimonies from the ponies who helped imprison her.”

“There’s photographs in here, too.” Aura Gleam levitated another parcel onto the table. “Of the facility, inside and outside. Hell, if you want, we can take you there so you can take some yourself.”

“Y-you’ve b-been…” Twilight blinked, peering into the second parcel as quickly as it had been set down. “B-but how did you…! It woulda been off limits!”

“Not to the ponies they trusted on cleanup duty.” Shining grinned. “Loyalty misplaced. As they’ll soon find out. They thought I’d sell Celly down the river for chump change? This is what happens to them.”

Twilight gawked, turning the photographs over and over. Celestia may have been silent about her imprisonment, but the stories the photographs told were far less ambiguous. The ‘bedroom’, if it could be called that, was a claustraphobe’s nightmare--too bright, too sterile. Cold concrete walls on all sides and impersonal, featureless furniture. The only thing that didn’t look like it had been stolen from a prison dormitory was an oak desk and a grandfather clock tucked away in one corner of the tiny concrete room.

And the further Twilight went into the photographs, the worse they got. An operating table with restraints clearly made large enough to accommodate an alicorn. Horn inhibitors and shotguns lining one wall that was likely an armory. Photographs of syringes and sedative drugs taken in a small looking laboratory.

“W-w-why me?” Twilight said, finally. “Why show me this stuff? Equestria needs to see it, not me.”

“Why you.” Shining Armor grinned, shuffling a little closer. “I’m just a guard, Twi. A grunt. I’m no good at that sorta stuff. But you’ve been doing this your whole life. This is what you know best. And this time, you’ve got testimonies from those who did it.” He pointed at the tapes. “They’re thorough confessions. They don’t mince words. They tell what the Industry won’t and Celestia can’t. And if anypony knows how to tell Equestria what they contain and what it all means, it’s you.”

“N-no, I get all of that. B-but why me?” Twilight looked down. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but we haven’t exactly been on the same sides, Shining. ‘Turn my own life into hell’, right? That’s what you said, about what I do?”

“Twily, don’t be like that. It was an interrogation room, they were watching. I couldn’t risk them getting wind of what I was doing. Epona only knows what they’d do to keep the folks in those tapes silent.”

“That isn’t it, though. Even before all of this. You thought I was a big joke, same as everypony else. Fighting for something that’s some impossible dream.” Twilight looked away. It wasn’t spoken as an accusation, and she hoped Shining wouldn’t take it as such, but her tone made him shuffle a little further, back where he’d been before he tried to get closer to her.

“What did I do differently that suddenly makes me worthy of your respect, Shining? Tell me, because I need to be sure where we’re going.”

“You didn’t change, Twilight.” Shining shook his head. “I-I guess maybe I did. I’d sworn my life to protect a pony who… lost. I swore to protect Cadance, and she died. Then, Celestia followed. I didn’t give up on you, Twilight, I gave up on the world. I realized that none of us could change things, not really. But you didn’t give up on that, you kept fighting after everypony else had stopped, and I… guess I wasn’t brave enough to admit that my own little sister had a hundred times more courage than a Royal Guard Captain ever would.”

“When Celestia escaped, we had something to fight for again.” Aura Gleam said softly. She’d been quietly watching, letting the two siblings have their moment, but she piped up finally, her register low and subtle. “Something real to protect. Sounds kinda stupid to say a ‘purpose’, but we kinda did regain that almost overnight. I think a lot of ponies could’ve regained that earlier if they’d listened to you when they did. Maybe this whole mess could have been solved earlier.” The unicorn pointed a hoof at the tapes and photographs. “Maybe we wouldn’t have twelve years worth of this crap if somepony had stepped in and done something about it.”

Beside her, Twilight saw Shining shift a little, a long breath leaving his snout. “Apathy is a sickness, Twi. When Celestia died, it sometimes feels like we all got it. I don’t expect you to forgive me for trying to change who you are, sis. I was wrong, and I deserve any distrust you might have. I just want you to use what we found to help get the Princess where she belongs.”

Twilight didn’t answer with words. She squeezed her eyes shut--they’d started to water, and she’d be damned if she was letting Shining see it. She hugged him without ceremony, and she felt her brother tense up significantly from the sudden movement, before he realized what she was doing.

She broke the embrace suddenly, remembering that Aura Gleam was still watching.

“Thank you, Shining,” Twilight said, and her horn lit, gathering the various affairs and carefully tucking them back into their folders. “I’m sorry about… everything, I guess. Between us. I could’ve tried harder to be there for you. I… know what it’s like to feel like everything is hopeless.”

“But it isn’t, Twi. Moving on isn’t easy, but it’s worth trying. I see that now.”

Twilight managed a strained chuckle. “Better late than never, right?”

“I love you, Twilight. I hope you know that.”

“I do. I have.” She exhaled, and gave her brother a small and warm smile. “Let’s not be strangers anymore.”

“I’d like that.”

While Twilight was gone, Celestia turned to the radio for distraction, bringing the little handheld device to the telephone and settling down with her coffee. The mechanical device spewed out upbeat swing music and weather reports, while Celestia listened thoughtfully. All she was missing, she thought to herself, was a pair of knitting needles, and it would have been a rather relaxing morning.

The phone didn’t ring until a few minutes shy of noon, but when it did Celestia quickly sprung to life, grasping the receiver in her magic and turning the radio down low.

“Hello? Celestia speaking.”

“Princess? Um, it’s… Professor Fluttershy, from the Ponyville University Science Department. We worked together yesterday?”

“Indeed! Have you finished running the samples?”

“W-well. Y-yes. I have. And that’s kinda why I’m calling you so early. Can you and Twilight Sparkle come by sometime this week? Or… I can come up there, if it’s simpler.”

“Absolutely we can meet. Is there something I should be concerned over?”

“W-well, as the future leader of Equestria, I’d say so, yes. Twilight’s suspicions of soil erosion were… valid. I contrasted them with healthy samples and the results are unsubtle. B-but more than that, there’s some evidence of chemical pollution, which… is concerning, given that the nearest chemical refuse plant is a good two dozen kilometers away.”

“Meaning… a long period of chemical flow.”

“And, meaning that the pollutants are going to be even more potent nearer to the facility. Nearer to… to Ponyville. So, ah. I... want to… um, test more. Because I’m worried it might be even more of a concern than what Twilight and I feared.”

“I am sure that she will be quite eager to rejoin you for continuing research,” Celestia said. “We’re in Old Canterlot right now. We were planning on taking a trip to the Hollow Shades over the weekend, but we can always waylay that to--”

“No, no, it actually works out nicely. I’m marking my student’s finals for the next few days. I… may get in trouble from Professor Hemlock if he, um. Catches wind that I’m…” Fluttershy cleared her throat. “A-anyways! Later works fine. I’m quite happy to have a research partner. Besides my own marefriend, that is.”

“I will keep you in my thoughts, Professor Fluttershy. Please take care until we meet again.”

“Good luck in the Hollow Shades, Your Majesty! I just know you’ll do good for the ponies there. You and Twilight both.”

Celestia hung up.

She sipped her coffee. Outside, it started to rain. She could see it streaking down the skylight, in some places falling through holes in the ceiling to patter on the old marble floor of the reading room.

She watched it fall, and turned the radio back on while she waited for Twilight’s return.

And the entire time she waited, she continued to wonder--as she had been for weeks now, but more so in the past three days then ever before--how she could possibly let the little unicorn know how she truly felt about her.

Like any thought that crossed Celestia’s mind now, it was a conflicted one. A thought teetering on a scale between self-doubt and optimism. A patient assurance that honesty was more valuable to the both of them then irrational worry. A harsher reminder that she’d been without love for too long. She hadn’t fully convinced herself she was even capable anymore.

She wasn’t even certain she wouldn’t drive Twilight away, before everything was over.

In her mind’s eye, she could see the scene clearly. It wasn’t a dramatic one, there were no shouted words or hurled lampshades or anything quite so cliche. Just the gradual feeling of glacial drift, two mares too afraid of each other to ever be in love. One convinced she was unworthy of love, and the other convinced she was unworthy of the mare offering it to her.

She exhaled--she hadn’t even realized she’d started pacing around the library in her reverie, but she made her way over to the study to sit upon the raggedy couch that had replaced her throne.

Just tell her, you old fool. She’s wise, and mature, and she’ll understand.

Celestia squeezed her eyes shut. “I should. I should just tell her.”

She didn’t, though.

Twilight had looked considerably shaken when she reappeared in the library an hour or so later. And she didn’t waste time letting Celestia know why.

Though, she still preluded it by trotting up to Celestia and nuzzling her neck against the tall alicorn’s. Hardly wasted time, as far as Celestia was concerned.

“M-might want to sit back down, Celestia.” Twilight said, taking a step back. In her magic, she was carrying a manilla envelope. She’d wrapped it in newspapers to save it from the rain, and she gingerly tore them off the envelope and put them aside for later reading, trotting over to her writing desk with the envelope in telekinetic tow. “Shiny… kinda dropped a bombshell on me.”

“Oh?” Celestia tilted her head curiously.

“H-he didn’t tell me, but apparently he’s been meeting with the employees from the facility that imprisoned you. He was trusted with covering the whole incident up for the State, but he did the opposite. He’s got… a novella of confessions towards your treatment. Towards what they did to you. How the Industry made them terrified for the lives of their families if they disclosed any of this while you were imprisoned… it’s all…”

“Damning,” Celestia said softly. “It… goes beyond anything I said in public. It paints a pattern of behaviour that’s consistent for twelve years. As I figured it would, if the ponies ever came forth. Not that I ever thought they would.”

“And it doesn’t come from you. Which is… w-what you were afraid of, right? Looking like you were fishing for sympathy?”

Celestia exhaled, nodding her head. “That was the fear I had, yes. This is… a development, to say the least.”

“A good one?” Twilight frowned. “I know you’re worried about how they’ll take this, but it’s not just your word against theirs anymore. And I’ll be the one publicizing it. So I can… I can make sure your voice gets heard with it.”

“I will think about this, Twilight Sparkle. And while we are on the subject… Professor Fluttershy returned news of our results.”

“Oh! R-really? That was fast!”

“Indeed. She thought they were urgent. She wants to test more, with our assistance. She fears for the safety of much of Ponyville’s immediate waterways.”

“G-gods above. That’s… that’s unbelievable…” Twilight gawked. “I mean, it’s terrible. But we caught it. And that Type-A we talked to on the radio went on and on about how totally safe and properly tested it was by the State and she was wrong and we can prove it with the testimony of a published professional and…”

“And it was your hunch that brought it to our attention.” Celestia beamed at Twilight’s enthusiasm. “Yours and yours alone. Your victory, as it will be if you end up publicizing what your brother found.”

“Nightmare Moon helped.” Twilight rubbed an ear, blushing slightly. “But why not use both? A sort of, ah. What do they call it in the military? A fork attack?”

“A two pronged assault, dear. But yes. That would be a good move. One we will have to coordinate better, of course, but I daresay I’m optimistic about the prospect.”

Twilight nuzzled Celestia again, and then carefully tucked the folder into a messenger bag she’d had hanging from a coatrack. “Wanna go get some lunch? To celebrate?”

“We could do that, yes. Or we could get lunch aboard the dining car. And make our way to Hollow Shades. See if our string of good luck doesn’t carry us even further, hrm?”

Twilight thought it was a great idea.

Twilight and Celestia traveled as far as the rails could take them.

Again.

This time, the train ride wasn’t as long as it had been on the route to the uninhabited wilderness of the Eastern Coast of Equestria, where Celestia’s old beach home had been. When the Old Canterlot Line emerged from the tunnel weaving its way through Canterlot Mountain, it emerged into the grasslands and farmlands on its North side. The flatlands stretched for long distances into where the horizon rendered them a blurred haze.

It was infinitely less demoralizing to travel along a train line that didn’t offer a front-row seat to the horrors of deforestation, Twilight thought, though perhaps her recent activities had rendered her a bit more critical of the sight.

Seven hours and six hundred kilometers later brought them to a small farming town that a sign on the way in called ‘Hayseed’. On the way in, they could see another train that had been lying in wait on another rail to the side of the main line leading the way into town. A long, flat-bed style train, and on top of it, bound down by wires and straps, were countless heavy machines, long necks like dragons resolving in sharp claws and buckets.

“Logging machines,” Twilight said softly. Celestia had been dozing off beside her, her head resting on Twilight’s shoulder, but she perked up to peer out the window.

Celestia didn’t answer, but her expression spoke what words had no reason to.

It was dark and cold and Twilight and Celestia shared a room in a bed and breakfast that was more than enthused to play host to a Princess and her assistant.

They even called them such.

No more ‘Miss’ Celestia. Twilight had seen it at the university, and now here it was again. The Princess, slowly but surely clawing her way back into the public psyche. Carefully and calmly shaking off the shame that the Industry had made synonymous with the title.

Her whole life, Twilight had been dreaming of the sort of revolution she read about in history books. What she was seeing was something far different. It was as though Equestria had been in a trance for twelve years. And she was watching them as they were gradually coming back to life.

It would be a cruel awakening when they learned what Twilight already knew, of course. But it would be the hard push towards salvation they needed.

Celestia and Twilight both woke for the sunrise. They once more did it together… Twilight was skeptical of her own contributions, but Celestia assured her she was learning, and that was what counted. The contrast between Nightmare Moon’s tutelage and Celestia’s was almost humorous to Twilight.

The black alicorn herself hadn’t been around for some time. Twilight had expected her when she rose the Moon, but she hadn’t come. Nor did she when they brought the moon back down again for the dawn.

They checked out early, and departed the farming town when the smell of morning was still fresh and most of the lights in the sleeping houses remained extinguished.

Their hooves left packed dirt and cobblestone and crossed over onto grass, which, besides the occasional grain silo, stretched unimpeded towards the sprawling grey sky.

Distant thunder rolls. The sound of Celestia and Twilight’s hooves swishing through the grass.

Ahead, the Hollow Shades were like a mighty city built out of nowhere in the midst of grass. It was still many kilometers out, but even from a distance, without anything else sullying the horizon, they could see it stretching into the sky before them. Immense cypress, stabbing into the rainy morning sky. Like tendrils grasping at the clouds, arching into many beautiful branches dozens of meters up. These cypress were a rarity, however, and the rest of the Hollow Shades seemed to exist below them--a canopy only broken in several places, so that the entire treeline looked like masts protruding from the deck of a sailing ship.

The treeline began without a prelude, but as they got closer, Twilight slowly realized why.

Perhaps it hadn’t one day. Ahead, the closer they got, she could see that the grasslands they were walking were old, but further on, they turned to dirt. The stubs of tree trunks had largely been bulldozed away, but some still remained--little memorials to the bits of the Hollow Shades that had been sacrificed away.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Celestia said beside her. “I haven’t been to the Hollow Shades since… oh, it must be thirty years, now. Those cypresses you see… I remember when they were half that height.”

“Musta been nearly a hundred years ago…”

Celestia chuckled. “Try a thousand. There’s much history in this forest. I think that’s why my sister liked it so much.”

Twilight tilted her head. “Luna? What’s her story with this place, anyways? Nightmare Moon told me a little bit about it, but…”

“Well….” Celestia rustled her wings a little, pausing for a moment as she considered how best to recount the ancient history. “I do believe she felt somewhat isolated from much of the work I was doing to unify the pony tribes. Ignored, largely, while I was listened to. The thestrals… pegasi, at the time, were a small group that were similarly discontent with my decisions to favour the earthponies jurisdiction over the farmlands of the budding Equestria. Claimed that I was exploiting their weather talents.”

“H-huh. That… must have been a mess.”

“Indeed. The worse part of those days was having to understand that all of the tribes were right. All were valid in their frustrations with the others. All of their demands for justice and compensation deserved my ear, and I did what I could do. Luna was… less patient. So, a splinter group of pegasi quickly captured her interest. Truthfully, it was partly my suggestion.”

“W-wait, but didn’t they turn away from you? Didn’t you say they were fed up with listening to you?”

“Yes, but that did not mean I was fed up with them, nor did it mean I didn’t remain concerned when a group of ponies who I wanted to see thrive instead turned and departed for a strange and dangerous forest on their lonesome. So, I sent Luna to try and befriend them. Form a link, and she succeeded. The thestrals adored her. She was a symbol to them, evidence that rejects and ignored ponies had a second chance with the trust of the darker, fairer sister.”

“And… and after she…” Twilight gulped. “W-went away?”

Celestia gave Twilight a bittersweet smile. “After I banished my sister, they were… quite upset. I visited, I explained why, and they… largely understood. They’d seen the turn my sister had been taking… things she expressed to those she trusted more than the ponies back home. They did not trust me the way they trusted Luna, but the hatred had faded over the centuries. They respected me enough to trust me when I promised them they were as much Equestrians as anypony under my rule. I ordered the Hollow Shades to be a nature preserve so as to guarantee it did not face destruction from the earth pony farmers, I let them have reign over it under a list of loose guidelines, and our relationship since then has largely been a positive one. During particularly cold winters, I would send them supplies or offer them shelter, and I periodically would have ponies from my governing body check on them to ensure all is well.”

Twilight nodded. “So it’s pretty much exactly like I read about them, then. Er, minus the extra context about Princess Luna. Most of that stuff kinda begins with ‘mysterious isolated tribes’.”

Celestia chuckled, nodding. “Luna liked the trust and respect they gave her. Coming from me, it was simply sisterly love. An obligation on my part, as she saw it. But from them, it felt like something she had earned, and I know she enjoyed that.”

If Celestia had more to say, she quickly abandoned it when the sound of beating wings resolved itself from the wind and gentle rain. Twilight tensed, and beside her, Celestia did, too.

She’d been flying against the backdrop of clouds, her dark shaded coat blending with the tapestry of nimbus-greys. She flew overhead, peering down at Celestia and Twilight, before clipping her wings towards the sky and descending in a gradual spiral, settling down some ways ahead of them.

She was young, female, and was wearing a spear decorated with twine on her back. Her ears resolved in tufts of fluff at their tips, her wings leathery and without feathers. She tilted her head, regarding Celestia and Twilight with calm curiosity.

Then, Celestia clicked her tongue several times, her horn aglow as she did so.

The thestral mare tilted her head, returning with a few quick chirps of her own.

“What?” Twilight blinked.

“Thestralian, Twilight. They communicate through a sort of conlang based on variations of pitch and intensity that their sensitive hearing allows them to pick up on. Simple words with simple meanings, but it’s efficient for--”

“Your highness…” The thestral descended in a courteous bow, the spear rattling a little on her back as she did. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can speak Equestrian with you, if it’s easier.”

“O-oh!” Celestia gave a sheepish chuckle. “Wonderful! Were you, ahem…. expecting us?”

The mare shook her head. “No, Your Highness. I am merely posted outside the Shades to watch for intruders.”

“I earnestly hope we are not that.”

She shook her head quickly. “Your Highness, you are always welcome. You and your friend both.”

“Twilight Sparkle.” Twilight nodded at her. “Celestia’s assistant, and I’m a journalist by trade.”

“I know of you. And I am called Malinalxochitl--it means ‘With Eyes Like Moonlit Rubies’. But my Equestrian name is Dusk Ruby, so you may call me that instead.” Ruby puffed her chest out proudly as she spoke. “I presume you wish to go to the village, yes? They’re… a bit afraid of outsiders, but I’m sure they’ll make an exception for, well…”

Celestia chuckled. “As long as it isn’t a bother, dear. I’m just here to give my friend company, but if my presence is a distraction, I can…”

“No, no. I think they would be eager to see you, Sun Princess.” Dusk Ruby shook her head. She led the way towards the threshold of trees ahead.

They walked in silence for much of the five or so minutes it took for them to reach the dense foliage of the Hollow Shades. As soon as they entered them, Twilight very quickly realized just how fortunate they were to have run into the thestral guide now eagerly leading the way forwards--the Shades were far denser than the Whitetail Woods had been. The foliage was thick enough that even a creature ten feet away would be obscured completely, and Twilight had little doubt in her mind that she and Celestia would've gotten lost after about five minutes.

It was the first exposure Twilight had ever had to a rainforest, and it certainly lived up to its title. Her mane and coat were soaked with the morning dew of a thousand fronds, which rubbed against her back almost perpetually as she followed Dusk Ruby. Every fern and tree looked like some sort of comedically enlarged version of the ones Twilight had seen in nature gardens around New Canterlot, and she stumbled often as the ground took some getting used to after travelling across grassland and pavement for practically her whole life.

A hundred birds conversed above, a dawn chorus with hints of surprise as they undoubtedly caught quick glimpses of the foreign visitors from far above.

“They’ve been wondering if you would come,” Ruby piped up, about ten minutes into the walk through the foliage. She could've been shy, or perhaps simply had nothing to say, but she had been largely silent up to then. As she talked, she glanced back at Twilight and Celestia, hardly paying attention as she weaved through the thick branches and thickets, moving them aside with a wing as though second nature. “We sent some of the village chiefs in to speak with the earth ponies in the town closest.”

“Hayseed.” Celestia said softly. “The small farming town, yes? Population of about four hundred?”

Ruby nodded. “Bigger than our village, and they have phones there. Ways of talking to the city. It’s a long flight for some of the older thestrals, and the chiefs warn that it’s dangerous outside the village now.”

“Is that so? Animals?”

Dusk Ruby nodded. “From the Everfree, they say. They’ve been moved around, same as we have, and now we’re all fighting for a place to live in what’s left.”

Celestia scowls. “What happened to your designated land?”

Ruby tilted her head. “...Um…”

“When I was still ruler.” Celestia elaborated. Ruby seemed genuinely confused, and Twilight figured she likely didn’t recall much of life during those times. She didn’t seem a day older than twenty, which would’ve meant she’d been a filly when Celestia had fallen. "During my rule, the forest around the Hollow Shades formally belonged to the thestral tribes except where specifically noted.”

“It all belongs to the machines now, Sun Princess.”

Celestia exhaled. “How many times? Do they at least give you time, before ejecting you from your homes?”

Ruby laughed. “They tell us we should move closer to Hayseed. Join the town there. But we’ve never harmed them from the Shades, we visit and trade often and enjoy our separate sisterhood with Equestria. We didn’t harm anypony, why should we have to leave the homes we’ve built generations ago?”

Celestia scowled. “I will see how I may remedy that. It does not seem fair to me.”

“Its been happening for years.” Twilight cut in. “There’s a few thestrals in Old Canterlot who left ‘cause of it. Literally bulldozing their homes down.”

“Barbaric.” Celestia grits her teeth. “I will do what I can to protect you from them.”

As Celestia and Twilight spoke, Dusk Ruby ’s focus seemed to grow more and more distant, until she was simply nodding along to show she was still listening while perking another ear to catch the sounds of the forest as she did so. Eventually, she paused, and called out in a language completely foreign to Twilight. It was high-pitched, with plenty of clicks as punctuation. It sounded somewhat like the recordings of dolphin-song Twilight had heard listening to the New Canterlot Public Radio’s late-night Science and Technologies broadcasts.

From further in the forest came a similar response of clicks and calls. Twilight could see that Celestia herself had perked an ear, a small frown on her face. Twilight could distinctly make out the Princess’s own lips moving slightly, as though internally she were running through the words herself and trying to relearn their meanings.

Eventually, there came another rustling in the trees. Twilight recognized the beating of wings over the shuffling forest canopy, and soon enough two figures of blurred movement poked from deeper amongst the thick foliage.

Dusk Ruby greeted the other two ponies that had arrived with more of the clicking language, which they reciprocated somewhat reluctantly. One was eying Celestia, another Twilight, and both had wooden spears tucked into intricate twine sheaths on their backs. One of them jabbed a hoof in Celestia’s direction, which Dusk Ruby responded to with a series of quick nods.

“They’re asking you to please come with us to our village.”

The other pony, the one that had been more focused on Twilight, tilted their head. “The newspaperist, yes?”

Twilight brought a hoof to her chest. “M-me? I… uh, I guess so.”

“You’re here to tell about us?”

“We’re here for a number of reasons, and that is amongst them.” Celestia spoke up. “Twilight Sparkle herself wishes to speak to the chiefs themselves about a type of magic she believes you may be able to help with.”

There was more chatter amongst them at this, and it seemed Dusk Ruby was just as surprised by the revelation. Nonetheless, their excitement seemed to be of the positive sort to Twilight--their postures relaxed and far from defensive and their eyes alight with curiosity.

“Please follow.” The thestral with the brown mane said, and Dusk Ruby nodded, leading the way eagerly deeper into the forest.

“You said you’re here to learn about magic?”

Twilight jumped a little--Dusk Ruby seemed to have snuck up directly beside her as she’d been examining the other thestrals. “Y-yeah, u-uh. Related to dreams, actually. I heard from a trusted source that you might be able to help with that.”

“I am training a replacement for many duties, you see.” Celestia piped up. “And we both feel that if she is to be representing the nation’s various ponies as a student of magic, she should be familiar with their own particular skills and talents.”

Dusk Ruby ’s eyes grew wide, and she bit her lip. “Oh. Dream magic, you say? Outsiders don’t often ask about that.”

“I figured it’s somewhat private knowledge.” Twilight said, her head sinking. “And I’m… worried I might be overstepping my boundaries prying.”

“I am not the pony to say so,” Dusk Ruby said. “I am just one of the village’s lookouts. I escort visitors into the village so they don’t get lost, or I try to scare away the machines long enough for my friends to help.”

“Is that, um. Successful?” Twilight didn’t want to be offensive, but she couldn’t help herself.

Ruby gave a little exhale. “The Tree Eaters don’t have souls to scare. They’re only made to destroy, and that’s what they do. If we work together, we can usually slow them, but they’ll be back the next week, made stronger each time. We’re… losing. I wish I could say otherwise, but I don’t believe lying will make that any different.”

“You didn’t have me before.” Celestia said it with enough restraint and softness that it betrayed the intensity of her words. “You were left to fend for yourselves. But not anymore. I have taken the frontlines during wartime before. If need be, I will do it again to protect what’s right.”

“P-Princess… are you… are you certain?” Twilight piped up, scratching an ear nervously. “You… your strength. You need to stay safe, too…”

“Twilight, dear. This is worth being unsafe over. This is the duty I took as a Princess of Equestria. And it transcends Equestria’s title for me now.”

“My tribe doesn’t care about Equestria’s title for you.” Dusk Ruby smiled. “You’re our Sun Princess still. And we will gladly accept your aid.”

Celestia smiled back. "I want the whole of Equestria to see what Princess Celestia and her Crown Minister stand for, and against. They've been kept in the dark for far too long."

Author's Note

This Old World (XVIII)

The Hollow Shades were dense, and the forest alight with birdsong overhead.

Celestia cast thoughtful glances around as their eager young guide tread onwards.

“I’m not going too fast for you, Sun Princess?”

Dusk Ruby had been excited, and Celestia had done her best to match the young mare’s pace, but it was quite clear the Hollow Shades were not friendly to ponies of Celestia’s size. They had long abandoned anything vaguely resembling a previously cut path, but the thestrals themselves were clearly not too bothered by this. The elaborate twine decorations around Dusk Ruby’s spear even served a rather thoughtful purpose of keeping the shaft anchored firmly to one of the thestral’s wings even as she used them for help in parting the heavy foliage.

The Hollow Shades were unforgivingly wild, but their crafty inhabitants were more than up to the challenge. Celestia had very quickly noticed the carefully tended-to fruit trees all about… she spotted nearly a dozen different berries, only several of which were discovered when her feathery wing accidentally rubbed against one of their dense bushes. The underbrush itself was largely fern-based, and occasionally interrupted by babbling riverbeds that the thestrals had built efficient and narrow little bridges over. More than enough for the eager little hooves of the young mare weaving her way through them, though Celestia found it easier to just hop over the creaks with a few flaps of her wings. It would have been dreadfully embarrassing to accidentally break one of their cleverly placed bridges.

“Don’t worry. I’m quite alright.” Celestia trilled back. “How long have you been a scout, dear?”

Dusk Ruby’s ear tilted. “Since I was sixteen, ma’am!”

“It must be liberating for a young mare, above all of this foliage.” Celestia rustled her crippled wing for emphasis. “You certainly caught up with Twilight and I quite quickly.”

“Oh yes. I have to keep my flight talents up. Farseekers have to be the first to spot the machines and help fight them, after all.”

“Indeed. We will turn the tide on their assault.”

Dusk Ruby smiled. “Thank you, Sun Princess.”

“And then?” Celestia matched the smile warmly herself. “What’s a young Farseeker to do once she’s helped save her tribe?”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well… a few of my friends have gone to Ponyville to help them there.”

“Them being other thestrals?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. Some ponies there are frightened that what happened to Whitetail will also happen to the remains of the Everfree. Even if we do save the Shades, there’d still be a lot more things to do. And fighting the machines here has felt hopeless enough.”

“I saw them on the train ride in. Like dragons.”

“At least dragons leave you well enough alone.” Dusk Ruby scoffed. “The Elders will be happy to hear from you. Though perhaps a little cranky at first at being woken so early.”

“Ah. Your tribes are nocturnal.” Celestia nodded. “I’d… forgotten.”

“The Sun Princess forgot? I am dearly shocked.” Dusk Ruby gave her a mischievous look. “Most awake several hours from now, and given the severity of your visit, it’s really a miracle to most of them.”

Celestia nodded. “Scouts like you are diurnal, then?”

“We must be. It would do poorly to wage war one just woke up to, and the machines don’t exactly communicate their visits. Thankfully, they haven’t exactly figured out how to make them silent.”

“Loud, monstrous things. My marefriend was telling me about them.”

Dusk Ruby nodded. “How many did you see?”

“It had to have been at least fifty. Only half of which were large like the...”

“We call the largest ones ‘Tree Eaters.’ You can likely guess why that is.” The young thestral scowled. A sort of hopeless flood seemed to be dragging down the bouncy mare’s step, making it significantly easier to follow her as she stopped parting the underbrush with her wings. “That’s still twice as many as last time.”

“Dear. I will stop them.”

“This is our Crystal War, Sun Princess.” She let out a long sigh. “And even if we win, they’ll just keep sending more. It will be a hundred next time.”

“It will be zero. Ever again. I’m stopping this.” Celestia said. Dusk Ruby had stopped all together to look back at Celestia, and she met the halted mare with a gentle smile. “My dear, I promised to help protect your tribes from this very thing, and if your tribes are waging a Crystal War, I am an ally.”

Dusk Ruby managed a single nod. “The village is ahead. They will be expecting you.”

Ahead of them, Celestia could see the signs of the village ahead. It had been built into a clearing in the dense underbrush, and more vertically than horizontally. They’d used the heights of some of the older trees to their advantage, creating a village of quaint little treehouses looking down upon a somewhat overgrown clearing. A few thestrals were watching her from thetreehouses built along the canopy. The dwellings were simple and decorated in the same woven red twine that Dusk Ruby’s spear had been, and Celestia idly wondered if they shared a similar purpose of helping the buildings be packed up and transported at short notice.

A populace content with their peaceful solitude had been forced to become crafty and mobile in what had surely been a short span of time. As soon as Celestia entered the village clearing, the little settlement had already been lit up by a sort of collective chirping chatter, which had been at most an annoyed idle gossip before she broke through the canopy. She couldn’t help but smile--it was a wonder they could even make anything out in the chaos, but she detected the familiar sound of ‘Sun Princess’ more than once long before any of the thestrals started flapping down to meet the subject herself.

Celestia bowed her head to them as they landed before her, doing so before they had a chance to bow to her. It was a quick, courteous affair, and she broke it after several seconds to see that they’d matched it with a bow of their own.

“Good morning,” Celestia said gently. Dusk Ruby and the other thestral scout hadn’t bowed, and instead were waiting for Celestia several paces behind, but they stepped forward when Celestia spoke in Equish. Dusk Ruby chirped out a quick translation, and then added something else who’s meaning Celestia wasn’t quite sure of.

On the far side of the clearing, thestrals were lethargically emerging from several of the treehouses a dozen meters off the forest floor. A balcony had been built around these treehouses, granting a wider breadth of movement compared to the more simplistic and mobile treehouses higher up the canopy. These treehouses were accessible via a series of several steps carved into and out of the tree’s branches and trunk, whereas the others higher up seemed to be inaccessible by any non-winged creature.

Celestia’s eyesight wasn’t nearly good enough to make out much detail of the ponies that had emerged from these treehouses. But their movement, and the extra steps that had clearly been taken to allow them access to the houses without their wings, led her to believe they were the aforementioned elders long before they’d made it to the base of the tree and had started making their way across the village clearing in Celestia’s direction.

The first to arrive was, surprisingly, not a thestral at all. Celestia saw stripes as soon as she emerged from the shade of the treehouse… a zebra mare, and considerably younger than Celestia would have assumed from an elder. Though, she was well aware that her own bias there likely neutered her judgment.

“Your Majesty. A pleasant surprise.” The zebra mare descended in a bow. “I assume you’ve come to ease this forest’s cries.”

“That is correct.” Celestia nodded. “At the risk of seeming presumptuous, you are not from here, are you?”

“I was a proud resident of the Everfree. That is, until its monsters forced me to flee.” She pulled out of the bow, affixing Celestia with a small, curious smile.

“Zecora has been an honorary member of our tribe for five years now.” Another voice. Celestia glanced past the zebra, and saw two other ponies approaching. One of them, an old thestral stallion, who walked with a cane held in one hoof and a wing resting on the other thestral for balance. The mare helping him seemed to be in the same age group as Zecora.

The thestral mare helping the older stallion walk had been the one to speak, and she forgoed a proper bow in favour of a polite nod of her head. “I am called ‘Her Mane Like Flowing Grass’, and this is ‘Looks Hopefully At Distant Horizons’. Our Equestrian names are Flowing Frond and Hopeful Horizons, respectfully.”

Celesta bowed again. “I am pleased to meet you. You are the tribe’s elders?”

This time, the old stallion spoke. “We are amongst them. I am the oldest of the elders, but it is a title given to the experienced, and not simply the oldest.”

Celestia smiled, and she gave an affirming nod. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance.”

“A presumption, but a rather well-founded one.” Zecora drawled thoughtfully. “I anticipate much before us, before the day is done.”

“The machines are coming.” Dusk Ruby piped up. She’d become considerably less bubbly and sociable as soon as the elders had arrived, and there was a somewhat subdued shyness to the young rebel’s voice. “The Sun Princess counted dozens of Tree Eaters in wait at Hayseed.”

At that, the expressions of the Elders became significantly more grave. Flowing Frond bit her lip, glancing at Hopeful Horizons, who himself had a somewhat unreadable frown.

“The purpose of your visit is to fight them off?” he grumbled out, and pointed his cane at Celestia’s slightly crooked horn. “And yet even you put my frailty to shame.”

“I admit I am no longer the spring hen I once was. I certainly lack the energy that your eager farseekers do.” Celestia glanced at Dusk Ruby with a smile. “But the same fire in them still burns in me, too. Don’t mistake my injury for weakness.”

“My dear friend, we simply cannot afford to turn her help away.” Zecora glanced at Hopeful Horizons with a sort of muted annoyance. “It’s not by some coincidence that an alicorn has come to stay.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Hopeful Horizons let out a huffy snort. “I’m sure the village will be happy to hear of her arrival. Malinalxochitl will alert the village, and we will talk as one so they may listen to us strategize.”

It was a little hectic at first, and for some time Celestia simply stood awkwardly with the other three Elders while Dusk Ruby flew off, her staccato calls quickly being picked up by others in the village, echoing from within the treehouses and the branches and from distant unseen places outside of the village.

Eventually, some manner of order resolved itself from the noisy chaos, the chirrups dying down and the beating of the thestrals wings became less frantic as they settled down on the forest floor. With nearly all of the village’s structures built into the trees, the clearing was quite barren by comparison… a few spots where campfires would have clearly been built, or sturdy lean-tos stockpiled with hay or wood.

They were all peering at Celestia and the Elders with wide-eyed looks. Some looked frightened and uneasy, but the greater majority seemed amazed to see her. A few more bowed, but it seemed a more independently decided affair than anything decided upon via tradition.

Celestia smiled back. Luna would surely have been proud of how her ponies had survived so much adversity with the same hopeful looks on their faces.

Dusk Ruby set down beside Celestia again once her task was complete. Surprisingly, with the village largely gathered, it was Zecora who spoke first. If the zebra had ever been an outsider in the thestral community, there was no clear evidence of it remaining in the village’s curious expressions.

“The tide is turning for Equestria, my friends. The Sun Princess herself has come to help us defend.”

The chattering resumed. A few more of the thestrals bowed, but more often they started discussing eagerly amongst themselves, at least in equal parts Equestrian and Thestralian. Celestia patiently listened, waiting for it to die down a bit before she stepped forward.

“Good day, my dear ponies. I am very pleased to meet all of you, but I fear pleasantries and well-wishes are something that we must delay until after the menace that plagues these hallowed lands is sent back to where it came. I have seen the destruction of the Whitetail Woods with my own eyes. I’ve seen the ruins of what once stood there, and my heart is filled with worry at the thought of such becoming commonplace across Equestria. I will devote myself to stopping it if it’s the last thing I do.”

Hopeful Horizons let out a gruff exhale, clicking out a few frustrated-sounding Thestralian words that Dusk Ruby thankfully translated.

“He says it may very well be if your track record is to be considered.”

Celestia sighed. “I was going for optimism, dear. Regardless, I would like to learn a little bit about the machines, from the ponies who have had to fight them.”

Zecora nodded. “I’ve known of their destruction ever since the Everfree. The thought of facing them in such a number does not inspire me with much glee.”

“They run on steam, yes?” Celestia glanced around the gathered thestrals, dreadfully praying to the stars above her information wasn’t outdated and she wasn’t making a mighty fool of herself.

Zecora shook her head. “They now use petroleum as their primary fuel. They are faster, so their influence is more cruel.”

“I see.”

“This does give them a weakness. But the result fills me with just as much bleakness.” Zecora added tentatively. “The fuel catches fire easily. It would allow a Sun Princess to stop them breezily.”

Beside her, Dusk Ruby translated the exchange with a series of quick clicks. Many of the thestrals were still listening to her from high above the trees, and their sonar-like ears seemed better tuned to Dusk Ruby’s brief summarization than the calmly spoken Equish exchange.

Hopeful Horizons scowled. “During an already drier than ordinary spring! The Sun Princess would find such a method appropriate without a second thought!”

“My dear, I don’t believe I suggested that at all,” Celestia said softly, giving the stallion a patient look. “If they are allowed to overheat within the Shades themselves, I’m well aware of the cost a forest fire would lead to. But not all of my magical talent is based on fire. I may still provide a safe and measured response without endangering your forests.”

“Then the Sun Princess would do well to target their fuel tanks.” Dusk Ruby cut in, in Equish. “We usually stop them using harpoons we fix to the floor of the Shades or the trunk of a Great Cypress. If we’re able to get one underneath the Tree Eaters, they cannot move without tearing out the…”

She broke off, glancing sheepishly over at Zecora for clarification, who chuckled. “Their fuel tanks. Farseeker, much thanks.”

“That’s… exceedingly clever.” Celestia gave the two a beaming smile.

“And then, their corpses poison the soils.” The other thestral Elder said softly. Flowing Frond had largely been silent during Celestia’s exchange with Zecora, instead regarding the two’s exchange with intrigue and one forehoof coyly pawing at the ground, as though she’d been waiting her turn to speak. Her voice was soft, with a few wary pauses in her inflection as she stopped to recall the words in Equish.

“She is correct,” Hopeful Horizons said, in his passively-irate tone. “Their poison has killed as many trees as the Eaters would have.”

“W-well. Not always.” Flowing looked away from the Elders and Celestia, behind her where the clearing broke back into underbrush. “But their fuel does have it’s own effects that usually make us unable to use the combat areas for growing our berry bushes anymore.”

“It is still the only way we’ve been able to stop them shy of flinging ourselves at the machines.” Zecora said. “And I don’t wish for the cost of our success to be a young Farseeker in between.”

Celestia bristled. “They… they would rather let your tribes starve than leave your forest alone. They truly will stop at nothing.”

“We are squatters to them. Rejects of Equestria who refuse to conform.” Flowing Frond said. “They offered us homes, and we refused, and now we remain on land that is theirs.”

“Is this not the fate of your student?” Zecora tilted her head. “A stubborn vagrant on land of the government?”

Celestia exhaled. “Yes, I suppose it is. How about in the fields? If we engage them before they reach the Shades… there’s much empty dirt from their previous successes that would make for ample ground to target them on.”

“That is typically how we fight them.” Hopeful Horizons nodded. “It’s why our Farseekers are so valuable. They must be.”

“The dirt there is far less stable, though,” Flowing Frond added, crossing her hooves. “They usually rip our harpoonbows off their stakes. So, we’re still largely unable to get them to slow before they reach the Shades. Since we anchor them using the trees, they don’t make it too far into the Shades. But it means they are gradually pushing the front line closer and closer to our villages with each attack.”

Celestia was appalled. This really was just another godsdamned war. It was being fought on her godsdamned country’s soil. Her godsdamned little ponies were the ones waging it, against a populace that simply wanted to be left alone. The rest of Equestria had abandoned them to their fates… if they even knew about their fates at all. It would’ve been expensive for any freelance journalist to have mounted an expedition into the Hollow Shades without Celestia. Any journalist of the Industry wouldn’t think to publish about the thestral’s plight, out of fear of the villainous light it would absolutely cast upon the ponies attempting to strip it of its resources.

Celestia certainly hoped Twilight Sparkle had brought along a camera. Equestria deserved to be appalled, after ignoring this little crisis for so long.

No matter, Celestia thought. She was still around to step in and try to set things straight.

“Your harpoons.” Celestia glanced at the young scout. “You shoot them under the excavators?”

Ruby nodded. “It’s a hard shot, and recently they’ve started putting strong sheets of metal against them to prevent the spearheads from sticking. But it only takes one or two harpoons, and the machines cannot move any further without ripping the plating off and exposing themselves.”

“Utterly ingenious.” Celestia smiled. “I can use telekinesis to help anchor the harpoons you shoot. This way, we can engage them on the wastelands outside of the Hollow Shades. But we must mobilize quickly if this is to be the case. I imagine your harpoon devices are still rigged to the cypress?”

“They are.” Hopeful Horizons glanced from Celestia, and then back at the gathered thestrals still listening intently. Some seemed to be eagerly waiting for another translation from Dusk Ruby, who herself had stopped summarizing once she’d been pulled into the discussion herself. “You have the ability to do this? With your magics?”

Celestia nodded her head. “I believe so. As I said. I am old, but I still have fight in me.”

“Then we will prepare to engage the machines in the fields of Hayseed.” Hopeful Horizons nodded his head. For the first time since he’d awoken, he afforded Celestia a friendly smile. “Farseekers, show the Sun Princess to the machine anchors.”

Twilight Sparkle wasn’t sure she’d be able to find the way back if she were separated from the thestral weaving his way through the underbrush.

He Who Sees A Thousand Miles was a stallion on a mission. His ears were moving almost the entire time he ducked and crouched through the underbrush, not rarely sending a wayward branch flinging back in Twilight’s direction for her to hastily catch in her telekinesis. The underbrush of the Hollow Shades was thicker than anything Twilight had ever seen outside of nature magazines--Old Canterlot’s few parks were decrepit and poorly maintained… ghosts, really, of whatever the city had been boasting before the Industry’s bits went elsewhere.

The rainforest of the Hollow Shades was lacking in one thing, though. As He Who Sees A Thousand Miles trotted on, Twilight glanced back at her tail and back. “It’s, ah. Dry.”

He looked back at Twilight, tilting his head. “Too fast?”

“No, no. I said dry. There’s, ah. Not a lot of moisture?” She pointed at the leaves.

“Oh! Rain!”

Twilight nodded eagerly. “Exactly! Isn’t it, ah. Supposed to rain, here?”

The stallion shook his head. “Elder’s say it’s rain season. Big joke with the rest of the tribe.”

“Controlled forest fires, right? That’s how they’re doing it now? The machines?”

He Who Sees A Thousand Miles nodded. “In places. When they don’t need wood. We notice it before they attack. This morning was a nice drizzle, but lately not as much rain.”

“The weather teams in Cloudsdale are supposed to control it, I thought. That’s what my research tells me, anyways.” She tapped her saddlebag--she’d stuffed a few essays from the Library about the types of flora and fauna she’d expect to run into, and at least a few she’d read on the train had mentioned the generous rain donations the Hollow Shades received from run-off rain pollution generated by Cloudsdale’s weather teams.

Extra moisture had allowed the Shades to thrive more significantly than many of the surrounding forests, the flora thicker and the threat of forest fires much lower than those of the Everfree and Whitetail.

“From the city?” Far Seas chuckled. “We have to collect the moisture clouds ourselves. They use them for other things.”

“Considering they’re trying to evict you, that’s probably intentional.”

“I hear they need farmlands. Hayseeds say so.”

Twilight sighed. “Celestia will fix this.”

“I hope so. She is close to you, yes? The Sun Princess?”

“Y-yeah. We’re, uh. Partners.” Twilight blinked. “Like, in the business sense. Er, government business! Not, ah… partners like…”

Far Seas rose an eyebrow as she trailed off. “Well. When she does take country, you’ll tell her 'give the rains back?' Please?”

“Yes, of course! I mean, I’ll… I’ll tell her right away. She’s probably already on it, if she’s chatting with your Elders.”

“Oh!” Far Seas brightened up significantly. “Then I think the Elders will be quite happy.”

“I saw the logging equipment on the way into Hayseed. It’s… when was the last time they ran them here?”

“A cycle.” He pointed up at the skies. The mid-day sun was obscured by foliage and it was still a strange sort of cloudy perpetual early-evening, but Twilight still knew what the thestral was talking about almost immediately. Lunar cycles, meaning it’d been a month.

“Well, we saw a lot.”

“They strike harder each time. It is lucky you and the Sun Princess showed when you did.”

“W-what if we didn’t?”

“We leave the strategies for the Elders, yes?” Far Seas cocked his head in a random direction which Twilight quickly realized was probably where they’d come from. The stallion’s tone was mocking, but innocuously so, and there was a genuine grin on the thestrals face. “Besides, we are at the Remembering Caves. Be silent if you can.”

“Why? Dangerous animals?”

“No, thestrals.” Far Sea’s expression grew more teasing. “The Dream Elder doesn’t like being disturbed from their slumber unless by other dreamwalkers.”

“A-are you a dreamwalker?”

Far Seas shook his head. He stopped in his tracks, one wing idly holding a branch in the air. Twilight could vaguely see a rock-cut jutting up an incline in the foliage ahead, though the size of the Remembering Caves was impossible to deduce. “I cannot. Farseekers are not allowed. Awake in the day means sleep isn’t easy.”

“W-well, he’s not going to be grouchy to see me? I don’t want to impose if he’s--”

“You wish to learn dreamwalking, yes?”

Twilight nodded immediately.

“Then you are a dreamwalker. She will not be ‘grouchy.’” Far Sea’s expression softened. “She will be happy to see horn. They don’t come often, and never for dream magic.”

Twilight relaxed significantly. “Sorry. I… have a habit of worrying. Celestia says I should stop doing it so much.”

“Sun Princess is wise for many reasons,” Far Seas said, and then turned back towards the rockcut ahead. Twilight followed closely behind, doing her best to remain silent as the thestral led the way towards a narrow indentation in the rockcut. They jutted out like arrowheads struck into the earth, the dirt long since settled around them over the centuries. The gaps in between them was just narrow enough for a pony to squeeze through… Celestia certainly wouldn’t have been able to, and Twilight was instantly thankful she hadn’t come.

“The caves open more on the inside,” Far Seas said, keeping his voice low. He peered into one of the entrances, and then let out a small series of chirrups which echoed off the cavern walls. They were gentle, trilling off the thestral’s tongue like birdsong.

Silence. Far Seas’s ear twitched, a vaguely disinterested look on the stallion’s face.

Then, after about thirty seconds, a series of chirrups echoed back. They were louder, harsher, and distinctly more hostile than Far Seas’ welcoming tone, and Twilight instantly heard rustling from within.

After a moment, a figure stirred from the deep darkness of the cavern. The thestral mare was old and moved with a sort of frailty, letting out a series of staccato chirrups, which Far Seas answered calmly. As she emerged, she did so with her eyes wide. They were without retinas, something that gave Twilight start for a moment, but it did not seem to impeded the old mare as she blindly made her way out of the cavern with her ears twitching the whole while.

“Ichtaga’itotia.” Far Seas introduced her in Equish, nodding at the old mare as she settled down, listening intently. “Eager Eyes Lit By Moonlight.”

“Hello. My name is Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said softly. “I’m… visiting. From Old Canterlot.”

Far Seas clicked a few times in Thestralian, but the older mare shook her head. Her voice was hardly gentle, and it came at a dramatically low register that Twilight had to trot a little closer to make out. “You are a unicorn. From the city.”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m a student of Luna’s, actually.”

Eager Eyes laughed. “Is that so? She is well, I hope?”

“I-I mean… she, ah… has been better?”

“You are a poor liar, unicorn.” Eager Eyes shook her head, meandering into the clearing around the caves and settling down on her rump after a few meters. “If you awake me, you must have reason. If not, I return to sleep.”

“R-right, sorry! I know you’re probably a… ah. Busy mare…” Twilight looked around helplessly at the lonely series of tiny caverns. “I came because a trusted source mentioned I could learn dreamwalking from the thestrals.”

“This is a secret of the thestrals,” Eager Eyes said, her ear tilted in Twilight’s direction.. “Unicorns from city don’t ask this often anymore.”

“I know. I know it’s a dead magic.”

Eager Eyes laughed again. “I am not yet, unicorn Twilight. And the Remembering Caves not. They can teach when I cannot.”

“Not if they’re destroyed.” Far Seas grumbled, earning a glance from Eager Eyes.

“This is why you protect, chicahua.” Eager Eyes shot back, earning a pouting expression from the young stallion.

“We could protect you better in the village.”

“And who, then, would protect the caves?” Eager Eyes shook her head, a smug smirk on the old mare’s face. “Twilight unicorn has trusted source? She is student of Luna? Luna is dead.”

“It’s… it’s a term that we use. Like, if you study nature, you’re a Student of Nature. That sorta thing. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“You believe Luna existed.”

Twilight nodded. Then, she realized what she was doing and said it aloud. “Yes. And I know the thestrals had a connection to her.”

“Have,” Eager Eyes corrected. “You wish to visit Remembering Caves? You are… student of dreams, as they say?”

“Yes. I know it’s probably sacred amongst your kind, but I just--”

Eager Eyes laughed, the sound rumbling out of the ancient mare like thunder. “Sacred yes. I cannot get the young farseekers to listen. Nopony wishes to dream their lives away with what happens outside the Hollow Shades.”

“B-but it’s sacred magic! Surely your tribe would want to protect it!”

“And try we do. The Remembering Caves do not tend to themselves. Twilight unicorn wishes to learn, and I wish to teach.”

“Ichtaga’itotia has visited this place since she was a filly. She says she found it running from a dragon, but we think she dreamed that.”

The old mare erupted in a series of sharp staccato cries in Far Seas’ direction, and the stallion returned with a tongue stuck-out in her direction. Eager Eyes was predictably oblivious to the response, and Far Seas turned to Twilight. “She visited so often eventually she started sleeping here. She… hasn’t exactly stopped.”

“You say you are a student of Luna.” Eager Eyes’ tone changed significantly when she next spoke Equish. The lighthearted, teasing tone was gone entirely from the mare’s voice, now a flat and authoritative drone. “You learn of her how?”

“From research of my own. I’m a student of magic, and I’m self-taught.”

“City ponies have jobs. Agendas. Yours are?” Eager Eyes tilted her head knowingly. “A study of dreams does not help one survive in the city.”

“I’m a journalist. I write about Equestria, and the Equestrian people.”

“A curious unicorn writer who studies the arcane. Who wishes to study Luna’s magics. You have my blessing, then. I shall show you the Remembering Caves, and teach you how to use Luna’s gift.”

The thestral mare stirred, slowly rising back to her hooves. Then, she began her way towards one of the caverns. Far Seas trotted over to help the old mare walk, but she chattered at him irritably in Thestralian, sending the young stallion trailing behind Twilight instead with an expression somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed.

As Eager Eyes led the way back to the caverns, Twilight instinctively brough magic to her horn, casting the dark maws in a modest purple glow. The cavern that they’d awakened Eager Eyes in was, true to Far Seas’s word, much more welcoming once it moved passed the abrupt bottleneck. The thestral had set up a living area, a cooking area, and the walls had even been painted a deep blue. It was no wonder the cavern had been impossible to see into--it was as though the thestral had specifically designed it in such a way that as little light as possible could penetrate.

It was no wonder, Twilight thought, that the old mare was blind.

She kept those thoughts to herself, though, and instead followed Eager Eyes into a cavern that the thestral seemingly led the way to at random. She chirruped a few more times, this time earning no answer from Far Seas, and it took Twilight a moment to realize they were echolocation chirrups, and not Thestralian at all.

“The inscriptions. Twilight Unicorn can see, yes?” Eager Eyes stopped at the entrance of the cavern, glancing back in Twilight’s direction. “Because Eager Eyes cannot. Eager Eyes remembers, but the Caves do, too.”

Twilight entered the cavern with a wary frown, but Eager Eyes’ cryptic explanation was instantly irrelevant as soon as her aura illuminated the cave. The walls were covered in burn marks of such excruciating precision that Twilight had no doubt a unicorn’s horn was the culprit.

Or an alicorn.

They depicted thestrals, all gathered together, before a smouldering fire. Simplistic and minimalistic, but with a certain particular artistic flare seemingly scattered across the depictions as if at random. As though the pony burning them into the cavern walls had been unsure if it had been an art project or a lecture.

In the depictions of the thestrals, they weren’t particularly enamoured by the fire itself. They certainly weren’t gathered around it for warmth, instead it looked like they were peacefully sleeping by it.

There were several of the same general picture. Different focus put on different things… sometimes the fire was present in the painting only as a torch held in a thestrals hoof. On one of them, it was the flaming tip of an arrow being shot over a canopy of trees. All drawn with differing styles and methods… sometimes burned into the rock, others were paints of different colours and varying states of decay… some done in old, long faded paints, and yet others no more than several years old.

The various scenes were organized at random as though the wall itself were some sort of scrapbook, but they were all anchored via the unicorn’s more precise burn-marks that made up the campfire and the thestrals slumbering by it. Usually this was done in creative, nearly seamless ways... the various scenes looked like branches, jutting from the same anchors that were the peaceful thestrals originally burned into the stone.

Twilight fiddled with her saddlebag, drawing out her instant camera and levitating a roll of film into it.

The opposite wall of the cavern was different.

It had the same general idea, of anchoring scenes to one source, but the source this time was a flower, from which various roots cross-faded into scenes of thestrals caring for them, growing them, using the leaves to prepare a steaming tea…

The flower itself was surrounded in a glowing aura that, even without colour beyond charred black, Twilight knew was supposed to represent a unicorn or alicorn’s magic.

“A magical flower. Or… or an enchanted one, anyways.” Twilight said it aloud, snapping another picture. She had read about them. There was poison joke, which had been largely eradicated from the Everfree in the first half of the decade, but plenty of documented and undocumented additional plants along its genus long sought after for their varying use. It had all seemed tinged in just enough pseudoscience for Twilight to have been skeptical of the claims, but she wasn’t exactly an expert in the flora of forests she’d never set her hooves in. And especially none of the magical properties of them that had more or less been labelled ‘pests’ and eradicated.

She exited back into the bright early-afternoon light. Some distance away, no longer blocked by the oppressive walls of the Remembering Cave, Twilight could hear Eager Eyes chastising Twilight’s young guide.

“...arrogant little seeker! Twilight unicorn requires a demonstration, yes? Not indigestion? Do they not teach what dreamroot looks like?”

“Looks the exact same to me.” Far Seas grumbled out, and instantly he instantly flushed red in embarrassment when Twilight herself came trotting towards them.

“I looked at the murals,” Twilight reported, and Eager Eyes twitched an ear.

“And?”

“And I heard you mention the flower by name. Did… did Luna create it? I know she liked the experiment with dark magic… I always figured she was…”

Twilight trailed off when Eager Eyes fixed her with a small smile. “These are things the Remembering Caves don’t tell us, yes? I may seem old to you, but I am still a filly compared to many of the inscriptions in there.”

“You just found them? Meaning… meaning it could’ve been lost forever?”

“As an infinite number of secrets are.” Eager Eyes gave a single nod. Then, her expression softened a little.“But just as infinite are eager young ponies willing to dig them back up again. So, you looked at the mural, yes?”

“Yeah. It… it grows here?”

“It is rare. But even magical flowers can be cared for with a careful hoof. I discovered these caves when I was younger than even this sharp-tongued farseeker. However long the secret had been slumbering hadn’t mattered, because it was woken again regardless. As Luna had clearly intended.”

“I think it was her, initially. The burn marks look like they came from a unicorn.”

“Do they?” Eager Eyes rose an eyebrow… it looked a little strange looking, with the thestrals empty black sclera betraying much of her expression. “And why not dragonfire?”

“Dragonfire would spread when it hit the stone. It’d be impossible to get it as detailed as that. It’d be hard even with a hot iron. But a powerful unicorn could do it as easily as writing their name.”

“Clever mare.” Eager Eyes smiled. “I worked to preserve the paint, when I still had my eyesight. Then, when I no longer did, I asked the village for help. Still, not many ponies have much use for dreamwalking. I believe it helps ease the woes of the world, but many believe all I do is distract.”

“No, I think it’s helpful. My… my… uh, partner. Has been having some nightmares that, uh. I think me being able to help soothe would help.”

“Mm. You believe it wouldn’t simply distract her from the things she worries about?”

“I… I don’t think she’s that sort of pony. She dreams that stuff because part of her thinks she deserves to. Like, it’s a penance to her.”

“Is it?”

“No, it’s not fair. It’s a kind mare being tormented by things she can’t change anymore.”

“And you believe you have the power to help her?”

“I believe I would be a terrible partner and friend to her if I didn’t try to.”

“You make a promising case for yourself, Twilight unicorn. You want a demonstration, yes? To see yourself?”

Twilight nodded eagerly. “If… if it’s not too much trouble. If you’re sure you can trust me.”

Eager Eyes laughed. “I do not have much youth in me not to trust the first mare to come asking about my magic in more than a decade. No, the only trouble I envision is if young Sees A Thousand Miles keeps assuming my blindness will save him from his sarcastic looks.”

For all her eagerness, it had taken Twilight nearly thirty minutes to gather the plant in question. It was in part Twilight’s own fault… she’d only briefly skimmed the Hollow Shades entry on the third chapter in the Equestrian Forest Friend’s Flora and Fauna Field Guide that she had taken with her on the train. Most of the information the textbook had offered was general, more focused on what plants to avoid than which to collect.

Eager Eyes had made it quite clear early on--after Twilight and Far Seas had returned with various offerings of what they’d assumed the blind old thestral was describing--but everytime she’d responded with some irate prediction of all the horrible things the plant could do to them.

It all seemed rather preposterous to Twilight, but she’d never encountered poison joke in her life. Clearly, Princess Luna had been more acquainted with the old forest’s innerworkings than Twilight had ever been. She was just happy for the chance to learn.

The whole time she was searching, Twilight idly wondered if Nightmare Moon would have known what the dreamroot had looked like. She felt the alicorn’s absence as they searched--as nasty and unpleasant as Nightmare Moon was, part of her would have liked her to have been around for this.

Eventually, Twilight’s luck caught up with her. The old thestral took Twilight’s most recent offering in her hooves, carrying the flower gently to her nostrils. “Ah! Here we are. Twilight unicorn gets it eventually.”

Twilight exhaled, forcing a smile. “That’s the dreamroot?”

Eager Eyes nodded. “And you have collected a good amount, too. Enough to prepare.”

“It’s, uh. Safe?” Twilight ventured cautiously. “It’s not, like. Poison joke, or something? It’s not gonna make me grow another nose or turn my horn into a pair of wings or something?”

Shaking her head, Eager Eyes chuckled and pointed an ear back towards the Remembering Caves. “I will prepare it as a tea. You drink it. The worse outcome is a rather frightening nightmare, but even nightmares end.”

Twilight gulped a little, but followed Eager Eyes as the old thestral hobbled back to the clearing. She was well aware of the reaction her brother would have given her upon learning she’d been drinking teas made from subspecies of poison joke with an old blind mare she’d met in a cave, but Nightmare Moon had seemed confident in the thestrals abilities.

...in the passing, off-hoof remark she’d offered by way of context.

In the clearing around the Remembering Caves, Eager Eyes dropped the dreamroot she’d been carrying in her maw gently on a flattened rock. She motioned for Twilight to sit, while she trotted into her cave.

There was a rustling of pots and pans and various affairs from inside, and a few minutes later Eager Eyes returned with a little clay tea-kettle held in her wing.

“Farseeker!” she barked, outstretching the wing to present the kettle, which the young thestral quickly scurried to grab. “Go fill at the stream. Unicorn knows fire magic, yes?”

Twilight nodded. “I can boil the water. I do it all the time with my coffee at home. Do you need my help preparing the dreamroot at all while he’s…”

She broke off as Eager Eyes shook her head. She settled down before the discarded dreamroot flowers, and her other wing unfurled. A few clay cups rolled out onto the grass, and with one of her wingjoints she was carrying a little clay rod. The thestrals seemed a bit more nimble with the more obviously protruding joints on their wings than Twilight had seen from pegasi, and in no time Eager Eyes had begun using the clay rod to gently grind the dreamroot leaves against the stone.

“Twilight unicorn will not be discouraged if she does not dream well, yes? It is a gift Luna has not been able to share with many.”

“It’s why I want to help bring it back,” Twilight said firmly. “If it doesn’t work the first time, I won’t give up.”

“You may take the dreamroot plant you found. I will help you de-root it. You promise to care for it in the city, yes?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“You have friends? Who know plants?”

Smiling, Twilight had a mental image of Fluttershy, spitefully proclaiming herself a dirt scientist as if it had been some useless condemnation. She couldn’t wait to show the pegasus how wrong she had been. “I do indeed. A pegasus pony.”

“Good,” Eager Eyes said. She turned her focus to the dreamroot leaves, bringing one hoof close to the mortar and pestle to make sure she wasn’t dropping any of the ground leaves off the flattened stone.

Far Seas returned shortly with the kettle filled with water from a nearby running stream. He presented it to Twilight, who took it in her magic with a smile and instantly began feeding heat magic gently onto the bottom of the clay kettle.

When the dreamroot tea had finally been brewed, it both smelt and tasted awful. Twilight had extended her tongue slowly into the clay cup and instantly pulled back. She’d never eaten dirt before, but she imagined if she would have the taste would have been comparable. Eager Eyes regarded her gentle-but-telling hacking cough with a little frown and ginger sip of her own tea.

“It is acquired taste,” she said, a little smirk forming. “Like tasting mud, yes?”

Twilight gave a little chuckle. “I was going to say it tasted ‘earthy’, which seems a little more polite.”

Eager Eyes laughed back. “Yes, well. City ponies can add sweets to the tea if they wish.”

Twilight grinned, but it was a little shaky as she sipped on the tea once again. The taste was, admittedly, not nearly as bad on the second try. She did her best to not drain it like it was a shot of vodka, and instead matched the gentle sipping of the older thestral before her.

“You will feel tired. This is normal.” Eager Eyes said, doing her best to say it softly despite her raspy voice. “Grass is nice for sleep. Farseeker and I will protect from animals, if you are frightened.”

Eager Eyes hadn’t been lying. Twilight had occasionally used the dreadful sleeping pills one could get over the counter in Old Canterlot while the drunken racket outside her library had been particularly unavoidable, and the effect of the dreamroot was rather comparable.

It, however, came upon Twilight far quicker than they did, and she indeed did find herself gently finding herself a comfortable position on the grass clearing.

Sleep was what she’d come here looking for, after all, and so she let it find her to the tune of gentle birdsong echoing around them.

iii

Celestia had been followed when she’d left the village in the Hollow Shades.

As they made their way back from where they had come, the younger thestrals followed from above, gliding from tree to tree. The forest was alight with their excited chattering. Some were young, as young as sixteen. Celestia couldn’t believe this was normal for them. They didn’t sound fearful, and Celestia could only hope that her promises to take the frontlines of the conflict had some influence.

Zecora and Her Mane Like Flowing Grass had followed Celestia on the forest-floor, and Zecora had used the time to continue strategizing with Celestia as they’d made their way to the harpoonbow devices that the little thestral scout had been describing.

“The machines travel quickly on treads,” Zecora had been explaining. “It is easy to find purchase where the land is dead.”

Celestia nodded. “The Brothers had been developing something similar to help Equestria during the Crystal War. More meant for travelling the snowy tundra back then, but the principle is the same, I suppose.”

“It is on days with rain that the machines strain.” Zecora pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The Everfree Forest was mostly grass. Then, it was an effect they could bypass.”

“But on dirt, it would be a different story,” Celestia caught Zecora’s hint with a growing sly smile. “Dirt after the rains turns to mud.”

“Mud gives the machines woe. They would likely move slow.” Zecora pointed a hoof up at the clouds peaking through the forest canopy as they walked. “Though to expect rain so quickly is to expect a lot. It would be a strategy better used with more forethought.”

“Something we do not have.” Celestia gave a grim nod. “I do believe I still recall some of my cloud-moulding lessons during my Cloudsdale visits. If the thestrals can bring me some clouds, I should be able to convert them into rainclouds we could use to create a perimeter.”

Zecora had been listening intently, her gaze ahead at the open sky now starting to expose itself from the thinning forest canopy on the edges of the Shades. “This would give us much? Or is there some sort of crutch?”

Flowing Frond, who’d been listening to the two talk in silence, piped up. “Thestrals are generally poorer cloud-wranglers. We used to get our rain from Cloudsdale until recently, so we haven’t had that much time to learn.”

Celestia gave a somber little nod. “It’s a talent sadly kept mostly within Cloudsdale itself.”

Zecora gave a little shrug. “Truthfully, this much I somewhat assumed. Still, I doubt their talent is completely doomed.”

Celestia nodded, and before she could say anything further, a young thestral farseeker gingerly set down before them, giving Flowing Frond and Zecora a nod and Celestia a more complete bow. “Sun Princess, we are at the harpoonbows.”

“Good. I would love to see how these fascinating devices operate.” Celestia followed the thestral as he led her to a large device that had been built next to a strong and old eucalyptus tree. There were several more at regular intervals all along the threshold where the forest ended.

It was about the size of a wagon or sleigh, and looked like a crossbow that had been built to an exaggerated height. It still looked small enough that it could have been moved and fired by a single pony, but they would most certainly have to stop and fire it from a stationary position if so. The harpoonbow was immense, heavy, and anchored to the tree with an intricately designed braid-rope of the same twine that had bounded the thestrals spears to their backs.

The same twine had also been fixed to several javelin-sized bolts tied around the tree and on the side of the harpoonbow. True to its name, it was a strange and creative device who’s necessity filled Celestia with a profound mixture of sorrow and pride in her ponies.

“I will help move several into the fields.” Celestia announced. “We will anchor them in the dirt to the best of our ability, but if they begin to slip, I will serve as an anchor for the harpoons myself.”

“The Sun Princess requires weather clouds!” Flowing Frond added, crying the sentence out in Equish and then chirruping it again in Thestralian. “Fly quickly, and Luna guide you all!”

It felt strange to smile before going to war, but Celestia couldn’t help but think Luna would have been proud to have seen how her own little ponies had grown up.

It felt strange to awake into a dream.

Her mind was already aflutter with her material concerns when the oddness of the universe struck her, Twilight stopping what she was doing at her writing desk and looking around at the hazy construct of her library’s study. She’d been in the middle of poring over the day’s newspaper and planning a measured response to its lies, but the idea instantly seemed ridiculous to her as the rest of her reality caught up.

What did it matter? Who would even care?

She wasn’t here. She was asleep on the grass in the Hollow Shades. It was a strange inverse to a rudely interrupted dream; the memory of her last waking moments still existed, but as an uncertain blur that seemed to be slipping away from her every second.

She began to walk outside. It was midnight--Twilight didn’t know how she’d decided, but she was certain that it was. The door to her study took her into a cold and sterile hallway, cool electric lights humming and flickering.

The hallway ended at a steel wall. A freight-elevator.

Twilight’s hooves clacked against the concrete floors, warily and nervously. Already, she’d forgotten how she’d gotten here. What did it matter? There were no other doors besides the study she’d come from, and there’d been nothing but old newspapers and furniture there.

She carried on towards the freight-elevator, instead. As she got closer, she knew it was descending long before the little bell on the top of the steel wall let out it’s telling chirp. It opened slowly, and Twilight’s horn lit instinctively, preparing herself for whatever was coming.

Nightmare Moon stepped out of the elevator, a calm smile on her face. “Easy, Sparkle. It’s me.”

Twilight’s magic vanished, and she let out a sigh of relief. “H-how did you…”

“You’re dreaming, Twilight Sparkle. We’re dreaming.” Nightmare Moon looked around their setting, a curious frown on her face. “Though I am quite curious how you know of this place.”

“W-w-what place? Where am I?!”

Nightmare Moon’s frown shifted to a little smile. “Just calm yourself, Sparkle. Lucid, conscious memory takes practice to retain in the dreamworld.”

Nightmare Moon outstretched one wing and used it to shove Twilight forwards by her flank. Twilight was pushed unceremoniously through the still-open doors of the freight-elevator, and Nightmare Moon followed her in with her horn lit.

“Contemporary.” Nightmare Moon mused, looking around the elevator as she entered. “Luna used doors for hers. A bit on the nose, but it did the job.”

“Doors for her what? What are you talking about?”

Nightmare Moon let out a long groan. “Her dreamworld, you twit. Have you seriously not caught onto that by now? If it weren’t sunny out in the waking world, I’d offer a backhoof to the forehead to help jog your memory.”

Twilight blinked. “O-oh. Wait, hold on. The thestrals…” she exhaled, facehoofing and nodding her head. “Alright, it’s coming back to me. Though I wasn’t expecting it to be like this...”

“And I must say…” Nightmare Moon mused thoughtfully. “You worked quickly getting here. As for ‘like this’... well, what were you expecting?”

“I… I dunno. I guess I expected to just kinda be flung into a nightmare or something. This all seems kinda, uh….” Twilight motioned at the elevator. “Mundane.”

“Yes, well. That is to some extent an expression of the dreamer themselves. Creatures who keep their thoughts and worries orderly and mundane will have dreamscapes that reflect this. Ponies less stable in their subconscious worries would have dreamscapes that shift and alter abruptly, and are significantly less simple to navigate. I would imagine the amount of monsters and genuine unsettlement to be more common in either children, or individuals suffering from trauma.”

“So, it wouldn’t always look like this for me?”

“No. Physical or emotional distress would change the appearance of your dreamscape. Perhaps it will feel rotted, or overgrown. Perhaps it will be dark, and difficult to navigate. Do keep in mind, normally this stage of a dream is skipped over. You don’t have control over what dream you’re flung into, and you instead wake up in the midst of it. Luna’s little magical botany experiment carries the purpose of tapping into that preliminary period where your mind has not decided where it would like to send you yet.”

“That’s… really interesting, actually. And… botany experiments?” Twilight tilted her head. “Can… can I ask what she was like?”

Nightmare Moon chuckled. “Hit a button on the elevator, first. We’ll discuss while I explore your subconscious mind and offer helpful critiques of your taciturn innermost desires.”

“Right, right,” Twilight said, nodding and turning back to the array of buttons. There was about a dozen of them, and the illuminated floor told her she was only about halfway up whatever abstract ‘building’ her dreaming mind had built. “Uh… which one do I press?”

“I do not know. I have never seen a dreamscape visualized in such a way. Luna used the appearance and decor of various doors along a stationary hallway in order to predict what they contained.”

Twilight shrugged, and hit a button at random. Beside her, Nightmare Moon’s horn lit, and the alicorn slammed the guard-rail of the freight-elevator shut. A heavy rattling flooded the freight-elevator as it was drawn upwards.

“That hallway was one of the hallways of the facility that had imprisoned your white dove mentor, by the way.” Nightmare Moon reported. “The locations of your dreamscape will largely be based upon places you recently recall visiting. I am curious how you know its appearance enough to recall with accuracy.”

Twilight shook her head. She couldn’t recall… she was sure there was some logical reason, but whatever she’d been doing in the waking world for the past few days still felt like it was something she’d done in a trance. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you.”

“No matter.” Nightmare Moon shrugged. The elevator dinged again, and the steel-wall opened to the solarium of Princess Celestia’s remote beach house. The one they’d visited after the disastrous hearing with Florina Harshwhinny.

Nightmare Moon scowled at the sight. “Really? Here, Sparkle? We’re discussing Luna’s past here?”

“I’m, uh. Not in control of any of this.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Just along for the ride.”

Chuckling, Nightmare Moon shook her head and once again parted the guardrail, leading the way onto the solarium. “It seems your subconscious mind wishes to take a vacation, too. Perhaps it can waste away in the sunlight with your common sense and your dietary restraint.”

“Very funny,” Twilight grumbled, following Nightmare Moon.

Outside of the solarium, it was night. Dull, unfocused, and starless. The world outside the beach house looked like an abstract impressionist painting; just enough for the general time of day and surroundings to be visible, but without any degree of precision. The solarium however, was impeccably detailed. Every board and crack on the wall was unique and believable. Twilight doubted they matched the real thing, but it was more than enough to fool her subconscious mind.

The black alicorn looked thoughtfully at the blurred landscape. “You are a pony of details, Twilight Sparkle. Very much isolated in your focus.” She pointed a hoof at the bay and the waves of the ocean ahead. “It is subtle, but you will learn much from somepony by how their mind builds in dreams.”

“Nightmare Moon, why are you teaching me all of this?” Twilight frowned, settling down on the solarium floor. The last time they’d been here together in the waking world, Nightmare Moon had been full of derision and snark and plenty of threats against Twilight’s wellbeing.

“Because I was created to serve Princess Luna,” Nightmare Moon returned, waving a hoof. “She is now deceased, and her influence on me is gone. I believe the magic she tried to purge from the world should not die with her, and I believe she would have trusted you with it. Any other silly questions?”

Twilight blushed. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Nightmare Moon glared. “I may rescind my offers at any time, you know. They are easily transferable to other clueless pudgy unicorns who know how to follow basic instruction.”

Twilight snickered. “Fine, fine. Another silly question, then?”

“I am quite used to answering them by now.”

“The dreamroot. It’s… magical in nature, right?”

Nightmare Moon nodded. “Obviously, yes.”

“You said Princess Luna… cultivated it? Like, intentionally?”

“Yes. To provide some context, Luna was a sorcerer unlike her sister, and unlike you.” Nightmare Moon gave a little shrug. “Where Celestia and you see magic for it’s practical usages, Luna saw experimental usages. She saw an untapped well of unlimited potential. She delved into darker magics, she worked diligently to combine different schools of magics, and over centuries she built an approach to magic that was distinct and personal. An experimenter and an innovator, Luna was. You likely saw some of that when you recovered the Starstone.”

“I did, yeah.” Twilight exhaled. “She sounded like an interesting mare.”

“Yes, and a dangerous one, too. Because innovation cannot happen under the constraints of safety.” Nightmare Moon’s horn lit as she spoke, and gradually, the unfocused night sky began to glow with soft, intricately woven starlight. “I am… perhaps the best example of this.”

Twilight wasn’t sure how exactly to answer that, and so she didn’t. Watching Nightmare Moon wordlessly weave a tapestry of stars above waves gradually coming into focus was more entertaining than any conversation, regardless, and she watched the show with a small smile.

“Truthfully, I know little of Luna’s relationship with the thestrals, and her development of the dreamroot. She… blocked me out of it when she could. I do not know if it would provide aid with dreamwalking, but it seems to have induced a dramatically lucid dreamstate for you, so it is at least a start in the direction.”

“Maybe we can experiment with the magic, like Luna did.” Twilight glanced over at Nightmare Moon hopefully. “If… if you’d like. If you think that would be… respectful.”

“Sparkle…” Nightmare Moon met her look, and Twilight was amazed to see a small smile form on the somber alicorn’s face. “I would like that a lot.”

Beyond the deck of the beach house, the carefully created landscape ahead had once again started to blur. This time, it was followed by a gradually growing haze, as if a fog had rolled in across the bay. Nightmare Moon frowned thoughtfully at the sight.

“It seems you are waking, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, pointing a hoof at the growing clouds. “I hope to see you in the dreamscape again soon. I feel… freer here than I am in Equestria. More… present.”

Twilight nodded. “You haven’t really been around much, lately.”

“I haven’t felt the same motivation to cause Celestia physical distress, lately.” Nightmare Moon returned shortly, raising her snout smugly. “If that is a crime, I will not apologize for it.”

Twilight could have hugged Nightmare Moon in that moment, but she knew where to pick her battles.

She let the waking world take her into its hooves, instead.

It wasn’t until noon when Dusk Ruby returned to her perch above the Hollow Shades.

The Sun Princess was below them, having elected to stay closer to the ground during the battle. It had seemed a wise decision to Ruby… the alicorn may have had a proud stature on her hooves, but she was clearly built more for standing than flying. Her wings tripled the wingspan of even most pegasus fliers, and Ruby couldn’t imagine how much energy it must take the old mare to lift herself off the ground at all.

It was thrilling, watching the Sun Princess work. When news spread through the village and away from it, the number of wings through the trees had increased dramatically. The twine rigging that had fixed their harpoon-crossbow hybrids to the trees had been dismantled, and dragged into the deadlands outside of the Shades. The Sun Princess had stood close to them, helping move them in her magic--though it seemed to Dusk Ruby like she’d been just as much using the offer to help as a warm-up for her telekinetic prowess.

By-time they had dismantled the equipment and dragged it out onto the fields, the sun had completed its uneasy rise--always poking out from beyond someplace in the blurred sludge that was the late-morning sky.

The machines had departed from Hayseed since then. They could all hear their drone the moment they’d set out, the sound coating the gathered thestrals in the same tense anticipation that the piercing machine’s cries always did. They were travelling faster than ordinary, and Dusk Ruby doubted the Sun Princess's presence was a coincidence

The Sun Princess also seemed to hear it early, though. She wordlessly rose, trotting forwards several paces and kicking into the air. Her wings beat twice, and she was airborne. Dusk Ruby, and a half-dozen other farseekers from the nearby trees, kicked off their perches along the Cypresses, too, and their wingbeats were silenced against the shrieking engines ahead.

They’d sent a dozen of the Tree Eaters, grinding the deadlands beneath their thunderous treads. And yet, for all their rumbling ferocity, they slowed to a halt when they saw the Sun Princess approaching.

Celestia set down some forty meters before them, rustling her wings a little and starting towards the slowing machines with an angry frown. The following thestrals set down before her, but she’d commanded them earlier to stay back several meters while she initially engaged them.

Dusk Ruby was morbidly curious, as she walked slowly to the leading Tree Eater, if the Princess’s affinity for fire magic had been the reason for the arbitrary distance she’d asked the farseekers to stay back.

“This ends today,” Celestia said. Without magic flared, but her voice seemed booming. “You will turn, and go back to the city that sent you, and that will be it. This land is protected.”

Her words carried over the machine’s still idling engine, but only barely. Ruby and a few of the thestrals trotted a little closer, as a yellow helmeted figure emerged from the leading Tree Eater. The machine he had been piloted rumbled to silence, and the rest of the machines quickly followed suit as their foreman’s hooves hit dirt and began trodding closer to the standing Princess.

He was an earth pony… young, tall and well-built, though still a head shorter than the Sun Princess herself. His expression was surprisingly unfazed. “Ma’am, you’re trespassing. You lot all are.”

“Did you not hear me?” Celestia dug a hoof into the dirt. “I said turn back. Whatever grounds you think you have to do this are irrelevant. These ponies live here. There are children in their villages. You are endangering their survival with your greed, and it has to stop now.”

“Ma’am…” The foreman began, and exhaled deeply. “Look, we don’t have to do this whole Appaloosa Standoff routine. We have permission to be doin’ what we’re doin’, so if you have a complaint with that, it’s really not somethin’ I can help you with.” He extended a hoof. “Full Steam, ma’am. If you want, we can cover what grounds we’re here to cut, and you can make sure there are no thestrals living there before we do. Then we’ll do our business and be off.”

“You really have no idea what you’re talking about.” Celestia glared. “Why would you?”

“Ma’am…” the Foreman gave a glance back at the waiting Tree Eaters behind him. “You are interrupting a licensed demolition project. These ponies have been destroying government property for years, while living illegally on land that is not their own anymore.”

Celestia glared. “Then go ahead. Try your former Princess’s anger. I might not be your ruler anymore, but my promises to this nation’s safety haven’t changed.”

“Then perhaps you would do well to avoid interfering with its affairs.” Full Steam shook his head, and to Dusk Ruby’s awe, the stallion turned from the Sun Princess herself and started back towards his machine.

The others behind him growled back to life, and the one before Princess Celestia began advancing towards the mare a few feet and stopping. She remained unflinching, but the other Tree Eaters around the other thestrals began crawling towards a rapid streak in the direction of the Hollow Shades.

The Sun Princess kicked off the ground again, swirling above the machines and motioning for the thestrals to follow.

Dusk Ruby felt adrenaline course into her veins as soon as she was airborne again.

Below them, the machines crossed over the threshold where the rain clouds had been. The effect was instantaneous, a tidal wave of wet mud shooting from the deadlands and into the air already rich with petroleum fumes. The treads of the Tree Eaters slowed in the mud, but not by a lot.

It was time for the next part of their plan. The Sun Princess touched down by the first anchor for the harpoonbows with her horn already lit. The Tree Eater thundered past the anchor stand, and the thestral that had been operating let a harpoon fly. She landed a shot directly into the treads of the Tree Eater as it rolled past, the harpoon letting out a dull ‘thunk!’ as it drove into the treads. Beside her, the Sun Princess’s horn lit instantly.

The twine glowed orange as it was held in the Sun Princess’s grasp, as the alicorn stood her ground with her horn lit. The ground she had been standing on, once muddy puddles, began to sizzle and crackle as her horn glowed. Steamy vapours rising all around her, turning the once unstable ground to clay. Her hooves dug into the newly found surface, and then there was an earshaking thud as the twine grew taught and the Tree Eater ground to a halt almost instantly, the arm on the top cracking from the pressure and thudding down onto the deadlands.

There was no time to stop and cheer, and it seemed the Sun Princess was well aware. She lifted off again, making her way towards the next harpoonbow some hundred meters closer to the Shades. This time, the thestral shot it before Celestia had arrived. The Sun Princess had grabbed the twine in her magic before she’d even set down. The harpoon had wedged itself into the plating between the spinning wheels of the tracks, and instead of stopping instantly, it lurched on for some dozen more meters ahead before coming to a stop with steady black smoke starting to lurch from the spent tracks.

Looking around, Ruby could see that a few of the thestrals had managed to slow the machines with their own harpoonbow stations that the Princess had helped rig. Still, at least half-a-dozen more Tree Eaters were bounding towards the Shades at their horrifying speed. The distance between them was closing every moment, and soon they’d crossed back onto the deadlands they hadn’t enough stormclouds to turn to mud. There was only one more harpoonbow station before the ones rigged to the Great Cypress, and Celestia made her way to it via a few heavy beats of her wings.

The harpoon went astray, whizzing through the air and sticking harmlessly into the deadlands ahead of the Tree Eater. It ground over the harpoon with ease, and then Dusk Ruby heard something she’d never thought she would have heard in her life.

The Sun Princess snarled. It was like a war cry, one cried out in tune with her glowing horn. The entire Tree Eater glowed in her orange magic, and Dusk Ruby felt her ears pop as the Sun Princess began to cast. It felt as though all the pressure in the field was slowly being sucked towards the slowing Tree Eater. She winced, and as she flew over the Tree Eater she glanced down at the Sun Princess’s expression--grim, and full of fiery determination. The regal, soft-spoken mare who had helped them strategize was gone. Somepony else was standing in her regalia now.

One of the treads of the Tree Eater crumbled, and snapped. The ground spat out heavy chunks of dirt and rocks and old deadwood, and the mighty machine lurched to a pathetic stop with one side leaning closer to the deadlands.

The Sun Princess exhaled. Dusk Ruby could see it as she lifted off and began to fly again--whatever she had just done, it had been tiring to her. She wasn’t slowing, but she wasn’t flying with the same exhilarating speed she’d been at the beginning of the battle.

Or perhaps, Ruby reasoned… she was simply saving her strength.

There were five more Tree Eaters, and less than a hundred meters between them and the Shades. Ruby knew there were only three or four harpoonbows there--they’d hauled nearly all of them out onto the deadlands already, and the Shades themselves were largely defenseless now that their front-line had been broken. The machines were filthy and the earsplitting wailing of their engines had turned her hearing to little else but a steady, static sine tone Dusk Ruby prayed to Luna was temporary.

Celestia landed once more in front of the approaching Tree Eaters. Her stance was the same it had been when she’d first confronted them. Her horn was lit, and then the entire deadlands once again felt as though they were collapsing towards the Sun Princess, like an asteroid caught in a mighty gravity well.

The Sun Princess closed her eyes as she focused. The machines… all five of them, at the same time, began to glow orange as the first had.

The feeling of unnatural gravity shifted. Now, it seemed as though it were not drawing towards the Princess, but away from her. Away from the Shades entirely, and back towards Hayseed.

Dusk Ruby, and most of the other thestrals, were forced to land, and dig their hooves into the dirt as the Sun Princess had done. Her magic was simply too much… it felt like Ruby was trying to fly through turbulence.

The machines continued to advance even when captured in Celestia’s glowing aura. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She was panting, her eyes watering and her legs quivering. Slowly, a dawning feeling of horror crept over Dusk Ruby as she watched, helpless, as the Sun Princess struggled. Her mind was already projecting the scene for her--the proud alicorn crumbling. Luna’s gentle hoof hastily grasping her and pulling her into the dreaming world, so she might recover. The machines, continuing unimpeded now, and laying waste to the Shades ahead.

The grim vision didn’t come to pass, though. Celestia exhaled once, twice. Her eyes opened, and the machines slowed against the tidal wave of gravity the Princess seemed to be flinging at them.

They stopped, each in slightly different ways. Some closer to the Shades than others, but none made it past the Sun Princess. One of them caught fire, while another was content simply coming to rest in the same position it had been when it had started up again.

It wasn’t until after the machines had come to a halt that Princess Celestia crumbled, too. The magic she’d been casting vanished in an instant, and a dozen thestrals lifted off at the same time in her direction.

Dusk Ruby hadn’t made it on time, but she’d had a clear enough view to see that not a single one had let the Princess fall to the dirt on her own. Instead, they let her lay gently, her sides heaving as she breathed, but slowly working their way into a more gradual rhythm.

A resting goddess, Ruby thought. Not a defeated one. Even the Sun and Moon deserved to rest after their successes, after all. A few of the thestrals bowed to her even without her conscious mind present to appreciate the gesture, and Ruby was one of them.

She hadn’t been thinking at the time how far the reverberations from that day’s Tree Eater attack would echo through Equestria. It hadn’t been a priority in her mind too busy with elation at their success.

The unicorn that had accompanied Celestia would surely be back soon. With more of her questions, and more of the bright flares of light that she summoned with the devices she brought from the city. Dusk Ruby was content leaving those worries to the unicorn.

She wasn’t oblivious to the changes it seemed Equestria was being pushed through, of course. More, now, when the Equestrians learned of the Sun Princess’s physical stand in their favour. But Dusk Ruby had her own worries. The only thing she could do to help a goddess was pray that Luna gave her warm, comforting dreams, after all. And she whispered them softly to the slumbering princess, before spreading her wings and making her way back to her Cypress.

Author's Note

I'd like to thank my good friend Knight of Cerebus for providing me with ample inspiration to write batponies in a different direction from just 'haha mangoes amirite'.

As always, thank you kindly for reading.

A Broken Dagger (XIX)

Shining Armor wasn’t frightened by many things, anymore.

He’d been through enough genuine horrors in his life--seen enough violence and hatred and inequinity in his line of work. He’d figured himself somewhat desensitized to the grounding sensation of terror that rooted itself in one’s soul when confronted with a situation beyond their complete understanding.

Seeing the sleek, black and blue form of a New Canterlot Police Department airship hovering over his home on the way back from Aura Gleam’s, however, had the same effect he’d thought he’d left behind in his rookie days in the guard.

There were two cops waiting outside his apartment building. They were both unicorns, each with shotguns levitating in their telekinesis.

“Good afternoon, Captain Shining Armor.”

Shining Armor gave them a single nod--cool and collected, though his heart was racing. “Howdy. Help you boys?”

“I certainly hope so. Why don’t you come inside?”

“Gotta say, I don’t like the way you two are lookin’ at me.” Shining rose an eyebrow, pointing a hoof at the firearms in their magic. “Expectin’ somepony dangerous?”

The more vocal of the two offered another question in place of a response. “Where are you coming from, Captain Armor?”

“Don’t believe that’s any of your concern, son. Now, I think you oughta tell me what this is about, before I go getting ideas. Stallion gets a little spooked when he’s got two fellas pointin’ shotguns at his snout.”

The officer instead jerked his head up towards the airship looming above them, anchored to the roof of the apartment complex. “Need you for a job. Not at liberty to tell you anything more than that.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not interested in doing commissions for the Industry anymore,” Shining said, raising an eyebrow. “Though I doubt that answer’s gonna suffice for you. Why else would you need the guns, eh?”

“Captain Armor, we can either do this the--”

“Easy way or the hard way, I know.” Shining exhaled, letting out a strained chuckle. Two targets--he could grab them easily in his telekinesis, snap the firing pins of their rifles. Or teleport away, back to Aura Gleam perhaps…

...and then any suspicion they might have about him and his ponies would resolve into fully blown arrest orders. Just as likely, he was the only one in the Industry’s crosshairs right now, and perhaps he could keep it that way with a bit of slight of tongue.

“Alright.” Shining sighed again, trotting forwards into the complex. “Where we going? My place? Or that little flyin’ fortress you parked above.”

“The airship.” One of the officers stepped forward as soon as they were in the lobby of the apartment building, a metal band levitating out of a pouch in his jacket. “Stay still, Captain. This is just a precautionary measure.”

“A horn inhibitor. Bit more than a precautionary measure,” Shining replied shortly. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re arresting me over?”

“You’re not under arrest.”

“Then I’m not putting on the inhibitor. Be straight with me, son, because after my week, dishonesty is the one thing I’m not in the mood to abide by.”

“You’re being taken into police custody because your recent activities have cast suspicion of acts of high treason performed against the State of Equestria, in accordance with Code 194 of the Royal Guard Code of Conduct and Section 97 Subsection 13 of the Revised Charter of Equestrian Rights and Freedoms.” The second guard finally piped up, her voice low and professional. “While you aren’t under explicit arrest yet, your refusal to comply with our orders will be taken into serious consideration with how we proceed with your case, so do keep that in mind before you refuse to put on the inhibitor.”

Shining grit his teeth, but he gave a small nod of his head before angling it downwards for the officer. “Fine.”

Having his magic taken was like having one of his limbs unceremoniously severed from his body. Even if he hadn’t been using it for anything, the sudden knowledge that it was a stolen ability sent a new wave of dread through him as he followed the guards up the steps towards the roof of the complex. Neither of the guards said anything to Shining on the way up, the silence far worse than anything they’d confronted him with thus far.

When Shining broke it to ask if he could call his sister to let her know where he would be, he received no response. Apparently not, he thought bitterly.

The airship was idling on the roof when they exited back into rainy and windy open air. Two more police officers, armed with little else but steely glares, stood on either side of a stallion Shining recognized immediately.

Commissioner Thundercloud. He’d overseen his sister’s arrest a week ago, and Shining hadn’t particularly enjoyed his chats with the stallion. He’d somehow managed to twist his youthful dislike of Celestia into a motivated hatred, and while Shining was apathetic towards such, involving his sister in that goal crossed far too many lines for Shining to overlook.

A hot-headed, far-too-often disciplined recruit during Shining’s time as Captain of the Royal Guard was now a high-ranking officer of Equestria’s newest corporate funded police force. Shining would have to thank Mother Epona for the humbling lesson in karmic justice, sometime.

The guards on both sides of Thundercloud refused to meet Shining in the eyes as he trotted towards the airship, though Thundercloud himself fixed Shining with a single nod. The guards followed him inside, and the idling airship had already begun to prepare for takeoff before the gangplank had even finished shutting behind them. It was a fancily furnished, private affair--for transporting passengers, no prisoners, no doubt--and Shining made his way to a plush sofa and sat down, crossing his forehooves and fixing his police accompaniment with a smug look.

“Well? To what do I owe the pleasure of being abducted from my apartment in broad daylight by corrupt Industry goons?”

“It seems you have been quite busy, Captain Shining Armor. I bet you thought we wouldn’t notice.” Thundercloud sat directly across from Shining, speaking in a comically overzealous manner, as though he’d learned his conduct exclusively from pulp fiction cop novels.

“Gonna have to be more specific with me, son. I’ve been busy with a lot of things since you tried to arrest my sister for expressing her freedom of speech.”

“That little anarchist weasel?” he laughed. “I suppose she has them now, doesn’t she?”

“Quite fond of speaking in ambiguous cliche, Commissioner. I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You were hired by the Industry to help clean up the facility that imprisoned Miss Celestia, correct?”

“If by ‘clean up’ you mean ‘conceal the truth from Equestria’, then yes, I suppose I was hired to do that. Why? Was there something about how I handled the situation that proved unsatisfactory?”

Thundercloud laughed again. “Quite the sharp wit, Captain Armor. You really don’t have any idea how much hot water you’re standing in, do you?”

“I think I’ve got a rather good idea.” Shining leaned back in his chair. He yawned--not because he was tired, but because the rising altitude of the airship demanded he equalize the pressure. “Taped phone lines, eh? And here I thought I was careful.”

“Let’s just say even Celestia’s royal guard aren’t immune to bribery and leave it to that.”

Shining glared. “And here I thought extortion was more your speed, given how you handled my sister’s case. You’re going to need a scapegoat for whatever sunblasted chaos is going to come your way in the immediate future, and that’s the ‘job’ you want from me. That about right? Want me to say I had a hoof in orchestrating this whole thing? I’d bet it’d look nice coming from an ex-servant of the Princess, exposing how little loyalty her own guards have for her.”

“While that’s a colourful idea, no, that’s not what we need you for. We’re only here to escort you out of the city to a drop-off location north of Canterlot Mountain.”

“And then what?”

“Out of my hooves.”

Thundercloud fell silent after that, and Shining quickly realized he’d nothing else to ask the stallion himself.

They passed over the palace--forlorn and quiet, and then out into open clouds above the Plains of Shattered Shields to the immediate north of Old Canterlot and the monolithic mountain it’d been perched on. They were plains that Shining had stood on a dozen years ago when Sombra’s last ditch efforts to take the Capital had culminated into a bloody, ferocious battle for the world’s future. A tiny, desperate army of Crystal Pony slaves, sent to die on the orders of a mad king. A king who knew his defeat was inevitable, and would rather die on the battlefield outside of Canterlot than surrender.

He still visited the monuments sometimes--the one erected in the Plains themselves, for the Equestrian Army’s survivors. A mighty statue of a generic royal guard, lance pointed forward to confront the memories of an opposing army to the north.

The monument for the Crystal Ponies was humbler, and much further north. A little cairn of rock and wood, built against the eternal fury of the blizzards where natural life couldn’t survive. Shining had paid his respects to that one, too, and helped dig out the copper plaque from it’s tomb of snow.

The airship continued on over the plains, apathetic to their historical significance. Shining watched them poke out from between the clouds, his gaze unbroken even when the first traces of arctic air revealed themselves in a wavering whine in the airship’s rotors.

Fine Line was starting to detest going into work.

The environment had shifted dramatically in a short span of time. That much wasn’t too much of a bother to her--she had been expecting it to since the moment Princess Celestia had announced her return. She might have seemed a passive and quiet mare to most, but she’d earned her authority and most of the ponies in the office were at least to some extent aware of it. She wasn’t afraid of confrontations and certainly not of a challenge, and when Princess Celestia had announced her return and her intentions of challenging the Industry publicly, she’d been ready.

Below her, the plaza before the New Canterlot Corporate Branch was the same bustling nightmare it’d been since the month had entered its second week. Ponies had congregated in the same terrifying masses demanding answers, though fortunately, they hadn’t penetrated past the tall fence and security outpost separating the tall government building from the street. The Air Taxi sounded out its cheerful chirruping warning as it began to descend towards the landing pad on the roof of the building, and Fine Line gripped her briefcase in both hooves as it began to corkscrew down.

The New Canterlot Corporate Branch where Fine worked was one of the largest buildings in New Canterlot. It stood in the middle of a pleasant, wooded plaza, its many windows catching the early morning sun.

“Alright folks. Beginning our descent now.” The Air Taxi’s pilot came over the PA after another shorter chirp, interrupting the easy listening muzak that had been drizzling from the airship’s speakers. “Time’s eight-twenty five. Please wait for the rotors to come to a complete stop ‘fore exiting and have a nice day.”

Fine Line grabbed her briefcase and rose to her hooves, and the second the gangplank of the airship lowered she made her way onto the landing platform with the half-a-dozen other ponies as late to the office as she was.

She had to force a smile as she looked up to see Spoiled Rich waiting for her by the rooftops sitting area. She exhaled a draw of scented cigarette smoke through her nostrils, giving Fine a curt nod as she got closer.

“Mornin’, Miss Rich.” Fine Line nodded back. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Thirty five minutes, Fine. Thirty five.”

“Twenty,” Fine replied, attempting a smile to try and lighten the mood.

“Thirty.” Spoiled narrowed her eyes. “Third time this week. Couldn’t pick a worse time to start shirking your attendance. We need you in the office more than sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, Spoiled. Transit terminal was busy as Tartarus this morning."

“Mmhm.” It sounded as unconvinced as Spoiled could possibly have said it. “We need to talk, Fine Line. Come along.”

Fine did her best to keep the forced smile on her face, even as Spoiled clicked her tongue for her to follow as though she were calling a dog. “Of course.”

“As you likely know, we’ve got a crisis down on the industrial level. I don’t know how you allowed this dumpster fire to get this bad, Fine, but if you don’t have it under some semblance of control by the end of the week we’re going to be having a very different conversation.”

Spoiled was speaking in the loud, passive-aggressive tone she seemed to reserve for Fine and the other members of the Industry’s uppermost management… a sort of muted annoyance that expressed her general sentiments about her peers' intelligences without much ambiguity. The other ponies milling about on the roof glanced over at the two mares, and Fine Line made sure to keep her gaze directly at Spoiled instead of letting them see the wavering smile clinging for life on her maw.

This was hardly new for Spoiled. She’d made a point many times before of publicly berating Fine, knowing full well that exposing any imperfections or mistakes in her behaviour for the masses to see would work corrective wonders in ensuring her behaviour tightened up in the future.

“I didn’t let it get this bad, Miss Rich, this is just the first large-scale worker strike we’ve had to deal with.”

“And the fact that it’s happening in the first place is enough of a problem.” Spoiled mashed the button for the elevator with a roll of her eyes.

“Can we perhaps wait to discuss this in my office?”

“Absolutely not. You’ve already lost us thirty minutes of company time. If you’re embarrassed, it’s your own fault.”

Mercifully, the elevator opened at that, a few tired-looking ponies from the night shift quickly scurrying out and towards the waiting Air Taxi on the other side of the roof. Spoiled made her way into the elevator first, her tail swishing from side to side as she did. Fine fell into line behind her.

Mercifully, nopony else joined them in the elevator--the Air Taxi had been relatively deserted, with most of the staff far more concerned about their punctuality than Fine Line.

They had their jobs to worry about, after all. Fine Line simply had an irritating faux-superior.

Spoiled hit the button for the topmost floor of the office and then turned her attention back to Fine.

“You’re up to date with how much our stock has gone down since the past month, yes?”

“Yes, I am. It’s my job, after all.”

Spoiled scoffed. “So you claim. Looking forward to how you’re going to justify this, then, because we’re scheduled for another public service announcement later this week. If you embarrass us in front of Miss Celestia like you did last time, I’ll be exceedingly disappointed.”

“I hardly think our performance then was an embarrassment.” Fine Line returned. “Nor do I feel comfortable accepting full responsibility for it even if it was.”

Internally, she chided herself for even trying. It was another classic and patented Spoiled Rich strategy, after all. The mare had always found it simpler to devalue the performances of others than elevate them.

From any other mare, it would have been an annoyance. Spoiled Rich didn’t exactly outrank Fine, after all--the Industry’s Board of Directors was just that, a board, and Spoiled was hardly the only member. But she was certainly the only member who’d put a conscientious effort into making sure her peers stayed in line. Conjecture, of course, as any one of the State’s judges would have claimed. It was both amazing and terrifying the strings Spoiled Rich’s fortune had afforded her free range to pull.

It was, in many ways, a strange sort of karmic justice to Fine Line. She hadn’t known what her company had been doing to her former Princess until recently--she’d always bought into the whole Suntrotter narrative herself--but learning of Celestia’s terrifying imprisonment had put her own personal position into a sort of poetic equivalency.

“Really? Because I remember you passively giving in to every one of that old mare’s taunts and remarks. I remember you admitting to Ungulate Rights Violations on behalf of the entire Industry.”

“We were speaking collectively as a group. I sure as Tartarus didn’t hear you or that mayor sloth chiming in when it mattered most.” Fine Line glared over, fanning a hoof. “Also, put that out in the godsdamned elevator, Spoiled.”

“Truly, a mistake on my part to allow you the luxury.” Spoiled rolled her eyes again. “I should hope you will instead remain silent until questioned for our next appearance.”

“I apologize if you disagree with how I chose to handle myself publicly.” Fine glanced around the elevator, hoping the other ponies were too lost in their own worries to pay attention to her own. “What would you have said in my stead, then?”

“I wouldn’t have said anything, you twit.” Spoiled scoffed. “Nor did I have any intentions to.”

“We privately stated to her that we would be willing to. Your intern did so on your orders. You sent poor Silver Spoon to deal with the bloody Princess without so much as a 'good luck'. So don’t pull that ‘no comment’ crap with me!” Fine Line shot back. “You act like the poor mare doesn’t deserve some godsdamned compensation.”

Beside her, Spoiled Rich’s snout quivered a little.

Fine Line internally cheered, though she settled for a passive smile. “My point is, back off. I’m not sitting by and taking the fall for you.”

“Quite.” Spoiled growled out. “Though, your efforts to placate her thus far have failed.”

“Because she’s not taking a bribe. This is about the power to her. She wants the nice desk. I worked with her, I know. It’s the damned thing that Sprinkle mare keeps ranting about on the front page of the New Canterlot Herald.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the simple fact that solving this problem was your responsibility. You’ll take whatever fall you deserve for failing to do so this far, Fine Line.”

If she had more to say, the elevator interrupted her. The doors opened to offer a fleeting glimpse of the city zoning department before a mare and stallion poured into the elevator with Spoiled and Fine. The doors closed again, and the rest of the elevator ride upwards passed in much appreciated silence, the elevator carrying them all the way up to the twenty-seventh floor.

The two other ponies scurried out first, evidently wanting to put as much distance between the passively feuding mares as possible. Fine aimed to thank them later.

“Come along, Fine Line,” Spoiled commanded, an irritatingly chipper trill. The two mares flashed their badges to the security guard at the front office, Spoiled leading the way down the brief corridor. It was lined on both sides by golden-doored elevators, the hall quickly opening up to the maze of cubicles on the second-to-tallest floor of the Main Corporate Branch. A familiar ambient hum of talking ponies and ringing phones and the scent of freshly brewed coffee was the chosen incense of the room.

Spoiled and Fine’s office, as well as the other offices of the Industry’s central board of directors, lined the left side of the room, distanced from the cubicles by a half-wall and a forest of fake potted plants--as though the cubicles were an offense that had to be obscured through artificial foliage. Their offices, by contrast, were generous and sizable and had their own waiting rooms and secretary separate from the plush couches on the main floor.

Fine’s secretary, a quiet and moody young earth pony mare named Grace Manewitz, perked up when Spoiled and Fine Line entered. “Miss Fine, I’ve got seven new memos for you and three missed calls from--”

“Save it, ordinary pony.” Spoiled cut in, glaring daggers at Manewitz. “She’ll deal with them when I’m done dealing with her.”

“J-just hold my calls until ten, Grace. Thanks.” Fine sighed. Any of the humiliation she’d felt on the elevator ride up came back ten-fold, as she trailed behind Spoiled into her own office and offered her own secretary a sympathetic and apologetic frown.

Fine Line’s office was, at least, a nice one. The window overlooked the sparkling Lake Canterlot and its boardwalk two hundred meters down--a nice sight when the weather co-operated, and the sun sparkling off the water had always been a welcome sight to enjoy her coffee and early morning thoughts.

Her office had a few loveseats next to a bookshelf in one corner, and her desk was lined with a few photos of her family, although the photos were fighting a losing custody battle with the profit charts and stock reports sprawled haphazardly across the maplewood executive desk. Grace had left Fine’s coffee and the morning paper’s stock report atop the mess, and though it had already begun to cool, the lukewarm latte felt heavenly to Fine’s tongue as she sat down at her desk.

Spoiled stayed standing, walking past Fine to look outside as she spoke, apparently discontent standing in front of her inferior’s desk. “Industry’s stocks don’t look good today, do they?”

It dripped off the mare’s tongue in her dreadful venomous tone.

“Large scale striking will have that effect, yes.” Fine exhaled. “I hear three of our factories have ceased production entirely.”

“It’s five now, Fine. I need you to start telling me your ideas on fixing this.”

Fine was silent, taking another sip of her coffee and glancing over at the paper. She flipped it over, and was greeted by a front cover photo of Princess Celestia at one of their steel mills--goofy smile on her face, hardhat atop her head. Surrounded on all sides by dozens of grizzled looking workers.

An old photo, taken months ago. But one that Fine had seen in circulation often again, after the striking had begun.

Celestia had endorsed this months ago, after all. Only fitting that evidence of such would resurface once she’d begun floating the idea a second time.

“Well?” Spoiled snapped, whipping around to glare at Fine. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not a strikebreaker, Spoiled. This is outside of my purview.”

“Your ‘purview?’ This isn’t a Mane Austen novel, Fine!” Spoiled snarled, rolling her eyes. “We’re gonna have to explain to all of Equestria when in Tartarus the nation is going back to work, and I’m going to need to tell them something. So you’d better start justifying your position to me pronto.”

Fine sighed. “Alright, alright. Take a bloody seat, Spoiled. It’s wages, yes? They want a wage raise?”

“It’s the central demand of theirs.” Spoiled nodded. She refused Fine’s request, of course, staying staring out at the lake ahead. “Among others. Safer working conditions, mandated breaks. I heard tell of one of those idiotic blue-collars asking for maternity leave. Can you believe that?”

Fine sipped her coffee, deeming it momentarily more important than Spoiled’s melodramatic plight. “Have we offered a response to them, yet?”

“No. But every day we don’t, production stays halted. Our stocks drop lower. Your incompetence at managing this situation becomes more obvious.”

“I feel as though you’re making this entire situation my problem even though it’s a rather nuanced and complex issue, Spoiled. I only oversee the company’s overall spending expenses.”

“And this is the largest expense we’ve had since this company’s genesis. And you’re asleep at the wheel.”

Fine Line shuffled in her seat, grabbing the newspaper in her hooves again. The entire front page was devoted to the Spring Strike, and it continued to be a pervasive influence across the rest of the paper as well. “Well, we need to get them back to work. Seems to me like we should be considering offering them their demands.”

Spoiled scoffed. “Give in to their petty laziness? And what sort of precedent does that set?”

“Well what, then, Spoiled? We call in strikebreakers? Y’think Princess Celestia is gonna take to that well?”

“The opinion of Miss Celestia--a glorified terrorist with a martyrdom complex--is of little relevance to me.”

“She’s going to put herself between them like she did with that incident in the Shades.” Fine pointed out. “That’ll then get reported on extensively, too. You can bet her squeeze in the journalist cap will be on that like a fly on feces. Then, we’ll have more riots, not less, when the ponies of Equestria realize that our response to their concerns is to go in with batons and start breaking hooves. We do that, and we’re just gonna be reliving the fallout of the Hollow Shades all over again.”

Spoiled Rich scoffed. “This corporation has been the forefront of Equestrian progress for over a decade. It’s brought on more change and wealth to this nation than ever before in its history, and I certainly hope it’s ponies dare not see themselves above overlooking that.”

Fine was silent for several moments, a silence during which the two mares simply listened to the minimalistic clock on the office wall ticking away their morning.

“Celestia isn’t going to just vanish, you know.” Fine eventually said.

“And you still haven’t proposed any proactive course of action to placate her.”

“I already told you, Spoiled. She wants the throne. She isn’t going to rest until she’s closer to it. We already told her, publicly, she would be eligible for candidacy. Florina was the one who said it to her.”

“And she has already told me she regrets doing so. As she should.”

“No, she did the right thing. Celestia does deserve to be treated with dignity, and withholding that from her is… inequine.”

Spoiled let out an annoyed huff. “She would destroy everything this company has built, Fine Line. All of our progress, gone. Everything that we, personally, have worked to protect, she will immediately undo. She is not a hero, she is dangerous and arrogant and I will not feel guilt for the decisions performed by ponies twelve years ago from a place of immense fear. Because, inequine or not, Equestria was better off without her. And I will do everything I can to make sure Equestrians understand that.”

“Spoiled, how long have you known?”

Spoiled brought a hoof to her chest, looking offended. “Known? Known of what?”

“You know what. Her imprisonment. You knew before she escaped, didn’t you?”

“Why ever would you assume that?” Spoiled rolled her eyes, letting out a haughty chuckle.

“Because you signed off on nearly a million bits worth of ghost-expenses annually. I noticed the discrepancies years ago--a not-insignificant chunk of the industry’s budget just… vanishing.”

“Breakage, Fine Line. Do try to keep up with the concept.”

Fine Line laughed out loud, and sipped her coffee. “Hardly. Initially, I’d assumed it was money laundering. I scoffed and wondered how gods damned big your yacht has to be before you were satisfied. But when the photos and floorplans of that facility were leaked by that Sparkle journalist, I went to crunching numbers. Finding out how much it would cost to keep that prison up and running, and comparing it against ghost-expenses that you, as chief chair of this company’s directorial board, would have been made aware of. Which means, you had to have known.”

Spoiled had grown pale, and the smug, ever patronizing smile had fled her expression. She was looking at Fine with a look of abject horror, her eyes darting from Fine to the oak door as though expecting Princess Celestia herself to burst through it with a flare of magic.

Then, she collected herself with a little chuckle, shaking her head. “What wild theories you entertain in that creative little head of yours. Your talents are better reserved for pulp novels, it seems.”

“I haven’t told anyone yet, Spoiled. But this will have to come out eventually.”

Spoiled let out a long sigh, fixing Fine with a firm glare. “I advise you to steer clear of this line of questioning, if you value your job. Because those lost expenses are very easy to pin on you. And I know Judge Lawful Rule loves hearing about incompetent employees who attempt to shift their failings onto their superiors. I can have one of my lawyers talk to him, if that is what you want?”

Fine frowned. It’d been nice, knocking that smug smile off of Spoiled’s makeup infested face, but it was back again with renewed vigor regardless. “If it comes out, you concealing it will be seen as a major felony.”

“Concealing what? I knew nothing about this until you brought it up to me.” Spoiled waved a hoof dismissively. She turned back away again--a large cargo airship was approaching the building, undoubtedly bound for the warehouses at the street-level floor, and apparently it seemed more interesting to Spoiled than making eye-contact with Fine.

“Now, with this considered,” Spoiled was saying. “Please go on and explain to me why letting Miss Celestia sniff around our offices would possibly be a good idea. I am sure she has our best interests in mind.”

“She stated she has no intentions for revenge.”

“And she lies quite well about that fact.”

“I never knew Celestia to be a liar when I served her in Day Court.”

“A testament to either her efficiency, or your stupidity.” Spoiled snorted at her own joke. “Perhaps both.”

“My point, Spoiled, is that if we are to go back on our statements that she would be welcome to apply for candidacy as the nation’s prime minister at the next election, we would have to justify why. We should be considering what our response to that shall be.”

“Florina is the mare to discuss that with. Not me.”

“Oh really?” Fine rolled her eyes. “But you are such a well of creative solutions, Spoiled.”

Spoiled chose to conveniently ignore Fine’s sarcasm. “I am busy enough with my own affairs, thank you very much.”

Fine frowned. “Such as?”

“Such as wondering why you have driven us down this tangent, instead of offering a solution to our worker walk-out crisis.” Spoiled pursed her lips, gazing over her shoulder. “If we give in to their demands, where will we be drawing those funds from?”

Fine rubbed her temples with a hoof. A headache, already. She hadn’t even been in the office for thirty minutes. “How about salary cuts on our end?”

“Excuse me?”

“We make no small percentage more in a month than a dozen factory workers do annually.”

“A luxury of our hard work and achievement. Some more than others, which is why I have the authority to tell you how silly of an idea--”

“Shut up and listen to me for a minute, Spoiled.” Fine Line cut in, tapping her desk with a hoof. Spoiled whipped around, her eyes alight with indignation. It took legitimate effort on Fine’s part not to burst out laughing at her peeved superior. “We need to cut expenses someplace to accommodate a universal payraise for factory workers. Make no mistake, this is going to cost us a fortune. But if we show we’re willing to take that hit--not only do we fulfill their demands, we have something self-sacrificially positive to declare to Equestria next week. It’s…”

Fine trailed off, giving a little shrug. It was a valid thought, but she knew it wasn’t one Spoiled would agree on.

“It’s what, Fine?” Spoiled growled out, tapping a hoof impatiently.

“It’s... what Princess Celestia would do, if she were in our position.”

Spoiled scoffed. “Not surprising a former servant of the Princess would time and time again expose herself as an accomplice to her treachery.”

“I never said that. I’m loyal to this company. But right now, a large chunk of Equestrians aren’t exactly convinced that we’re loyal to them.”

“Hrmph.” Spoiled mumbled out the wordless expression of thoughtfulness. She pursed her lips, frowning as she thought things over. Eventually, she gave Fine a single nod. “Well. I think it’s rather noble of you to offer to ask for a salary cut in response to this affair.”

“I don’t believe I personally said I was--”

“You will not be alone in this salary cut. But considering it was your idea, it seems only fair you are included. I will speak with the payroll department immediately.”

“And I don’t suppose you yourself will be, right, Spoiled?”

Spoiled laughed. “I believe you know the answer to that one already.”

Fine Line felt her cheeks flushing red, genuine anger killing the indignant annoyance that had come to occupy her morning. A more feral, more immature part of her felt an unshakeable temptation to tackle Spoiled Rich through the glass window of their twenty-story office.

“If that’s it, get the hell out of my office, Spoiled.”

Spoiled laughed. “Fearsome, Fine Line. But I am not finished with you. But let me just say... your attitude has been sour for a week now, and I advise you to correct it.”

“You have nothing to blackmail me with, Spoiled. I’ve been careful. Now get out before I have Grace escort you out.”

“And I’ll be in talks with the payroll department, then. Unless you have a brighter idea for dealing with this situation.”

Fine sighed, giving a little shrug. “I’m going to go over my memos with my secretary. I’ll go visit the strikelines and see what sort of wages they’re seeking. If you’re looking for me in that time, tough luck to you. Figure out with Florina how you’re gonna refute Celestia’s next speech, because you can bet I’ll be obeying your commands to keep silent while you pour gasoline all overyour newest private airship’s downpayment.”

Spoiled Rich stormed out in hardly-disguised fury, as Fine had been expected. She’d had her door slam two rooms over, and she stifled a little chuckle as she lit her horn. Fine prodded the desk drawer open in her telekinesis, levitating out a jar of caffeine pills and promptly dissolving one in her morning latte.

She took a long sip, and then tapped the button for her intercom.

“Grace? You alive in there?”

Fine heard her chuckle from the other room and shuffle with her affairs before her door flung open. Her secretary already had her memos in her hooves, and she navigated around Fine’s office to put them down gingerly on her desk.

“What’s got her so huffy?”

“As if you have to ask.” Fine rolled her eyes. “How was little Silver Shores’ piano recital?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. Had to stay late.”

“S-sorry.”

“Somethin’ keepin’ you from the office, Fine? Cause… y’know I don’t mind helpin’ out, but I can’t hold the fort down here on my own. If you’re planning on leaving me with fifteen voicemails again, you’re going to have to start paying me overtime..”

“I know, Grace. C-can we run through those memos?”

“Read ‘em yourself. I’ve patched you through to your voicemail line already, so get listenin’, cause that switchboard has been lighting up all mornin’ and I doubt it’s gonna be stopping anytime soon.”

“Alright. Listen, take a half day if you have to today, Grace. I’ll make sure you’re paid. I’m not gonna be in the office today, so just tell them to call back tomorrow.”

“Where are you going outside the office?”

“The strikelines.”

“Alone? You’re braver than I thought.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Look, it’s whatever, I’ll stick around. But I’m not stayin’ late for you today.”

“Like I said. Answering machine is fine.”

“Seriously though, Fine, is everything okay? Cause Spoiled seemed upset and you kinda do, too.”

“You know how she gets when she’s stressed. Trust me, I’ve got this under control.”

“Considering me brimming with confidence, then.” Grace rolled her eyes, turning to leave. “I’ll ring the security office to be ready to send up a dashing stallion who shall accompany you to the strikelines.”

“How thoughtful.” Fine rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Grace.”

iii

Fine Line hadn’t predicted her visit to the strikelines to have been free of drama.

She’d also not expected to have had to leave less than an hour into her visit, once it became dreadfully clear just how unwelcome she was. She’d done her best to speak over the masses, but she quickly learned that it did not matter. She’d descended upon a group of concerned, angry ponies dressed in grime and oil, while she herself was dressed in an expensive suit jacket and shouldered on both sides by heavyset earth pony guards.

The factories were filthy, and Fine truly did not like visiting them. Even the train on the way in had been filthy--and she had the luxury of a personal compartment on the train’s caboose. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like for the working ponies, packed like lemmings along the rumbling and shuddering ride into the veil of industrial smog.

Thankfully, most had already arrived long before Fine had. The train station was kept as clean as the train had been--which meant cracked boards and grime stained walls on the inside, and a world of grey on the outside. The sky had abandoned this part of Equestria, it seemed.

The smell was just as oppressive. One of Fine’s guards offered her a respirator when he’d seen her shielding her snout with a hoof, but she shook her head.

She was already an untouchable alien to these ponies. Why drive that dagger in deeper?

She’d been expecting plenty hatred when she’d waltzed into sight of the working population of Equestria, and she’d been correct in her predictions. Plenty of angry, hate-filled cries snarled at her as she weaved her way into the steel mill. A few hurled stones in Fine’s direction. None of them came close to hitting, but Fine didn’t suspect they’d been intended to.

She had to force a neutral frown on her face, even as she felt dread weighing her steps down. These ponies hated her. They hated who she worked for, they hated what she stood for. She wasn’t a mare with a husband and foals waiting for her at home anymore. She was a tool of a State that had been doing unspeakable things to them for more than a decade, and getting away with it richer than she’d been before. She deserved it.

Inside the mill had been marginally better--the forepony of the mill had welcomed her to his office, where she’d eagerly followed him to retreat from the unrest outside.

There, Fine had been told plenty of what she already knew. Everything seemed to be in a landslide around them. The Hollow Shades incident had given way to environmental protests, and when the working populace had seen their effectiveness, they’d very quickly realized just how much power they themselves could hold running along the same path.

Celestia, and that Twilight Sparkle mare, hadn’t been shy about stoking those flames, either, but deep down Fine knew that they would have roared to life even if the two hadn’t said anything.

There was no going back from where they were rapidly going, now.

When Fine had left the strikelines in the late afternoon, she’d done so with a more complete list of worker demands tucked away in her briefcase. The demands were expensive. Unrealistic. She’d never be able to accommodate them all, but she hadn’t the guts to tell that to the striking ponies. Instead, she’d told them she would be ‘looking into it.’

In the back of her head, Fine wondered if her chronic anxiety had finally convinced her that she really was on a sinking ship. Perhaps that was why it felt like she was trodding through three feet of murky water as she followed her guards back to the Industrial Way Train Station.

The train itself was still waiting for them at the station, letting out a few curt sighs of steam. It would be a few moments before it was ready to depart back to New Canterlot, and so Fine excused herself to the bathroom.

The hateful cries from the strikelines returned to her as she closed the door. In the little fillies room, away from her Industry guard entourage, she’d wept into the mirror for all of thirty seconds. Then, with a weary exhale, she splashed her face with a quick rinse of cold water and carefully reapplied her makeup, before heading back out into the Industrial Way Train Station.

Her guards looked concerned, but neither commented as she trotted over to a payphone on the train platform and shoved a few bits in. Cracked glass, a receiver that looked as though it had seen better days...

“Need you to transfer me to a Raven Inkwell in Old Canterlot, please.” Fine spoke before the static poltergeist of the operator could even greet her.

“One moment, please!”

It took nearly three minutes before her call was transferred through--plenty of time for Fine to chide herself for such a ludicrously unorthodox and unprofessional waste of company time. Although she’d perhaps dealt with Raven Inkwell plenty of times before, it had never been for anything even remotely resembling a personal affair. Simply persistent, fruitless attempts to try and get the old secretary back onto the Industry’s payroll, or else offer her some cash settlement in exchange for a nice and juicy statement about Celestia’s thinly veiled insanity.

Fine had felt like a loathsome stain everytime she’d offered, but it was her job. And if she wouldn’t have done it, it would only be a matter of time before Spoiled had somepony more selfish replace her.

She’d known Raven back when the two of them had both served under Celestia, of course, and their relationship had been a much friendlier one back then. But, while Raven had done her best to distance herself from the Industry’s association, Fine had held onto as much semblance of her old life as they’d promised her. If there was some disgust there on Raven’s part, Fine was hardly surprised.

“Raven Inkwell.” Celestia’s secretary was brief and to the point. “Who’s speaking?”

“Hello, Miss Inkwell. My name is Fine Line, I’m the Chief Secretary of Finance for--”

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to hang up on you, Miss Fine Line.”

“I understand.” Fine forced a smile as she glanced back at her guards. They were both watching her intently and curiously--this hadn’t been on the day’s docket, after all. “I’m not calling on Industry business, Miss Inkwell.”

“Then you have no reason to call me at all. I have nothing for you.”

“Miss Inkwell, I just need… twenty minutes of your time. You… you’re back to working for Princess Celestia, r-right? I need help, and I… I don’t know who to turn to anymore.”

“We aren’t friends, Fine Line. You’re wasting my time.”

“Miss Inkwell, I want to--”

The sentence died as a click and a dial tone replaced Raven Inkwell’s static distorted voice. Fine let out a shaky sigh, levitating the receiver back onto the cradle and walking out of the phonebooth.

“Is… everything okay, ma’am?” One of her guards piped up, tilting his head.

Fine responded with a simple curt nod, and started to make her way back to the train platform.

Fine’s week passed in the same hectic frenzy.

They’d done their best to prepare for their next publicized meeting with Princess Celestia, but Fine still felt as though she’d been suddenly teleported through time and space and into the radio studio within the New Canterlot Corporate Branch.

She never would have thought that being a crewmare on a sinking ship would have been so trance-like, but here she was, fiddling with the frills on her dress while Florina and Spoiled bickered in the other side of the room about something or other that sounded like droning white noise static to Fine Line.

Six o’clock came, and Celestia and Twilight Sparkle had shown up without ceremony or escort, simply a flash of magic.

Spoiled and Florina both started a bit, but Fine had been eying the clock on the wall and anticipating the Princess’s prompt entrance. Against her better judgment under the sideways glares of Spoiled, Fine gave a polite bow of her head, which Celestia reciprocated with a little smile.

“Good evening,” Celestia said, her voice level and relaxed. Beside her, Twilight Sparkle gave a distracted little wave, already levitating a notepad out of her own saddlebag and starting to fiddle with shoving a brand new tape into an audio cassette recorder.

Celestia was dressed in shining silver regalia, though she hadn’t bothered wearing a crown to accompany it. She met the three mares with a confident smile, and Fine knew without a sideways look that Spoiled must have been terrified.

Florina, thankfully, took point by way of a step forward and a greeting bow. “Nice to see you again, Miss Celestia. You look well.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Spoiled, clearly outnumbered by her accompaniment, forced herself to greet Celestia with a bow as well. “I look forward to our talk together, Miss Celestia. I hope we’re able to clear up any misunderstandings you may have about our relationship in the future.”

“...Quite,” Celestia said after a pregnant pause. “Well? Let’s not delay, yes?”

“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tonight.” Twilight Sparkle piped up, sharing a sideways grin with Celestia.

Spoiled made an attempt to match their look, genuine emotion struggling and failing to reveal itself in her exaggerated smile.

They were led into the building proper by one of the studio’s assistants, the half-moon spectacle wearing mare nodding to the spacious recording booth past the entrance lobby. A long round table, a half-dozen or so seats around it, adorned with microphones snaking their way towards a smaller recording booth separated by a plate of sound-proof glass.

Florina led the way inside, Spoiled falling in line behind them and Celestia and Twilight quickly falling into step behind them both. Fine Line awkwardly took the back of the march into the studio, choosing to look at her hooves instead of the flank of Twilight Sparkle immediately in front of her, plugging a microphone into her tape recorder as she took a seat next to Celestia.

Fine took her seat beside Florina and Spoiled. She took a moment to fiddle with her microphone, glancing over at the extinguished ON AIR sign to the left of her and letting out a shaky breath.

She’d thought her distracted fidgeting had been subtle, but apparently, Princess Celestia had noticed.

“Nervous?” Celestia shot Fine a little smirk--the Princess had probably intended it as comforting, but it already had Fine Line internally memorizing the immediate emergency exits of the studio. “Me too, dear.”

Fine said nothing, levitating her headphones onto her head. Spoiled and Florina were already in the process of doing the same, the sound of a calming string quartet and piano accompaniment thankfully easing Fine’s nerves by a hair.

The violins and cellos eventually resolved into a mournful little piano solo that faded out to polite audience clapping, and Fine let out one last exhale before the red light of the ON AIR sign clicked to life at the same time as the radio host’s voice.

“Good evening, fillies and gentlecolts. It’s six o’clock on the dot, you’ve got it tuned to The Whinny, your premier source of a little bit of everything. I’m your host Sharp Shot, coming from our studio here in fabulous New Canterlot to wherever in Equestria you fine ponies might be listening from.”

Celestia tilted her head thoughtfully, lifting her headset to whisper something into Twilight’s ear, who let out a little chuckle.

“I have in the studio with me a rather eclectic and much anticipated company, who’s discussion I’m sure you listeners have been eager to hear. We have Miss Celestia, Miss Twilight Sparkle, and a hoof-full of representatives from Flim Flam Industry here, giving their opinions on the recent civil unrest across Equestria. Without further ado, here’s your ex-Princess herself and her lovely assistant, Celestia and Twilight Sparkle.”

“Good evening, Equestria.” Celestia spoke first--as she’d apparently grown custom to doing at these interviews by now. “And good evening to you as well, Sharp Shot. As well as the fine representatives from Flim Flam Industry with us here.”

Spoiled took the liberty of introducing Florina and Fine, and Fine was more or less content with her doing so.

“Well. Where to begin, hrm?” Florina was the first to break the silence, doing so with a little chuckle. “Guess we oughta confront the elephant in the room and discuss Miss Celestia’s much-talked-about confrontation outside of a small farming town a few months ago. It seems a great deal of misinformation has been publicly spread about this fact, and I think we’d both like to clear the air a bit.”

“A public statement, then?” Celestia tilted her head, glancing from Florina to Spoiled, evidently not seeing Fine as much of a challenge. “Do share your interpretation of that event, and I will share my own.”

“Happily.” Spoiled spoke up. “During the afternoon of the fifteenth of May, a scheduled demolition project of a small portion of Equestrian crown land was interrupted by a group of protestors, assisted by Miss Celestia. Flim Flam Industry has since ceased any further resource production until this matter has been resolved.”

Across from Fine, the Sparkle mare was writing down thoughtfully, while Celestia listened with a passively thoughtful frown. When Spoiled finished, she cleared her throat.

“And my interpretation, while fundamentally similar, offers what I believe are several important details that Miss Spoiled Rich has not noted; On the fifteenth of May, I visited with a tribe of thestrals, native to the wilderness of the Hollow Shades, a wildlife refuge located outside of Fillydelphia. I was immediately informed of the resident’s fears about an aggressive State-funded demolition project that was putting their food and resource situation into jeopardy.

“The more I learned, the more it became obvious that the thestrals were fearful of their culture’s and home’s survival. I vowed to act, and did so by helping them forcibly stop what can only be described as an aggressive assault on the forest where they lived. I did this after my polite requests for the project’s halting were thoroughly ignored.”

Celestia leaned back, glancing over at Twilight who gave Celestia a single nod. Celestia, apparently encouraged, turned back to her microphone. “That is my own personal summary of the events as I interpreted them over the course of that day.”

“I will object to several of those ‘clarifications’,” Florina piped up, her voice level and calm. “The Hollow Shades’ status as a wildlife refuge was removed nearly a decade ago. Having visited it myself several times, I can state with confidence that its residents have been presented with plenty of opportunities to relocate, and they have adamantly refused.”

“So I have heard. I have also heard, from them, that they are disinterested in relocating. They like their home, and they have centuries of history there. Who do you think you are, telling them otherwise?”

“Their government,” Spoiled replied shortly. “But yes. You do make a valid point, and this is exactly the reason why we have ceased our efforts there until we have come to a mutual agreement.”

“They wish for you to leave and never come back. That is the only agreement they will consider.”

Fine cleared her throat, her heart racing as she finally spoke up. “While I understand their perspective, I would hope they at least consider the fact that their forest was not chosen at random. It is an ancient forest, yes, but this means that many of their trees are… utterly massive. One acre of logging in the Hollow Shades is the equivalent of about a dozen in the Whitetail Woods or Everfree Forest. It is less harmful to the natural state of Equestria as a greater whole to pursue logging endeavours there.”

Fine moved back from the microphone with her heart still beating in her chest. Spoiled and Florina were both looking ahead at Celestia curiously for her answer, and Fine felt a little wave of relief that she apparently hadn’t said anything utterly stupid on their behalf.

Celestia herself gave a gentle nod of her head. "An interesting point. This does not, however, change the fact that their plight has been largely ignored. Their perspectives on the issue have gone untold by Equestrian media. This much has been made clear by Equestria’s prompt reaction to having been made aware of them.”

“A mistake that I assure you we do not intend to repeat again in the future,” Florina said. “That much I can promise you.”

“You will forgive me if I am not entirely confident in that claim, my dear.” Celestia shook her head sadly.

Beside Fine, Spoiled bristled a little, adjusting her microphone and affixing Celestia with a cold gaze. “Miss Celestia, our goals begin and end with assuring the well-being of the Equestrian population."

“I do not believe you.”

In that moment, Fine knew how imperative it was that she stepped in. She’d seen Spoiled get tangled up in her selfish emotions before--she’d learned how to navigate around her emotional tirades well enough on her own to be able to predict them.

She’d also been around Celestia enough to tell when she was tugging away at somepony’s mood to see what threads came loose.

But Spoiled had made her stance clear going into this interview. Be silent until she was spoken to. Fine found herself surprised just how pleased she was to oblige as Spoiled’s temper flared beside her.

“Ma’am, you do not know the first thing about me, nor my commitment to this corporation.” Spoiled said, her glare on Celestia and Twilight unbroken. “To me, it seems you are the one intentionally raising doubt about our motives. You were the one who escalated the Hollow Shades incident, and you were the one who continued praising the rebellious nature of the ponies who acted in blind reactionary ways to the half-truths they’d gleaned from newspaper headlines and photographs. So don’t go accusing me of lying when I’ve watched you intentionally stir fear and doubt across Equestria for the past month.”

Celestia leaned back in her seat, an amused smirk on her face as she regarded Spoiled. Her gaze shifted over to Florina, who looked desperate to be anyplace else, and Fine, who managed to meet the alicorn’s smile with an awkward frown of her own. ‘I just work here’, she may as well have mouthed to Celestia herself.

“I… have done little else but recount my experiences with various representatives of your corporation.” Celestia’s voice was level and patient. “And any patterns of behaviour or activity that Equestrians may have noticed is something that I trust they are smart enough to not be manipulated into believing. The fact of the matter, Miss Spoiled Rich, is that the truth itself is frightening to them. The knowledge that their former Princess was tortured and imprisoned and sentenced to death is frightening. The knowledge that they have been lied to about the chemicals polluting their water is frightening. The idea that the food and water supply of a village of peaceful thestrals was compromised while they fought with desperation to conserve them… that is what has Equestria frightened. And I did not have a hoof in performing any of that. That, my dear, is on you, and your corporation. Think about that before you use your pledge of allegiance to them as a defense to me.”

Celestia’s speech sent the three of them into silence, both Florina and Fine glaring at Spoiled to break the looming dead air threatening to consume their credibility. Spoiled had led Celestia down this road, she’d gods damn well better get them back out of it in one piece.

Thankfully, Spoiled did eventually speak up. “I recall a very distinct phrase that was spoken by you, Miss Celestia. ‘There are more of you than them’, I believe it was, in reference to the worker unrest before it had culminated into full fledged protests.”

“No.” Twilight Sparkle finally spoke up, putting down her pen as she did. “I said that. I published it the first opportunity I could get, on the front page of the New Canterlot Herald, no less. They practically begged me for an article. I stand by everything I said, too.”

“Where did you go to school for your journalism degree, Miss Sparkle?” Spoiled Rich tilted her head.

“Same place you went to learn how to tell the truth to Equestria.” Twilight Sparkle was, surprisingly, quick on the verbal draw. “You’re never going to convince me that those ponies choosing to stand up for their safety is a bad thing, so we may as well move on to something else.”

“Now that you’ve gone and spoken up, I think perhaps we should move on to you, Miss Sparkle.” Spoiled gave the awkward unicorn a predatory grin.

Twilight blinked. She opened her mouth and closed it again, her statement evidently abandoned.

“As I understand it, Miss Celestia sees you as somewhat of an apprentice.” Spoiled continued. “Is that about right, Celestia?”

Celestia nodded. “In an ideal world, I would like for her to remain by my side when I retake my throne.”

“‘When you retake your throne.’” Florina quoted. “This became a ‘when’ quite suddenly. I never got that memo.”

Celestia chuckled. “In an ideal world, I said. But yes. Twilight has been an integral part of helping me rehabilitate myself into Equestria. She’s a smart and compassionate mare and I trust her with unwavering conviction.”

“And she’s not even remotely qualified to run a carrot stand, much less have a hoof in running a nation.” Spoiled shook her head. “What does she have to show for herself, professionally? No history of public office. No history of civil service.”

“I do not recall your Industry being on the Royal Treasury’s payroll either, Miss Spoiled Rich.” Celestia matched Spoiled’s predatory grin with one of her own. “No history of public office. No history of civil service. Killing the Queen of Prance doesn’t make you the Queen of Prance, my dear.”

Spoiled Rich looked offended, and Celestia kept the smug smile plastered on her face as she fell silent.

“That might be, but I’m able to learn. I know my, uh. Past, isn’t exactly ideal, and my experience is questionable.” Twilight Sparkle spoke up, evidently putting some effort into keeping her voice calm and restrained. “But Celestia has thousands of years of experience. And I believe I can continue to learn much from her, as I have in the time I’ve known her.”

Spoiled seemed to take objection to that, and Fine heard her offer some snide replay.

She didn’t hear what it was, though. She heard Spoiled’s shrill voice, but not what she’d said. Her head was aching, her chest felt like it was hosting a monarch butterfly migration, and she had to conscientiously calm her breathing as another panic attack swept over her.

To her surprise, Celestia’s ear perked in Fine’s direction. A sideways glance at Fine’s pathetic, panicking form. A tiny, sympathetic frown.

Fine had wanted to stand up and flee from the studio room entirely, but something about the ex-Princess’s expression managed to calm her enough to steady her breathing and levitate the glass of water that had been set out before her closer. She took a shaky sip, the interview room becoming a flooded, fish-eyed distortion as she viewed it through the polished glass and water.

She let Spoiled and Florina continue bickering with Celestia, and didn’t bother piping up herself. Nopony at the table needed to hear her shaky voice.

“... less than two months ago!” Spoiled was in the midst of snarling--not at Celestia, but at Twilight Sparkle herself. “How, exactly, do you defend that?”

“Quite easily, were I to mention that your corporation dropped charges against me when it came out what exactly I’d found that had gotten me arrested in the first place.” Twilight gave a little shrug. “It’s no secret to anypony listening that I’ve had a rocky relationship with you ponies. Bringing that to light proves nothing new.”

“‘You ponies’, in this case referring to the entire governing body of Equestria!” Spoiled replied shortly, her voice raising once again to an infernal shrill. Fine winced, fidgeting in her seat.

It wouldn’t be rude if she excused herself, right?

She glanced at a pocket watch stuffed into her purse. They’d been at it for forty minutes. They had twenty more on their docket. A gods damned eternity, if it was twenty more minutes of listening to Spoiled and suffering under the kindhearted gaze of Princess Celestia.

Breathe in, breathe out. Like her therapist had told her.

“...apologies if you see it that way, Miss Spoiled Rich. It was not my intention.” Celestia, this time. Said after a careful pause and a thoughtful glance at Twilight Sparkle.

“...plans for moving forward, in your self described ideal word…”

“...a clear difference between what we can reasonably do at this time, and what entirely is fair to work towards doing….”

Fine’s glass of water had already been decimated. She’d taken to nursing it thoughtfully and taking long sips to distract herself. Breathing exercises had helped, but the one thing that she’d needed--distance from a stressful environment--wasn’t a luxury she’d been granted. It wasn’t a luxury she’d been granted for six bloody months, and it seemed likely to get worse without any clear sign of ever getting better again.

Like before, Spoiled ended up cutting it off fifteen minutes before their timeslot ended. When she did, her normally pink coat had flushed red around her snout, undoubtedly a side effect of the shrill and annoyed tone Celestia had goaded out of her.

The interview was disastrous for the three of them, but Fine had seen that coming.

Spoiled had yelled and berated Fine the entire elevator ride up to the Air Taxi Terminal simply for the purpose of stress-relief, but Fine had seen that coming, too. She winced, the mare’s shrill voice a sledgehammer to the tempest in her head, tuning out the mare’s actual words as best as she could and placating her with little nods of her head.

Florina had stayed mostly silent, nursing a cigarette and bidding Fine a quiet ‘good evening’, the two mares departing for their airships and leaving Fine to take the Air Taxi home.

Fine had collapsed into her husband's hooves when she’d arrived back at their New Canterlot flat. She didn’t know for certain if he’d listened to the troubled broadcast of Fine’s water-logged ship, but apparently her expression told enough even if he hadn’t.

He’d calmly led her sobbing form over to their bedroom, their foals asleep by some miracle.

“You’d better not be thinking of going in tomorrow,” he cooed softly, stroking her mane. “Take a you-day. We’ll take the foals to the park.”

“I have to go in.”

“Dear…”

“I’m going to need to go in,” Fine said, gulping and managing a little smile. “It’s going to get worse if I don’t.”

As Fine had expected, things had gotten worse even when she did show up.

She showed up twenty minutes late again. Spoiled had yelled at her the entire elevator ride down, promising that there would be consequences if she was ever tardy again. Fine had been too tired to offer any manner of smarmy reply, so she’d settled on a weary apology instead.

Grace had more complaints about her workload, and hadn’t bothered bringing in Fine’s latte. Fine had plastered on a tired smile and sighed out a few more apologies for her secretary--genuine, this time, but said with her head sunk in her hooves.

Thankfully, Grace seemed to have seen her boss’s nervous breakdown on the horizon, and she eventually ceased her annoyed complaints and started to make her way back to her desk, promising to go fetch Fine a cup of strong black coffee.

“Make it a pot,” Fine said, managing a little chuckle. “And Grace… can you get me the number of… of the Old Canterlot Public Library? Before you go?”

“What? That condemned one on Epona’s Hooves?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Why?”

“Personal call, Grace.”

“...alrighty, then.”

"Fine Line!" Spoiled Rich snarled--the sound like a chihuahua attempting to mimic Fine's name. "You had better think on this long and hard. Because if you walk out of those doors today, you are done."

Fine Line rolled her eyes. "That’s the idea, Spoiled. Look, I can recommend some ponies if you're having trouble repl--"

"When I say done, I'm not just talking about your job here. You resign, and you are off the Industry’s payroll immediately."

Fine Line scoffed. "I have severance pay. You can't--"

"I decide what I can and cannot do the moment you resign. And I can guarantee you we are well in our right to deny you your severance. So good luck paying that New Canterlot flat of yours. Good luck getting employment in a similar field again. You walk out those doors and I will sink you, Fine Line. You've been on thin ice for months now, and I can't trust a traitor. So go back to your desk, start flying straight, and I won't have to demote you to the godsdamned mail room."

Fine Line glared. "You can't extort me, Spoiled. I have lawyers. Good ones."

"Who are paid by company dollars. I'm sure they'd be eager to represent a traitor." Spoiled leaned back, a smug grin plastered on the mare’s face. "I hope you like flipping hayburgers for the rest of your life, Fine Line. Cause that's where you'll be. I'll make sure of it."

Fine Line bit her lip.

Then, she matched Spoiled's smug grin with a weary smile of her own. "When my foals ask me why I chose to help the ponies who tortured and slandered a war hero, and did my damndest to keep kicking her down into a hole, I don’t want to have to tell them it was just my job. Goodbye, Spoiled."

Author's Note

Fine Line, for the visually curious

Where We Stand (XX)

Professor Fluttershy lived in a small apartment above a bakery.

It was quaint, small, and kept as tidy as the pegasus and her earthpony marefriend could possibly have kept it. Yet, it’s reduced space meant it had to eventually descend into the cluttered nature small apartments usually did--every cupboard in the kitchen was lined on the top with spices and mason jars filled with everything from legumes to pastas, and the three bookshelves in the living area had all been filled until they looked ready to collapse under their own weight.

Every space not occupied by something necessary for the two mare’s day to day life was instead shared with a plant of some sort--the entire apartment had a scent of freshly grown cooking spices, intermingled with the vapours of the newly baked goods a floor below them. Fluttershy was a professor by trade and a gardener by choice, and it was clearly reflected in her home’s mishmash of applications.

It was cozy, and Twilight had felt immensely grateful that Fluttershy had extended the invite to make it a welcomed space for her, too.

“...just sayin’, it’s been a week and that little funky growth hasn’t gone away. Thinkin’ it’s time to bust out the clippers, Flutters. Encourage new growth and all that.”

Fluttershy and her marefriend--who’s name Twilight couldn’t possibly believe was actually ‘Tree Hugger’ from birth--were both poring over a specimen of dreamroot that they’d taken from their windowbox and onto the coffee table as though it were some botanical vivisection. Across the room, the news was trickling from a wooden stereo-set, along with a folk record turned low and spinning rhythmically atop a polished turntable.

Fluttershy sighed. “Twi? Thoughts on that?”

Twilight had been more focused on the radio, which had been playing a trimmed highlight of Celestia’s latest interview on the New Canterlot Public Radio. In the two months since the Hollow Shades Riots, Celestia’s status had shifted quite dramatically from that of a batty old mad mare to an experienced, veteran rebel from a drastically different era.

Nopony had bothered interviewing her about her time in her imprisonment. That had been covered quite sufficiently already.

But Celestia’s past hadn’t. Her youth, fighting for earthpony rights at a time when unicorns heralded complete control over their farming outputs…Suddenly, the Princess’s past seemed much more relevant to Equestria’s public consciousness than it had ever been before.

When Twilight had been a filly, it had largely faded into legend. Princess Celestia had not been known to boast, and she’d mostly reserved her personal stories to ponies she’d already developed a close friendship with. There was documentation, of course, but not from Celestia’s own point of view. History textbooks had a way of making everything seem impersonal, which meant the tales of Celestia’s youth had been tucked away nicely beside the political history of Equestria’s governing body.

The further one looked back, the harder it became to distinguish Celestia’s history as a civil servant of Equestria. Suddenly, though, she’d done something brash and decidedly uncivil, and ponies had noticed.

“Equus to Twiiiii…” Tree Hugger trilled, garnering a stifled chuckle from Fluttershy. “Needin’ your opinions on your magical drug here, bookmare.”

“O-oh, uh…” Twilight blushed, turning her attention over to her two friends with a sheepish smile. “I… I don’t think it’d alter their potency, considering I’ve gotta crush up the leaves for them to work, not the stems. Also, they’re not a ‘magical drug!’”

Tree Hugger snickered. “Just pullin’ your chain, Twi. No need to be so uptight. Still, it’s pretty radical dealin’ with somethin’ like this. Can’t blame Flutters for bein’ cautious.”

Fluttershy waved a hoof. “Or paranoid. Wanna do the honours, Twilight? You’ve got the telekinesis skills, after all.”

She withdrew a pair of metal scissors from a box of knitting supplies stored between an old chesterfield and bean-bag, and offered them to Twilight with a small smile.

“Just the little leaves of the stem that have kinda started to die away there…” Tree Hugger pointed them out with a hoof, before leaning back against the couch to watch. “Gotta keep your propagated stems lookin’ cherry, y’know?”

Twilight responded with a nod, and carefully started on the task of trimming up her propagated dreamroot as she’d seen Fluttershy and Tree Hugger themselves do with some of the more common herbs and spices they’d had growing in every place bathed in sunlight within their Ponyville apartment. The two mares had made it look simple--Twilight, by contrast, went at it slowly and tediously, internally fighting an anxious battle with herself over whether or not she might be killing one of her dreamroot specimens accidentally.

Exhaling, she shifted her focus on the radio in the corner of the room, letting Celestia’s calm voice accompany her work instead.

“...wonderful to see, if I’m being completely honest.” Celestia was saying. “But not entirely unsurprising. Poorly communicated information was the central issue therein, after all.”

“And you feel that has been remedied?”

“Well, that is a bit of a presumptuous claim, as we’ve only had two months worth of improvement to consider. But, certainly, I feel as though an issue who’s importance had been largely unknown by the greater public prior to my return, is now at the common forefront of much of their consideration. Something I afford myself some level of optimism about.”

One of the NCPR’s hosts overtook Celestia’s voice as it faded out in the mix, the highlight of that particular exchange apparently delivered. “You’re hearing the voice of Princess Celestia, speaking to us from our studio yesterday about the recent spree of worker walk-outs across Equestria this week. More on that at the turn of the hour, but first…”

The host carried on, the rest of his words fading back into background noise. Good chance of showers tonight and tomorrow, high of 15 degrees. Cloudsdale Comets leading 3-1 against the Baltimare Thunderbolts. A brief word for a sponsor Twilight didn’t care about.

“How’s the old mare doin’, anyways?” Tree Hugger piped up, apparently also having tuned her attention to the radio. “Figure you’ve got a better eye on her vibes than the rest of us and all.”

It wasn’t by any measure incorrect, but Twilight couldn’t help but blush at the assertion all the same. Apparently, Twilight’s association with Celestia had begun to take on a newer development, too. She had always figured herself to be an anchor--a rope tied around one of Celestia’s hooves, forcing the alicorn to drag a heavy deadweight behind her while simultaneously trying to swim against a furious tide.

And yet, when Twilight had started publishing Shining Armor’s findings, and the chemical evaluation reports taken in the Whitetail Woods, something seemed to have changed. It wasn’t as though she’d seen anything close to respect, of course. But the voice that had always been in Twilight’s head--before Celestia had even come back to life--had stopped it’s persistent demand for justification. A demand for some tangible, meaningful reason why Celestia should give a damn about her, her opinions, her worth. Some reason why she deserved to speak her voice out into an empty room and waste everypony’s time with her opinions.

It hadn’t silenced, but it had… changed. More a demand for perfection, for her to speak her voice as well as she could, instead of whether or not she deserved to speak it at all. Because Equestria did deserve to hear it, if it was the truth she was speaking.

“Celestia has... been tired.” Twilight admitted. “But the good sort of tired, I guess. Busy-tired, not… y’know.”

“Depressed-tired,” Fluttershy said bluntly, and nodded. “That is wonderful to hear, Twilight. She seems much more upbeat. C-careful there, though. You don’t have to trim all the stems, just the ones with dead leaves. Too much, and the plant will struggle to photosynthesize and grow new leaves. It’s a downwards spiral from there.”

Twilight cursed bitterly. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be. We caught it, so there’s no harm.” Fluttershy smiled. Her comforting voice and restrained grin a stark contrast to Twilight’s hastily grumbled cursed words and apology.

She’d been a little surprised when Fluttershy had continued to contact her after she had started to publish their findings. And with more than mere polite correspondances--she’d actually extended the offer for Twilight to come by and ‘hang’, as she put it.

Twilight had been terrified. Every emotion in her told her it was a trap, and even if it wasn’t, it would just be something that would blow up in her face anyways. She’d just make a fool of herself like she always did and that would be that, another pony to cross off the list of ponies she could ever hope to talk to again…

Celestia had encouraged otherwise. ‘It sounds to me like she wants to be your friend, Twilight,’ she had said. ‘Does she seriously seem like the sort of pony who would have ulterior motives?’

And, as she normally was, Celestia had been right. She’d met Fluttershy and Tree Hugger at the Ponyville Train Station, and they’d shown her around one of the wildlife preserves the two had been helping out at.

Fluttershy had taken Twilight aside, while Tree Hugger trotted ahead to pick up some vegetables from the market for a stir-fry dinner she promised would be ‘totally out of this world.’

“I know it’s hard, Twilight.” Fluttershy had said. “It is for me, too.”

Twilight had been taken aback, and her response had largely been restricted to a bewildered stare, which Fluttershy returned with a patient smile.

“But I had a lot of fun today, and I’d be really happy if we could hang out some more.”

And then, just like that, they had. Fluttershy was nearly as reserved as Twilight was, but her marefriend was a social butterfly… as though the two’s cutie marks had been swapped accidentally. By time Twilight had finally returned home to Celestia, she’d nearly collapsed onto the alicorn’s lounging form.

Exhaling, Twilight put the scissors down onto the coffee table, glancing over at Tree Hugger.

“Looks righteous, Twi,” she said.

“I really can’t thank you enough for helping me with these…” Twilight replied. “I… really have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Well, you’re learning quickly,” Fluttershy said, rising to her hooves. She lifted the potted dreamroot in a wing, carefully carrying it back over to the planter in her windowbox. “And we’re both eager to have something from the Hollow Shades in our home! S-so long as you’re sure about it’s poison joke qualities being inert.”

“I’m, like, ninety percent sure.” Twilight gave a sheepish little nod of her head. “But anytime you want me to take it back…”

“We’ll let you know.” Fluttershy glanced at Tree Hugger with a little smile.

As Fluttershy was settling back down on the couch next to Tree Hugger and Twilight was settling back into the loveseat, a clock in the kitchen rung out an abbreviated ‘Westmanester Quarters’ performed by bird-calls--undoubtedly an impulse purchase of Fluttershy’s. Twilight’s ear perked, and she glanced from Fluttershy to the wooden stereo set in the corner of the living room.

“May I?” she nodded her head in it’s direction.

“Totally,” Tree Hugger replied quickly. “Wanna hear what all Big Celly has to say.”

Twilight stifled a smirk, her horn lighting and turning the dial on the radio up slightly.

The soft radio host’s voice grew louder, and the three mares settled down to listen.

“...that was the New Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra, performing ‘Flight of the Breezies’ at the Horseshoe Ampitheatre in Manehattan. I’m Voice Over, the time is six thirty P.M, on Tuesday, August 12th, 1012. Weather conditions outside are irrelevant, because I have Princess Celestia in the studio with me right now and to be honest, I can think of little else that matters to me right now.”

Celestia chuckled. “Sunny, so far as I can see it. Let’s avoid too much hyperbole today, dear.”

Voice Over, the headphones wearing stallion sitting across from Celestia and behind a wall of mixing equipment, chuckled too. “Of course, of course. Thank you so much for agreeing to come into the studio today. I know you’ve had a busy week and we’ve been consuming a big chunk of it, so it’s always much appreciated.”

Celestia smiled. It was hardly a mystery to her that the New Canterlot Public Radio had a higher listener count in the past month than ever before in their history, and she’d been unsurprised when they’d asked to book her for several half-hour interviews.

They were, of course, separate from other interviews that had been hosted on the Industry’s own broadcasting station--those ones had been held in a studio in a separate building closer to the Industry’s main corporate branch, and hadn’t ever been performed without a small gaggle of Flim Flam Industry’s own public representatives.

“You know I’m quite happy to chat,” Celestia said. “You ponies have been a joy to get to know.”

Voice Over smiled. “And you have been quite the popular mare as of late.”

“Something I certainly hope is not exclusively due to the mere sound of my voice on pony’s radio receivers.”

Voice Over snickered. “I am sure there are multiple variables, yes. I am sure the recent worker walkouts across the country have some manner to do with that.”

“Certainly no mere coincidence. Although, I was somewhat surprised to hear of those, admittedly.”

“Were you?”

Celestia nodded--a gesture perhaps reserved for the radio host, but it felt right regardless. “Indeed. I’d been expecting a bolstering in awareness, but even I could not have anticipated such action as a direct result.”

“May I ask what you were expecting in turn?” Voice Over tilted his head curiously, leaning back in his seat.

“A hasty statement from Flim Flam Industry assuring us they were looking into the issue was something I had predicted before I’d even gotten onto the train in Hayseed.” Celestia admitted. “And while that did indeed come to pass more or less how I envisioned, I didn’t expect the fallout from that statement being quite so… ah…”

“Volatile?”

“Perhaps, although that implies a certain level of fury and destruction.”

“Something you think was not associated with the Hollow Shades Protests?” Voice Over asked thoughtfully.

“I realize that may seem a little bold of me to say, considering the personal role I had in the destruction of several expensive pieces of industry hardware. But, to be frank, I think ‘fury’ and ‘destruction’ implies a certain level of senselessness. Purposeless. Something being done simply for the purpose of expressing rage, instead of accomplishing a greater goal. I think these protests are not reflective of such senselessness. Rather, it is reflective of ponies realizing they are contributing to a destructive system, and demanding it be remedied. That is not ‘volatile’, to me. It is a sign of progress.”

Voice Over nodded. Both of his ears were perked and alert, the stallion clearly interested in Celestia for reasons beyond his own employment. He was evidently loving this, and Celestia imagined the NCPR’s ratings were, too.

“You’ve been accused by some publications and high ranking officials within Flim Flam Industry of intentionally raising doubt and pessimism in the Equestrian people. Do you think that is a valid accusation?”

Celestia pursed her lips thoughtfully. The question was… a bit of a trick one. Not on the fault of Voice Over--it would be fairly easy for her to say something simple and safe, but in doing so Celestia feared she would be losing an opportunity for some much needed honesty.

Since her first hearing, when she’d willingly allowed herself to wear a lie-detecting horn inhibitor, Celestia had been nurturing a reputation of honesty and transparency. Why stop here?

“I… believe it is, yes. It has been my intention throughout the past year and especially during the past several months, to raise some awareness of the current state of Equestria’s ecosystems, employment situations, and international diplomatic relationships. In doing so, I have been forced to also call into question how those topics have been handled up until now. It is unsurprising that my doing so has garnered some unrest.”

“I see. How do you believe Flim Flam Industry should be confronting such unrest, then? What sort of actions do you believe would help provide these protestors with their goals?”

“An interesting question. I would say that a rather in depth analysis of the Industry’s wage distribution system would be a good place to start. If the workers in the factory believe there is some manner of wage discrepancy, perhaps it would be wise and pro-active on the Industry’s part to begin closing this gap in places.”

“And you believe that would be enough to accommodate the worker protests?”

“No. And I am glad you asked this question, because I think it is a misconception that many individuals critical of these protestors--and indeed, within the protestors themselves--may not be understanding.” Celestia leaned forward as she spoke, instinctively lighting her horn to move the mic back a little to prevent any interference. “Because as of right now, doing so exclusively would not change the fact that Flim Flam Industry’s current rate of production is at a level that is unsustainable to Equestria on a longer term. Not to mention dangerous to public health on an immediate level.”

“For reasons highlighted in your student’s soil sample publications, yes?”

“She is more my equal than my student, but yes, that is quite right. Based on studies that, I might add, have been mirrored by other academic bodies in Equestria to produce similar results.”

“And what do those results say, to you personally?”

“That not enough care and attention was put into developing these heavy production facilities. That they were built quickly, cheaply, and with only their immediate usefulness taken into consideration. And then, when retro-fitting them to be sustainable on the longer run proved expensive, Flim Flam Industry instead realized it would be cheaper to simply publish lies about their output in the hopes that nopony would notice.”

“And they would’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you meddling old alicorns?” Voice Over grinned, and Celestia smiled--although truthfully she had no idea what he was referencing.

“I hope the situation is a tad more nuanced than that, of course. I truly believe it was simply the result of poor communication and education. Regardless… well, may I take us on a quick aside?”

Voice Over smiled at her. “Of course you may.”

“I believe a comparison can be drawn between a certain narrative I heard while talking with ponies who work as part of the Industry’s blue-collar labour force. When I was first stretching my hooves in Equestria following my return, I met with a mare who, for her sake, I will keep anonymous. She’d lost her family’s farm to Flim and Flam’s aggressive infiltration of their property, following their failure to meet supply demands. They purchased the rights to Ponyville’s cider and apple farming industry. Now, are you familiar with the current state of the apple farming industry in Ponyville, now?”

Voice Over shook his head. “Unfamiliar, I’m afraid.”

Celestia smiled. “Bankrupt. I looked into it because I was curious, and as it turns out, they lost a large chunk of their consumer base a year or so into their ownership. Overly aggressive farming, a poor understanding of proper agricultural strategy… they were, to be frank, two unicorns attempting to replace a craft that earth ponies had perfected. They were attempting to do so through machinery, instead of the careful, kind hoof that the apple farms of Ponyville were once run with.”

“Resulting in their bankruptcy, as you said.”

“The fields are largely used to grow wheat and corn, now. Easier to harvest than apples. The soil itself hasn’t been kept nearly as fertile as it once was. It will take a long time before the land once known as Sweet Apple Acres will ever be able to grow apples again.”

“A truly ironic tragedy.” Voice Over gave a sad nod of his head.

“Isn’t it? I mention this as an aside, because I feel this is… symbolic, in a way. It is an early indication of a flaw inherent to this Industry’s approaches. It is a… small parable of their failure, before their influence had outstretched beyond that of ambitious businessponies. It is a flaw that has become ingrained instead of corrected. A bad habit turned into tradition, and affecting the nation as a whole, now.”

“And, as you said before. You believe this to largely be a byproduct of poor communication?”

“If not, I at least believe it is a problem that we might correct through the careful reparation of this poor communication.”

“You’d like the chance to remedy that, wouldn’t you?”

Celestia chuckled. “I certainly hope you haven’t caught me salivating at the prospect of teaching again. Such would be quite uncouth.”

Voice Over chuckled, too. “An old hobby of yours?”

“In many ways, I consider it an alternative to my role as a leader. I do my best to do both, and asserting myself as a ‘teacher’ exclusively somewhat discredits just how much I myself have to learn.” Celestia shrugged. “It is… enjoyable, to me. Sharing what I’ve learned, and learning what my ponies have, as well. The idea that I might begin doing that again is one I…”

“...Salivate at the prospect of.” Voice Over finished for her, giving her a sly grin. “Hyperbolically speaking.”

“I thought we agreed on avoiding that,” Celestia said with a smirk, earning another laugh from the radio host. “But, yes. I look forwards to it. I adored reading letters from my ponies when I was a Princess of Equestria.”

Voice Over had been leaning back in his chair with one ear pressed down, but he leaned forward as Celestia finished and took a sip of her water. A glance at the wall clock told Celestia that they didn’t have a whole lot more time on the docket. Less than ten minutes.

If she were to make her bold, unpredictable move, she would have to do it shortly.

It had always been her intention to--unorthodox, new, surprising. She’d been painted by Flim Flam Industry as two distinct but equally loathsome things; impersonal, and archaic. What better way to discard their lies than prove herself to be something quite opposite?

It was true, after all. Twilight had assured her of it, over and over and over again. She wasn’t a relic, or a forgotten old mare. She was forward thinking, hopeful, and kind. Or, at least, she was trying her damndest to be.

A rut, they had accused her of driving Equestria into, and keeping it there. Perhaps her wariness to take any risks with their recovering nation twelve years ago lent validity to that claim.

So be it. She wasn’t above taking risks, and she’d been proving so publicly since her return.

“I would like to return to that time again.” Celestia spoke up, her voice calm and thoughtful. “This is why I aim to begin retaking control of my duties as central ruler of Equestria in several months time.”

She’d already told Voice Over prior to beginning the interview the topics she’d intended to cover, but the bluntness with which she’d said them seemed to surprise even him. He blinked several times, furrowing his brow and leaning forwards.

“I’ve been hinting at such since my return, but have been negligent to provide a timeline. But in the past two months, I have watched Flim Flam Industry reel to explain themselves--to me, to Equestria. I’ve watched them try and fail to justify their deeds, and I’ve grown to understand that a not insignificant part of Equestria indeed see what I see. This is why I aim to provide an experienced, helping hoof in guiding us, ah. Back on track, as they say. So that we all might enjoy this new age the Industry have brought us, instead of only a fortunate few.”

Five minutes left on their docket, now. She’d waited till the candle had nearly burned down before speaking the most significant part of her interview, but part of her knew it had been for the best.

Voice Over had been a little unsure how to salvage his emotions to get his show back on track, so Celestia decided to kindly step in for him. “Ahem. This, of course, is an event occurring in the future, and depending on the reaction of my subjects. There’s been much said about me, and my intentions. I don’t ask for that scrutiny to be disregarded. I just ask for it to be levelled against my rulership. To put it bluntly… I just wish to be given a chance. Whether that is through my election, or through a peaceful transition of power… I haven’t yet decided.”

Shaking her head, Celestia smiled at Voice Over. “So. That’s largely what I’ll be doing in the immediate future. How about you, dear? The Running of the Leaves is right around the corner, yes? Have you any plans?”

And, just like that, Celestia and Voice Over had spent the remainder of their inventory talking about their plans for the Running of the Leaves in two weeks time. He’d been still a little surprised and shaken, at first, but the lighthearted topic had done wonders in getting the stallion back on track towards what he undoubtedly did best--talking about his reflections on the pop cultural pulse of Equestria.

Celestia left her temporary audience with Equestria’s ears on a lighthearted and peaceful note--a strange sort of epilogue to what would surely be seen as an earthshattering revelation to some. A confirmation of suspicions held since she’d returned to Equestria, and it was a confirmation said as casually as one might give their order at a restaurant.

Not said like a mighty, imagined demigod trying to assert her power. Simply said like an experienced mare who wanted to be given a chance to help once again.

When Celestia walked out into the bright light of New Canterlot, she did so with a smile on her face and a long, cylindrical gift-wrapped package held under a wing.

A telescope. She’d seen it in the window of a hobby store, her own distorted reflection peering thoughtfully back at her from within the fish-eyed lens at the end of the ivory-coloured shaft. She’d kept it under the desk the entire time she’d been yapping away with Voice Over, after purchasing it on a poorly-restrained impulse while she’d killed time waiting for her scheduled appearance. New Canterlot’s shops were plentiful, afterall, and Celestia’s cynicism and disdain towards the city’s very existence had already long since crystallized into a sort of passive tolerance.

A few cameras flashed as Celestia spread her wings, taking off over her newest city in a few brisk, powerful strokes. She transferred the package into her telekinesis as she took flight, rising first above the radio building and then above the long steel mast sharply rising into the late afternoon sky, reaching invisible tendrils of energy to her curious little ponies.

It was a twenty minute flight up to Old Canterlot--she’d been taking her time, admittedly, not wanting to press herself too hard. Twilight had already expressed her concern that Celestia may have been pushing herself a bit too hard, as of late.

It wasn’t a worry unfounded. She’d pressed herself since the Hollow Shades. Raven had said it, too. She wasn’t the healthy mare that she had been when she’d stood on the throne.

Filly’s flights. Celestia’s physician had called them. Don’t push your luck.

She was aging, now. Time to start acting like it.

The air didn’t help. She’d hated to complain, but flying outside of Old Canterlot truly was a burden. She settled down on the roof of Twilight’s Library somewhat out of breath, swishing her tail as she trotted over to the stairwell.

In three months, Twilight’s library had changed significantly.

Significantly, but not dramatically. In many ways, it stayed the same it had always been--before Celestia had come into Twilight's life, and even before Twilight had moved in after dropping out of college.

A small greenhouse had been built on the roof for Twilight’s dreamroot specimens--and a few cooking herbs for Celestia’s own personal gardening projects.

The rooms that Twilight had sectioned off for her own living quarters still largely served their adapted purposes, but the main hall had undergone a good amount of renovation in an attempt to regain its former glory. The skylight had been replaced, and the halls thoroughly cleaned, dusted, and rid of books too damaged to survive.

Twilight had been careful, but only one mare, and at least a dozen books had been too eaten away by moths and the elements to survive.

Suddenly, though, Twi's library had become important again, as Celestia’s own political traction rumbled on. Raven Inkwell had an office downstairs where a private study room had been, and Celestia had her own personal office a stone’s throw away.

Twilight’s own office had been largely organized and made sense of. Celestia had helped her with that. It had been a project the two of them had undergone together, and Celestia had found it to be a rather enjoyable one. She’d worried that sharing her organizational strategies with Twilight would bore the younger unicorn, and so she’d been surprised when she’d gotten a polar opposite reaction.

Twilight Sparkle seemed to be as eager to learn as Celestia was to teach.

It had been a slow, and sometimes tedious process, but after a few months, Twilight’s Library had emerged from a cocoon of neglect and poverty into the proud old Canterlot Library the two of them both had fond memories of.

Twilight was reading in the reading hall when Celestia returned, though she perked up when she heard Celestia’s hooves clanking against the metal stairwell. “Heya, Celestia. Thought I heard you come in.”

Celestia gave Twilight a small nuzzle, the unicorn setting her book down on the polished oak table. She hadn’t looked up to notice the package in Celestia’s telekinesis yet, and so Celestia took the opportunity to carefully lower it further out of view beneath the table.

Twilight had been reading a worn copy of The Equestrian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and Celestia stifled a small chuckle at the sight. “Not exactly light reading, Twilight.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking about what that mare said. The Spoiled one. Wouldn’t do much harm for me to be a bit more educated, right?”

“Perhaps not. How was Fluttershy’s?”

“It was… a lot of fun, actually.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

Twilight blushed, cracking her book back open again. “How ‘bout you? How was the trip to the city?”

At that, Celestia slowly lifted the package again, setting it down before Twilight on the reading room table. “I picked you up something. I thought I was above impulse purchases, but, well. It seems even I am beginning to fall to the infernal cities creature comforts. The Arcane Traditionalist Mother herself. Is there no hope at all?”

Twilight snickered, and she put her book down excitedly once more. “You didn’t have to do that, Celestia.”

“I wanted to.” Celestia settled down next to Twilight, resting a wing on her back. “Besides, you don’t even know what it is, yet.”

Indeed, Celestia felt a strange sort of dread overtake her as Twilight took the telescope in her telekinesis, gracelessly beginning to tear away at the wrapping paper. Suddenly, the entire thing seemed stupid to her--why the blazes would Twilight ever see merit in a brazen impulse purchase? Was she truly so pathetic, that she had to try and cajole respect out of the poor unicorn with silly, nonsense gifts?

Twilight blinked as she looked at the telescope.

Celestia resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and start hunting for the damned receipt.

“If it’s not something you’re interested--”

The sentence died as Twilight wrapped her hooves around Celestia, nudging her head beneath her wing. “I love it, Celestia. I love it so much.”

Celestia shuffled her wing to hold Twilight closer, breathing a long sigh of relief into the unicorn’s coat so she wouldn’t hear it. “It’s a fraction of what you deserve, Twilight.”

“I… I’d say we should go use it right now. I just worry that there might not be much starlight for us to see, here.” Twilight’s head sunk, running a hoof down the length of the telescope.

“Then it seems like the two of us have gained a personal reason for this little fight for Equestria we’re carrying out, doesn’t it?” Celestia brought a hoof to Twilight’s chin, gently lifting her head up to meet her eyes.

A smile seeped back onto Twilight’s face, and she nodded her head slowly. “Y-yeah. I guess so.”

A wonderfully warm sense of satisfaction had begun to flood into Celestia’s chest as she looked into her smile.

Tell her, you damned fool. Tell the mare.

“Twilight…” she began, her voice cracking on the first word. It had been ages since she had done this, and she had never really been good at it anyways. “Ahem. Ah… you probably already know this, but… every once in a while, a mare or a stallion feels a… a certain emotion, when they are in the presence of somepony else. Similar to friendship, I suppose… and yet very different as well. More refined and elegant.”

Celestia paused, took a deep breath, and continued.

“This feeling… at the risk of sounding like an old mare’s beach novel, this feeling is one of a kind. It cannot be equaled, and there exists no substitute. No synthesized replacement. Are you with me so far?”

Twilight’s eyes had grown as wide as the moon, but she managed to nod once and only once.

“I don’t mean to sound foolish, but this feeling is what we call ‘being in love.’”

Celestia stopped again, taking a moment to gauge Twilight’s expression. It remained unchanged, which was somehow much worse to Celestia than any wild, exaggerated frown or smile. If Twilight would have burst out into raucous laughter, it probably would have been more comforting to Celestia. But as it was, she had no choice but to venture into the terrifyingly still waters unaccompanied.

“Twilight… I know that I am just an old, foolish, crippled mare, and you are a spry young unicorn. I know there are probably other mares and stallions who are better for you than me. But… when I am with you… I…”

Celestia trailed off into a series of stuttering syllables, took another deep breath, and regained her confidence. “When I am with you, I have that feeling. I know my years are numbered, but I would like to spend the rest of them with you. I believe I am in love with you, Twilight Sparkle.”

With considerable effort, Celestia kept her eyes locked with Twilight’s. The unicorn’s distant wide-eyed gaze gave way to several frantic blinks, as though she was only now receiving Celestia’s words, transmitted to her from a thousand miles away, all distorted and broken but with their meaning still identifiable through all the haze.

Then, she gulped, and her head nudged it’s way back into Celestia’s wing. Celestia felt one of Twilight’s hooves stumbling about, trying to find Celestia’s, which the alicorn happily assisted with. Twilight gave her hoof a little squeeze, accompanying the sound with a small sob. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you… I... I don’t even know how to kiss somepony properly…”

Celestia broke the nuzzle, but only so she could look into Twilight’s eyes more properly. Unsure, but still so eager, and so full of love. “I have endured far worse than an awkward first kiss, Twi.”

Twilight managed a strained chuckle. “I g-guess so…” She sighed, and brought her snout closer to Celestia’s wing again. “I don’t ever want you to go, Celestia. Because I feel the same. But… I want it to last. Promise me that you won’t go.”

Celestia opened her mouth with a response. She closed it again, and Twilight’s ear twitched instinctively as a few of Celestia’s tears hit. “I don’t know how much time I can promise you, Twilight. But I will fight forever.”

Twilight was silent again, for nearly a minute.

When she next spoke, her voice was quiet and firm. “Okay.”

iii

Raven had picked up the phone, but she’d only spoken into it for several seconds before calling over to Celestia in her office adjacent to Raven’s.

“Princess? Got a mare from the Industry’s finance department on the line.”

Celestia perked up from her writing as Raven called out. A glass window separated them--a choice by design until the two had a working intercom system. Celestia’s own office was a room separate from Twilight’s, since she’d only needed it for the professional part of her life.

She’d taken to sharing the bed with Twilight in her study ever since their talk. Twilight’s office--twice the size of hers and Raven’s--had doubled as their bedquarters, and Celestia found herself rather thrilled by the development.

Of course, she was terrified by it in equal measure on no rare occasion. She hadn’t seen the signs of it, but the inevitable glacial drift still ate away at the fringes of her optimism. The unshakeable fear that even if the love was reciprocated now, it would wane and dim in time and she would be left alone once again.

It was an illogical fear, of course. Part of Celestia knew that. More often than not, Celestia had found a mere glance at Twilight while she read or tended to her dreamroot or scanned the lights of New Canterlot with her telescope was enough to dismiss it as the nonsense worry it had been.

“I’ll take it here Raven, thanks.” Celestia gave her secretary a gentle nod. She levitated her telephone receiver to her ear with a smile. “Good morning, Celestia speaking.”

“Princess Celestia, my name is Fine Line. We… ahem, spoke a few days ago? On the radio?”

“The quiet mare, yes. How are you, dear? You seemed… reluctant to be there.”

“That’s because I was. Princess Celestia, I’m calling because I am… interested in rejoining your former Royal Court. Now that I’ve been made aware that it survives in some capacity.”

“That remains to be seen, my dear.” Celestia moved the receiver to her other ear, sipping her morning tea gingerly. “My success in reimplementing it is no guarantee, after all.”

“Princess, to be frank… I’m in a position where I have to throw my fate behind either you, or the rest of this Industry’s board. Nothing is a guarantee for me, but I know what choice would at least give me more ease of mind. I’ve been… sitting on this phone call for about a week and trying to talk myself out of it, but… the more I think about it, the more I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“And what ‘thing’ would that be?” Celestia asked. Not accusatory--simply curious. This was an intriguing development, after all.

“Helping you. Putting my support behind the mare who’s… offering to help us fix the mess we made.”

Celestia smiled. “I will keep your offer in mind. I take it you have not made your intentions clear to your, ahem. Coworkers?”

“Goodness no. But I aim to give my resignation soon.”

“Well, I would be happy to have you back if you are indeed willing to return to my Day Court.”

They shared their mutual farewells--Fine Line’s interspersed with a hoof-full of hasty, overjoyed thanks for Celestia’s understanding. Celestia hung up with a small smile on her face, taking a long sip of her tea and settling back in her chair.

“Well. How about that,” she said aloud.

Raven had seemed conflicted, but she’d kept her unease largely to herself. Celestia could hardly blame the mare--she’d been in the same position Fine Line had been, after all, and she could hardly blame Raven for seeing a more cynical angle to Fine’s decision to abandon a sinking ship.

After all, how much assurance would that truly give Celestia that she wouldn’t receive the same treatment if things became troublesome on her end, too?

Celestia was more optimistic about the prospect, though. She’d seen how Fine had been acting at the interview--and how Spoiled Rich had been eying her whenever she’d dared to speak up. She found it much easier and much more emotionally fulfilling to simply assume the simpler option; Fine Line saw a healthier, more familiar working environment and wished to return to it.

Besides, Celestia herself could use a mare familiar with the Industry’s inner-workings when she’d inevitably have to sort them out herself.

When Fine Line did resign, three days later, a few papers had leapt on the story like it were worth solid gold. The tendrils Flim Flam Industry had extended out to influence the radio stations and newspapers seemed to be cannibalizing themselves, greedily leaping onto whatever story would get Equestrians reading. ‘Chief Secretary of Finance Resigns, Citing Personal Differences and Workplace Harassment’ had been the headline Twilight had been pushing the New Canterlot Herald for, but they’d predictably settled for something a bit less dramatic.

Before the week had ended, Twilight’s Library had received another call from Flim Flam Industry’s New Canterlot building.

Celestia had been unsurprised to hear the voice of Spoiled Rich when Raven had transferred her over.

“Good morning, Miss Celestia. This is Spoiled Rich, Chief Executive Office of Flim Flam Industry. I earnestly hope this call is finding you well.”

Celestia levitated the receiver a little further away from her, raising an eyebrow. Just how long did it take you to rehearse that greeting? Her mind had been tempted to ask, but she settled on a more mature response instead.

Spoiled Rich, as it had turned out, wished to meet with her.

‘Away from reporters, and away from microphones’, she had said. Celestia had done her best not to laugh out loud at that. She’d suspected Spoiled Rich and Florina both would be… reluctant to meet back with her under the same circumstances as last time, given how apparently disastrous it had been.

Still, Spoiled Rich’s uncharacteristically calm and grounded request to meet for a drink and ‘chat’, had been enough to get a genuine look of surprise out of Celestia. Twilight had put down her book to examine and listen to Celestia’s surprised look, and Celestia herself moved the receiver to her other ear.

“Where, Miss Spoiled Rich?”

“Do you know of any places in Old Canterlot? If not, I can make a reservation at The Golden Horseshoe, here in New Canterlot. It’s a marvelous place, with an even more marvelous dessert menu. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Celestia chuckled. “That sounds lovely, dear. Consider me intrigued.”

“Tonight? Eight PM?”

“Sure. I will be there.”

“I truly cannot thank you enough, Miss Celestia. You will be making a lot of ponies here very happy.”

Celestia hung up without saying goodbye, raising an eyebrow as she glanced over to Twilight lounging on a loveseat and reading another law textbook. “That was unusual.”

“... who was that?”

“Miss Spoiled Rich.”

“The CEO? What in Tartarus did she want?”

“To ‘chat.’” Celestia smirked. “And yes, she did use that word.”

Twilight blinked. “...that is weird.”

“I assume this is an attempt to placate my… promises to continue pushing for a peaceful revolution. A negotiation, if you will.”

“Can just as well be a trap. She might be trying to goad you into, like. Making a scene in public, or something.”

Celestia laughed. “It’s possible. Eight PM. Would you like to accompany me?”

“W-well. I promised Nightmare Moon we’d have a moon-raising and dream-walking lesson tonight. And she hasn’t been showing up outside of the dreamrealm in awhile, so I wouldn’t be able to reschedule with her without, y’know. Blowing her off at the last minute.”

Celestia exhaled. Twilight still spoke of Nightmare Moon as though she were some frightening spectre haunting her worries. It didn’t seem even remotely healthy to Celestia, but she was also aware of her own bias over the matters. “I presume doing so would make her angry with you.”

“Well, I mean. Most likely?” Twilight shrugged helplessly. “It’d just be really rude. I don’t want to do that to her.”

Celestia managed a small smile. “Well, I predict even the Spirit of Nightmares herself will be infinitely more hospitable than Spoiled Rich, regardless.”

Twilight stifled a chuckle with a hoof. “Don’t let her get under your skin, eh?”

“I don’t intend to be there long. I’d rather spend my evening with you and Nightmare Moon over that mare, believe me.”

Eight o’clock came sooner than Celestia would have liked. She’d settled on a train-ride instead of a teleport--the tapestry of lights that was New Canterlot was a rather wonderful sight, one accompanied with a cheerful little jazz record humming out from a speaker within the passenger train compartment.

Besides, trains meant ponies to talk to. Celestia had chosen to settle down with a pegasus mare who had been eager to make conversation with ‘Princess Celestia herself’. Even if it had been mostly small-talk--the weather, the longer nights as summer turned to autumn, the young pegasi’s excitement at scoring tickets for a Wonderbolts Showing later on in the month…

They’d both gotten off at a station deep within New Canterlot’s downtown core--the bubbly pegasus dismissing Celestia with a little wave as she ventured off to some nightclub someplace, while Celestia fished out a city map from a saddlebag and began hunting down The Golden Horseshoe.

It was, as she had predicted it would be, a dramatically fancy establishment. It lived up to it’s name--a building painted gold, lively shimmering in the hues of reflected neon from advertisements higher above it. A long line of ponies milling about, waiting to get in, though nearly all stopped to stare as Celestia took a spot in line behind them.

She supposed she could’ve trotted straight up to the bouncer, but Celestia was content waiting the fifteen or so minutes. It was time she’d spent staring at the ponies all trotting about on the busy nightlife streets of New Canterlot--scurrying out of the way of rumbling streetcars, laughing and arguing and speaking loudly in order to be properly heard above the city ambience.

The interior of The Golden Horseshoe was less intentionally striking as the exterior, but still radiated the same desire for distinguished ornament. A walkway surrounded the dining hall in the vague shape of a horseshoe, half a dozen dimly lit chandeliers hanging across the dining floor. They were all turned low enough that the candles on the table had the role of lighting the room instead, and the entire hall stood below a dark ceiling of tiny light bulbs that had been arranged to imitate starlight.

Celestia supposed these New Canterlot ponies had to see something resembling it, from time to time.

“Miss Celestia!” Celestia heard her name called to her from the dining floor, and she turned to see Spoiled Rich seated at a small, two-pony table, greeting her with a simple nod of her head. “You came.”

Spoiled had dressed impressively for the occasion. She was wearing an expensive-looking maple coloured dress, adorned with sequins that reflected in the warm light of the restaurant. She’d matched the dress with jewelry in her mane and around her neck, and she held her snout high as if to show them all off. Her greying mane was combed and styled carefully, and she regarded Celestia from behind spectacles that surely must have cost at least a thousand bits.

Celestia was a laughable contrast. She’d settled on a plain grey cloak of Twilight’s, and had thrown a few freshly picked flowers into her braided mane. A look perhaps unbefitting a Princess-to-be, but she wasn't there yet. And besides, Twilight had said she’d looked pretty.

“I came,” Celestia replied. Her horn lit, as she both pulled her stool out to sit and levitated off her cloak, draping it gently across the chair. “And… to be frank, I don’t intend to be here long.”

“Something important? At this hour?”

“Oh heavens no. But there’s a positively fascinating radio drama on later tonight that I promised Twilight we would try and catch together.”

Spoiled’s glare narrowed, just for a moment. Then, she plastered on a smile. “I see. Well, I will try not to keep you long, then.”

“Quite.”

Celestia said nothing further--a waitress had been lingering nearby, and had descended upon their table when she had seen Celestia sit. “Good evening! Welcome to The Golden Horseshoe! My name is Shiny Spoon, I’ll be your waitress for the evening.”

The young mare cantered her way through what must surely have been a well-memorized speech to her with a wavering nervousness--undoubtedly thanks to the unexpected nature of the patrons before her.

Celestia gave her a small smile. “Good evening, dear.”

“Can I start you two off with any drinks?”

“Oh, just tea, thank you.”

Spoiled ordered an expensive chardonnay who’s name Celestia was unfamiliar with, and the waitress whisked off to go get their drinks. Spoiled cleared her throat after she left, leaning forwards a little to regard Celestia pensively.

“I want to make you an offer, Miss Celestia.”

“Is that so? Another cash settlement?”

Spoiled shook her head. “An employment offer.”

Celestia tilted her head thoughtfully. “A replacement for Miss Fine Line, I presume.”

Spoiled bristled, as though the name of her former subordinate offended her. “How do you know about her?”

“That isn’t your concern.”

Spoiled glared--for all but a moment, before forcing her smile back on. “Her duties would be ones you would inherit, yes. On top of several others. You would be given authority over a not-insignificant percentage of the Industry’s total spending assets, and a seat on our Board of Directors.”

“A job. You’re offering me a job.”

“A dramatic understatement. I’m offering you a contract-bound co-ownership of Flim Flam Industry’s stock value.” Spoiled lifted her purse from below the table, nudging her snout inside and withdrawing a manilla envelope in her maw. She set it down on the table, easing it closer to Celestia with a hoof.

“You attempted this before with me, Miss Spoiled Rich.” Celestia took the envelope in a hoof, not opening it. “Your intern did, anyways.”

“That was a simple job offer. Think of this as… a partnership."

"With you."

"With me, and the rest of the Industry's Board of Directors. You would… be one of us, in essence."

"Fascinating. And why now?" Celestia tilted her head thoughtfully.

Spoiled's response was delayed as the waitress came scurrying back, a platter of drinks balanced somewhat precariously on a hoof.

Spoiled dismissed her with a half-hearted thank you, sipping her wine and taking the interruption as an opportunity to consider her response.

"Fine Line had been tasked with ensuring you were done right by us. You would have to ask her."

Celestia laughed out loud at that."Miss Spoiled, were I to take this offer, would you continue doing this?"

"This?" Spoiled blinked.

"'I'm sorry about the incompetence of my intern.'" Celestia quoted, drizzling a bit of honey into her tea. "'Oh, I apologize for how Miss Fine Line treated you.' Do you do any work of your own? Or take any responsibility for your actions whatsoever? Or have you truly gotten this far in life without having to?"

To Celestia’s amazement, Spoiled Rich managed to restrain herself from any level of explosive retort. She could have sworn she’d been able to physically witness the earthpony swallow down her rage as she feigned passive professionalism.

“Miss Celestia, I asked you to come here so we might have a polite and civil discussion of how we might work together. Not fling insults and accusations.”

Celestia exhaled. Perhaps she was being a bit too callous and arrogant. “My point, Miss Rich, is that I’ve learned--through both testimony from Miss Fine Line, and some quick sleuthing on the part of Twilight Sparkle--that you are a difficult mare to work with.”

“Ponies have a tendency to be intimidated by those of higher status.”

“Higher status,” Celestia repeated, idly bobbing the tea-bag in and out of her mug. “Miss Spoiled Rich, would you consider yourself the highest authority of Flim Flam Industry?”

“Not entirely. Do keep in mind, we operate as a committee. But I have the largest stock percentage, which in turn means I more or less have the most significant say on the company’s management.”

“Then what about the Flim-Flam Brothers?”

Spoiled Rich let out a gentle laugh. “They took their early retirement cheques more than a decade ago. I haven’t heard from them in ages.”

“So they are a non-factor?” Celestia rose an eyebrow. “That is considerably anticlimactic. Are they even still alive?”

Spoiled shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. “Most likely.”

“I would assume that their silence would be best explained by their being deceased. That seemed considerably more likely to me.” Celestia frowned. “They were not exactly shy when it came to denouncing the problems of my authority twelve years ago. Why stop now, when it matters most?"

“Given how much they exposed themselves to the factories during their early days of production, it is indeed possible. We did have to learn the hard way to start wearing respirators around certain compounds necessary for our fuel production.” Spoiled shook her head. “This topic is wholly irrelevant to what we were speaking about. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I just… I just wish for some sort of explanation. Don’t I at least deserve that?”

“For your… ahem, treatment?” Spoiled tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Yes. I fully believe the Brothers had a hoof in developing the… the SunTrotter device. That level of ingenuity is… simply put, their M.O.”

“It is very likely that they were involved with the machine during its developmental stages.”

“If that is the case, they deserve to be held responsible the same way you and your Industry should be.”

“Miss Celestia, believe me when I say I truly and sincerely wish to remedy that.” Spoiled gave the envelope on the table another tap of her hoof. “I am more than open to suggestions as to howwe might do that.”

“Resign.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“Resign, Miss Rich. That is the only condition that will satisfy me.”

“Miss Celestia. I beg you to--”

“You watched, Spoiled Rich. I recall your face.” Celestia pushed the manilla envelope closer to Spoiled, a weary frown on her face. “When I was a thousand feet beneath the earth, and dying, and all I’d wanted was to see the damn sun, instead of just feeling it through the SunTrotter. You were amongst the ponies who looked me in the face and told me ‘no.’ I don’t have an obligation to forgive you for that.”

Spoiled’s feigned professionalism seemed to drop in a moment, like a curtain parting way to reveal a changed set during a play. “I’ve listened to you parade your mercy and compassion for three months now on the radio. You hypocrite.”

Celestia sighed. Not in frustration, or annoyance--simply an old and tired mare wanting to politely will silence so she may speak. “Miss Rich, may I speak bluntly with you, at the risk of offending?”

“I believe we’re long past such formalities by this point.”

Celestia smiled. “Your corporation is a ghost. A husk. It once stood for something, perhaps, but it no longer does. And when something dies, it does not continue crawling about. It festers, and rots, and after enough time it becomes indistinguishable from the dirt from whence it came.

“You, my dear, are like one of the creatures that feeds off a corpse that you don’t even know is rotting yet. But, like any natural parasite, you’ve somehow learned that it’s death means your own survival is endangered. So you pull at nerves and you try desperately to keep it moving. You attach yourself to failed vital organs and threaten to stop them if you don’t get your way. But all you’re really doing is crawling a little further from where you’re eventually destined to fall.

“When I stood in front of those machines in the fields of Hayseed… or when I flew into vast chasms of pure chaos, knowing I may never return again, I stood for these ponies. For the survival of the world I lived in. Wearily, tired, but proud that I’d been given the opportunity. What do you stand for, Spoiled Rich? Any of you? Greed? Wealth? Selfishness? It doesn’t matter; to me, they’re all just the same rot that I will never allow my ponies to fall to.”

“You’re wrong. You couldn’t be any more wrong about me.” Spoiled Rich growled out. “Nor Equestria. You’re a fool if you don’t truly understand why they turned away from you twelve years ago.”

“Enlighten me then, dear.”

“They were frightened,” Spoiled said, through grit teeth. “In less than two years, this nation was almost destroyed on multiple occasions--by a mad alicorn, by a unicorn tyrant, by a chaos king. And the pony who ‘saved’ them was the same mare who used her superiority over her little ponies as the sole justification for why her decisions were final.”

Celestia glared. “That’s a li--”

“I am not finished speaking.” Spoiled cut in. “You think there is some great narrative against you. But you haven’t even considered the idea that perhaps ponies might be valid in fearing you. Your power. The very idea that the Sun itself can be controlled by the whims of an alicorn who is just as susceptible to corruption as Nightmare Moon or Sombra or any of the other foes that have come and gone.”

“Foes that I endangered myself saving Equestria from.”

“And in your mind, we’re your foes, now. Ponies frightened of your power, and trying to govern themselves instead of have their fates decided by an alicorn who would use the Sun as a bargaining chip.” Spoiled forced out a laugh. “So go ahead and snuff us out like you would all the other foes, Celestia. You think you’ve got the whole nation in your hoof, but you have no idea how deeply their fear of you really is rooted. And if it does come down to a question of me versus you, I will do anything to make sure this nation is free of your influence.”

Spoiled grabbed the envelope, shoving it back into her purse and sneering at Celestia as she did.

Celestia let out a long exhale. She'd never have admit it to the mare before her, but it indeed was a troublesome prospect.

The Flim Flam Brothers had done it to her quite efficiently, before. Fear was a weapon, the same way resigned apathy was a sedative. Celestia had too much personal experience with Equestria's new state to know they were adept at dealing with both. “My dear, I do not wish to--”

“Shut it. You’ve denied my offer, so I have nothing more for you. Don’t expect to hear from me again.”

That was hardly a tragedy, Celestia thought. A glance at a pocketwatch in Celestia’s cloak told her it was nearly nine already, regardless, and Celestia would much rather be back home with Twilight.

This was all a waste of her time, as every attempt to reason with these ponies ended up being.

“This nation is above blind, unjust fear, Miss Spoiled Rich. They won't succumb to it in favour of you."

"Are you certain about that? Be honest, Celestia. After all you've seen, do you truly believe that?"

Celestia didn't answer, instead rising to her hooves and putting her cloak back on. "Good evening to you, Spoiled Rich."

“Uh huh.”

Spoiled Rich stepped off the airship and into the cool light of the Frozen North.

She shuddered instantly, clicking her tongue twice for her guard accompaniment. They trotted closer to her as quickly as they could manage, one of the unicorns levitating over Spoiled’s heavy shawl, along with a respirator. He gently placed it down on her back, as she stepped off the gangplank.

Spoiled walked out with her head held high, ears alert and tail swishing as her hooves clacked on the steel gangplank. The stacks were far away, but she took the respirator in a hoof anyways and put it on. The sound of her breathing became louder and more mechanical as the two filters on either side of the mask began to eat away at the toxins rampant in the crisp northern air.

Already, the airship was preparing to dust-off, Spoiled casting a wary glance back at it as it’s rotors fired back to life. Ahead of her, the large steel door of the small facility was already being attended to by one of the station’s guards, who gave Spoiled a small bow as she trotted closer.

“Hurry, will you?” she glared, keeping her gaze on him and not the five mighty smoke stacks spewing white clouds upwards into the larger blizzard hanging above them. “It is irritably cold out here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guard said as he swung it open. Three inches of reinforced steel, and the pegasus struggled a little as he fought the winds to pry it open. Spoiled trotted through at a quicker pace, promptly kicking off her snow-covered shawl on the other side for one of the station guards to put away for her.

“Right. Tea, immediately,” she announced to whoever was in the room. The door slammed shut dramatically behind them, the other guards falling into line behind her as she trotted inside. Spoiled Rich removed her respirator, also flinging it unceremoniously into one of the guards hooves.

The entrance to the station was one long metallic corridor, lined on both sides with a few parkas tucked away neatly on hooks below a grated drain. Long electric lights made up the entire upper ceiling, casting the corridor in a sharp white glow. Spoiled led the way into the main area of the station--a common-area for the half a dozen or so crew members of the station immediately greeting her. It was little else but minimalistic couches and shelves, built more for practicality than decor.

There were three more guards awaiting her, two of them flanking a pegasus mare with a greying yellow mane and an old bomber jacket on her aqua-blue coat. She saluted a wing to Spoiled, and then gave a little nod to the guards accompanying Spoiled.

“Good day, Miss Rich.”

“Charmed,” Spoiled drawled out, giving a little roll of her eyes. “Disguises, immediately. I want to see all of you grotesque things as you’re supposed to be.”

One of the guards that had been accompanying Spoiled fixed her with an indignant glare, before flaring his horn to life. The white-coated stallion’s fur seemed to shed away to moulded chitin, glaring green eyes glowing to life.

“Equestrian residency tags. Let me see them.” Spoiled clicked her tongue again, The changeling stallion trotted closer, his horribly jagged horn glowing green as he did, summoning a pair of dogtags from beneath his armour. Spoiled snatched them in a hoof, peering down at the serial number for all but a moment before flinging them back to the changeling.

“Any others, I want to see your changeling forms immediately in my presence.”

“We have two other changelings employed, Miss Spoiled Rich,” the guard captain said. “One of them has been in my squad for nearly six years.”

“I did not imply otherwise, Miss…”

“Lightning Dust, ma’am. And with whatever respect you think you’re owed, you did.”

Spoiled scoffed. “I simply wish to have all my ducks in a row, Miss Dust. Where is Captain Armor?”

“In his chambers. Do… you want to visit him right away?”

“No, I wished for a tea, right away, though that wish seems to have gone unheard.” She snorted. She settled down onto one of the couches, looking at the other ponies in the room. The only non-guard occupant was a turtleneck-wearing unicorn mare, who had been reading a dry-looking romance novel in the corner. She put it down to regard Spoiled with a curious frown as she and her guards shuffled over into the common room proper.

“Miss Rich. Always a pleasure to see you.”

Spoiled didn’t know the name of the mare, and she didn’t quite care, so she settled on a simple nod as her chosen greeting. “Quite.”

There was silence for another thirty seconds, before a cup of oolong was gently set down on the end table beside her. Spoiled lifted it in a hoof, taking a ginger sip. “Miss Dust?”

“Miss Spoiled?” Lightning Dust trotted closer. “If you complain about the feather-flippin' tea, now…”

Spoiled narrowed her eyes. “When are you scheduled to fire the Suntrotter?”

“Well, at 0600 hours tomorrow. Y’know. Sunrise.”

“No, fool, before sunrise.”

Captain Dust blinked.

“Celestia will be raising the sun at sunrise, yes? So, unless you want interference from her, schedule the Suntrotter’s firing before sunrise. You bloody amateurs.”

She sipped her tea again, Captain Dust looking admittedly a little taken-aback by Spoiled’s words. Good, she thought. Served the arrogant mare right.

“I’ll make sure Captain Armor knows.”

“I will tell him myself. First, take my bags to my quarters immediately and have my supper brought there. I wish to get my beauty sleep if we aim to be up so dreadfully early.”

The salute from Lightning Dust was reluctant and accompanied with a little eyeroll, and Spoiled felt her temper flare as the pegasus trotted off. Another pony she’d have to make a mental note of. Her list was getting dreadfully large by now.

She finished her tea in one final swig, rising to her hooves again and jerking her head for her own guards to follow. There wasn’t much more to the station besides the common area and bunking quarters for the small crew, and everything had been arranged for simplicity's sake. There’d been no point of developing the station further, she’d been told, until they had a successful test firing of the Suntrotter to report.

Until after tomorrow morning.

Spoiled smiled to herself at the prospect. It wasn’t hard to visualize Celestia’s reaction--she’d read the reports herself and seen the photographs taken of the Suntrotter 2000 facility.

Their success would horrify her. That, Spoiled thought, would be a wonderful thing. Equestria had been listening to that old mare blabber on about herself for far too long, and the confidence that had been trickling into the ex-princess’s voice was positively irritating.

Everytime she spoke of her imprisonment--indeed, even the SunTrotter itself, the Ex-Princess’s mask of regality vanished. She became what Spoiled knew she was; a sad, old mare who needed retirement far more than the throne.

And soon enough, Spoiled Rich would be able to say to all of Equestria that Miss Celestia’s sun raising purposes were no longer required.

And then, who would give a damn what happened to her?

Author's Note

Thanks a lot to my friend Odd Shot for prereading this one. Go give him your love.

Where We're Going (XXI)

“Alright. Get out.”

It was a loudly spoken, firm command. One issued the moment the gangplank of the airship had opened to the swirling snows of the Frozen North.

“Thanks. I figured,” Shining Armor said with a little roll of his eyes, his hooves clanging against the gangplank.

Ahead of them was the facility he’d spotted from the air on the way in. The stacks were looming on the far side, overseeing the rest of the single story compound. There were a few other smaller buildings surrounding the centermost one, divided by long strips of red wire to combat the swirling blizzard around them.

It was the Crystal Empire all over again, Shining thought.

“Might wanna put this on, Captain Armor.” One of the cops next to him had levitated a respirator mask. He’d already doned his own over his head, the sound of his filter-distorted voice startling Shining for a moment before he turned.

“Thanks.” Shining put his own on, taking a long sip of filtered air and exhaling deeply. “Air’s toxic, here?”

“Smoke stacks ahead aren’t exactly pumpin’ out happy little clouds, Captain.”

Shining managed a small chuckle. “Touche, private.”

He was marched without further ceremony towards the large metal door leading into the central facility. It opened with effort and closed with a deafening thud, and the silenced wind was momentarily jarring. The dull hum of electric lights soon replaced it, a long hall leading into the central building's common room. It didn’t look much different from most military common areas Shining had spent much of his young adult life lounging in. There were more bookshelves and academic resources, of course, but the general layout was familiar.

Down the long corridor leading inside, two ponies were already making their way closer to Shining and his escort of two armed guards. A lab coat-wearing unicorn and a pegasus guard--the latter decorated with several metals clinging onto a worn bomber jacket.

“Commander Lightning Dust.” The pegasus greeted Shining Armor with a quick salute. “Head of Security here. It’s an honour, Captain Armor. I was part of your infantry during the Battle of Shattered Shields.”

Shining returned the salute with a tired but kind smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Commander Dust. Mind telling me what this all is about?”

Beside Lightning Dust, the lab coat wearing unicorn cleared her throat, a little warily. “Welcome to Equestria’s first Suntrotter Facility, Captain Shining Armor. We both… I apologize for the… ah, unorthodox means of reaching you.”

“It’s not the worst welcome I’ve had.” Shining rolled his eyes. “You are?”

“...lacking in manners, it seems.” The mare presented a hoof, attempting a smile--though it was strained and wavering.“Moon Dancer. Chief head of research and technologies here.”

“This place?”

“Right to the point, I see.” Moon Dancer let out a chuckle, both of her ears folding flat against her head. “Come, have a seat in our common area and we’ll chat. Make yourself at home.”

Shining kept his eyebrow raised as he followed her down the brightly lit entrance corridor to the common area, removing the respirator and keeping it levitated by his side as he followed Moon Dancer and Lightning Dust to the common area.

“What division, Commander? Airforce?”

She nodded. “That's right. Scout, Second Rank.”

Shining nodded. “Blizzards were something fierce. Must have been tough.”

“Haven’t gotten much better.” Lightning Dust chuckled, nodding back at the metal door. “Still. Nice if you can get above the clouds. Lots of stars, and sometimes even the northern lights on a nice night.”

There were four more guards in the common room, but they thankfully kept their distance as Shining sat down at a card table in the common area.

Lightning Dust generally stayed close to Moon Dancer, though she stayed standing as the other two sat down. The other four guards lingered in the entrance to the common area, at attention but only slightly so. Apparently, Shining’s status as a threat had been reduced somewhat thanks to his frustrated but professional cooperation, and he was a little relieved for the extra trust.

Moon Dancer sat across from him, while one of the three guards trotted out of the room and further down the hall into the rest of the facility.

“SunTrotter Facility.” Shining repeated as soon as she sat down. “That mean what I think it means?”

“That depends on how much you know about the SunTrotter Project.”

“Pieced most of it together when my boys raided the last facility you fellas built. Never was one for fancy new technologies, and the State destroyed most of the equipment before we got there. Still, given the context of where we found it, I think I know enough to make an educated guess.”

“We aren’t exactly associated with the facility that you encountered.” Moon Dancer frowned, shaking her head slowly. “The technology, yes. But the applications there? Ones I’m quite abhorred by, I assure you.”

“This facility is brand new.” Commander Lightning Dust piped up. “Been here for about a year or so.”

“Same time Celestia first said she was writing a scroll that would let you raise the Sun.” Shining frowned. “You must think I’m an idiot if you expect me to swallow that the two are unrelated.”

Lightning Dust and Moon Dancer shared a glance. Neither spoke for several moments, and when Moon Dancer did eventually break the silence, her voice had grown significantly quieter. It was as though she didn’t want even the facility’s guards to hear her.

“I was hired onto this project less than six months ago,” Moon Dancer said, averting her gaze from Shining as she did. “I was hired due to my research into alternative magical fuel source technologies, and briefed the same way I’m now briefing you.”

Shining frowned. “Then why are you having this conversation with me, instead of Princess Celestia?”

Lightning Dust snorted.

“Oh, yeah. That’d go over smoothly,” she murmured under her breath.

Shining glanced over. “Got somethin’ to add, Commander?”

“Just that takin’ the recoverin’ trauma survivor on a tour around here might not go over well.”

Shining scoffed. “Congratulations, Commander Dust, you answered my next question before I even asked it.”

“Ahem.” Moon Dancer cleared her throat. “If I might speak for a moment?”

“Go ahead, lab coat.” Shining nodded to her.

“As Commander Dust so eloquently put it--” Moon Dancer narrowed her eyes in Lightning Dust’s direction. “Princess Celestia is a recovering victim, and she’s currently being massively discriminated against by the State as a whole right now.”

Shining snorted. “That’s obvious.”

“S-so. It seems very likely she would misconstrue the nature of our operation here.”

“That nature being? Your kind and benevolent reason for trying to steal the damned sun from her?”

“Contingency.” Moon Dancer, for all her outward awkwardness, spoke the single word with utmost confidence. “An acute awareness that her health and mental state is incredibly fragile at the moment.”

At that, Shining started for a moment. He couldn’t think of some witty response, so he stayed silent instead.

“I just wish to go over the schematics of the facility with you.” Moon Dancer continued. “All I ask is four days of your time. We’re… we’re proud of what we’re working on, here. But we need your help.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to extort me to try and talk me into it.” Shining nodded back at the guards that had accompanied him from the airship. “Gotta be another side to the coin.”

“There always is, Captain. I know that just as well as you do.” Moon Dancer shook her head. “You don’t think I’m not equally as curious why the State wants this done now? Of course there’s a political angle to it.”

“Then you can understand my reluctance to assist with it, when said policies aren’t in Princess Celestia’s hooves.”

“Four days of your time.” Moon Dancer repeated gently. “It’s all I ask for. That’s how long until the next supply run, so you’re icelocked with us till then anyways.”

As it turned out, Moon Dancer was an easy mare to get along with.

Shining Armor had noticed it early on into his ‘visit’, as they’d come to refer his current status at the remote facility where it would seem he would be spending the immediate future.

They didn’t call him a prisoner of the state, but Shining Armor knew the implications when he’d last seen them. There was nothing to gain from denying it, and Moon Dancer had been entirely right about their icelocked state. The guard entourage around him had largely vanished, trusting that Shining himself knew how slim his chances of survival would be out in the frozen tundra.

Commander Lightning Dust was a clear contrast to Moon Dancer’s coy awkwardness, but still a pony Shining Armor was beginning to garner a mutual respect for. While she’d seemed outwardly arrogant and hostile, they had still worked together during the Crystal War. It became difficult to separate their history, and Shining Armor had quickly learned that nights in the SunTrotter facility were generally dull. The result was evenings that became difficult to separate from the idle reminiscing long nights in the arctic typically descended into.

“Mentioned you were scout division?” Shining Armor had found the pegasus reading a battered Wonderbolts magazine in the common area, while two of her inferiors were playing cards quietly in the corner. “During the Crystal War?”

Lightning Dust let the magazine fall a little, greeting Shining Armor with a sideways glance. “Mhm. Second Rank, like I said.”

“Second Rank, eh?” Shining Armor rose an impressed eyebrow. “Wonderbolts reserve?”

“Yep.” The pegasus gave a quick salute with a wing. “Been with ‘em nearly fifteen years, now.”

“Damn good flyers. Always loved working with you birds.”

“Heh. Doing a lot more slideshows than corkscrews these days," Lightning Dust chuckled. She rose her left wing, and Shining could make out the tell-tale signs of a metal appendage replacing a missing wingbone. “Y’know, on account of the bum wing.”

Shining gave it a glance over. The whole thing hadn’t been replaced, just one or two of the pegasi’s primary flight bones. The obviously bulkier metal prosthetics were easy to spot with a trained eye, jutting out from feathers on the pegasi’s folded wing. An important joint bone--one Shining had often seen Sombra’s archers firing at.

“What battle?” He nodded at the wing. “Shattered Shields?”

She nodded back, giving her wing a little rustle. “Yeah. Got it carryin’ an earth pony away from enemy lines. Empire bastard put one of those crystal arrows right where it counts.”

Shining winced, nodding his head slowly. What Sombra’s Empire lacked in numbers they’d more than made up for in cunning ingenuity. The longer the damned war continued, the worse it became, until by the end a single crystal arrowhead striking the right place was often enough to rot away at the flesh of a once perfectly healthy royal guard.

“Got lucky.” Commander Lightning Dust outstretched her wing a little to show off the metal bone prosthetic. “Lot of my friends lost their wings entirely. And they were the luckier ones. Thankfully, the earth pony I was haulin’ outta there knew her way around a medkit. Managed to pull out the arrow before the magic could start spreading. Probably woulda lost it, otherwise. If I didn't buy the farm entirely."

Shining nodded again. The common area had been kind enough to include a liquor cabinet, and Shining fished out two shot glasses and a bottle of rye, levitating one over to Lightning Dust. “Wasn’t exactly easy, was it?”

She chuckled. “No sir, it was not. Flyin’ in formation up there at night. Endless ocean of black. The quiet... that was the worse part, the way the quiet clung to the air like you had'ta fly through it. And the whole while, your mind’s telling you, 'hey, it’s just a few of them left, so what’s the worse they can do to you from all the way down there?' But still, you’ve seen what the medics had to see, so part of you knows...”

She exhaled, taking the glass gratefully with a wing.

“Slideshows about flight patterns must be nice around now.” Shining Armor sipped his own, shooting her a sideways glance.

Lightning Dust laughed. “Oh they are. Still, felt good, dragging that pony back to safety. Feels a little weird to say that, but… well, got me a Bronze Feather, so…"

Shining Armor smiled his old and tired smile. “Doesn’t feel weird at all to me. Feels important, really.”

Lightning Dust nodded. “It’s this new stuff that scares me more, if I’m being completely honest. Least with Sombra, it was easier to know where we stood. Nowadays?” The pegasus gave a little shrug, sipping her rye again. "It's anypony's guess."

“Sometimes feels like we took a lot of Sombra back home with us, to me.” Shining Armor nodded his head at the line of windows that lined one wall of the common area, revealing a blurred white blizzard framed by tiny portholes. “Ever get that feeling?”

“Took a lot back home with us in the literal sense, Captain Armor. Crystal Ponies. Changelings. But yes, I do get that feeling.”

An awkward silence ensued, but was broken before too long by the sound of hoofbeats clacking against the station’s tiled floors. Moon Dancer entered, a few dossiers and writing utensils levitating around her in a sort of frenzied orbit of stationary and paperwork. A thermos of coffee was within the telekinetic miasma as well, in a separate orb of magic of a slightly darker shade.

Both Shining and Lightning Dust watched the mare with mild amusement as she hastily set all of her affairs down upon one of the common room tables.

“Good evening, Captain Armor.” Moon Dancer kept her head low as she greeted them. “Commander Dust.”

“Howdy.” Shining took his liquor with him, making his way over to Moon Dancer. Beside him, Lightning Dust once again cracked her magazine open, taking another idle sip of her liquor.

“Comin’ to play Trotzee?” Shining smirked at Moon Dancer, as he sat down. He tilted his head in the direction of the shelves of boardgames and gramophone records lining one corner of the common room. “Game of blackjack?”

Moon Dancer let out a tired laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how boring some of the nights get here.”

“They don’t let you, y’know? Have a shoreleave?

“Cheaper to keep us here. All they have to do is fly supplies up.” Moon Dancer shook her head. “Got the basic schematics here, if you wanna go through them. Can give you the fast version of what we’re working on here. And how you can help. That sort of stuff.”

“Gotta kill time somehow.” Shining nodded, leaning a little closer to Moon Dancer from across the table. “This thing you’ve been building--it’s the same device as the one Celestia was using?”

“It is very similar in principle, yes.” Moon Dancer pushed one of the documents closer to Shining. “I wasn’t allowed to look through the schematics of the SunTrotter 2000, mind you…”

“Really.” Shining raised an eyebrow. “They want you to build the newest model, and won’t let you look at the last one?”

Moon Dancer shook her head. “There wasn’t anything left for me to look at. They were quite thorough about that.”

“Can I ask you a question, Professor?”

“Why I’m here.” Moon Dancer nodded.

“How much did you know? About Celestia?”

Moon Dancer’s frown grew, and she took to clicking a pen idly in her magic.

“How much did you know, Captain Shining Armor?” she replied shortly. Shining didn’t immediately answer, and Moon Dancer seemed to take his silence as a response in itself. “I was under the impression they were using a magic scroll written by Celestia in private before her passing. Never in a million years would’ve guessed it was actually her.”

Shining fixed her with a neutral expression. She didn’t seem to be lying, and she certainly didn’t seem the sort of pony that Shining would have expected to have been a particularly fluid liar regardless. Her nervous ticks and stuttering would surely give her away almost instantly.

“You said your model is ‘similar in principle’,” Shining said, leaning forwards. “How does it differ, then?”

Moon Dancer seemed to relax a little, the moment Shining eased his questioning back towards her project instead of the eerie past echoes of it’s previous incarnation.

“Mainly? The power required to run it. Celestia’s connection with the Sun largely bypassed the requirement for expelling mass amounts of energy. She was able to do so using magic alone. We… aren't quite as lucky. Since nopony has a natural connection with the Sun like she does, we instead need to… brute force it, in laymare's terms."

“That’s what the stacks outside are for?”

Moon Dancer nodded again. “We call them Arcane Fuel Reactors. I’ve been working on them long before I even knew about the SunTrotter project, but the State never really gave my research much funding. Still, I believe they’re capable of producing ten times the energy of your conventional coal power plants or diesel generators.”

“Uh huh..." Shining Armor drawled out, frowning. "You’ll forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced as of yet about your little miracle device. Kinda reeks of the glory days of the Flim Flam Brothers, to me. For better or worse.”

“That’s because it’s a continuation of their research. And this is where the… disadvantages come into play,” Moon Dancer said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses as she spoke.

Shining frowned, though internally his mind was racing. Now they were getting somewhere. “Toxicity?”

“So you Royal Guards do read.” Moon Dancer gave a small nod of her head. “Probably noticed how most of us wear respirators when we’re anywhere near the stacks, right? That’s because the fuel compound we use is… incredibly volatile, and incredibly toxic to the lungs.”

“Let me guess. The Brothers were your wake-up call for that one?”

Moon Dancer shrugged, her tail swishing irritably. “You think the State shares that information with me? I’m a lackey same as you. Only difference is, I build the trigger and you’re the pony who pulls it.”

Shining let out a little laugh. “Touche, Moon Dancer. What’s your personal opinion, then? Y’know, lackey to lackey?”

Moon Dancer pursed her lips, and took a long drink of coffee from her thermos. “Dead, both of them. Accidental is the most likely cause, and absolutely the one the State will commit to when the time comes. They don’t tell us because they worry it’ll scare ponies off the SunTrotter project. And just so you know, this conversation stays between the two of us.”

“‘Course. Don’t think maybe they’re… just in retirement? Like the State says?”

Moon Dancer let out a cruel laugh. “If that were the case, don’t you think they’d be the ones here instead of me and you?”

“Guess that’s true.” Shining shrugged, turning his attention back to the schematics on the table in front of him. “So, anyways. Your SunTrotter burns a potent gasoline you don’t want to breathe in? That’s it?”

“A gross generalization. We burn a highly concentrated and magically enhanced chemical compound--mostly nitric acid and hydrazine--which is, well. It’s… potent, to say the least. We, ah. Call it 'Tirek's Tea', around here." Moon Dancer grinned--nervously, but well intended all the same.

Shining chuckled. "Charming. I take it that's more than just an alliterative naming choice?"

"Well, as I said, it's highly volatile, so it has to be handled with utmost precision. Both of the components used are highly carcinogenic, and they’ll burn their way down to the bone if you come in contact with them. We catalyze this compound using rare, magically-conductive gemstones, which themselves are also highly volatile and toxic. The result, though, is an incredibly concentrated burst of pure magical energy that we can aim and fire towards one central point. Imagine more than a thousand highly-trained unicorn mages, all firing at one point.”

“Like the olden times. Like before alicorns. That's what you need me for?" Shining guessed. "Aiming the magic beam?"

"We need a unicorn who is trained in pre-Industrial rune magic, with a long and successful casting history and trained magical endurance." Moon Dancer nodded. "So… yes. ‘Aim the magic beam.’ You were the top of a pool of, ahem. 'Applicants.'"

Shining bit his lip. It was an almost flattering feeling, initially, but it dissolved into worry before too long the moment he thought about the contents of such a list.

Was Twilight on it?

It seemed unlikely, but not impossible. She'd flunked her entrance exam, yes, and there would be a documented record of it. But, at the same time, the State's police force also would have had records of Twilight's rune-guarded library in Old Canterlot. She'd written a dozen articles that exposed a well researched knowledge in the arcane, that surely would have made her an asset to Moon Dancer's cause.

What would she do, if she were where Shining was? He doubted Twilight would have even humored them for this long. But Twilight also didn't have a Royal Guard squadron who's fates might still depend on their leader's co-operation.

"Consider me honored to have been included." Shining rolled his eyes. "The device itself… it's already here?"

"The SunTrotter 3000?"

Shining snorted. "Not a very creative name, labcoat. Yes, that."

"Building it right now. We're hoping to have it complete before the fall equinox. Distance between us and the Sun is the narrowest then, which makes it an ideal time to carry out a test firing.”

“So, three months from now.” Shining leaned forward. “You’re aiming to use it three months from now.”

“Bingo.” Moon Dancer nodded. “I’d offer to take you over to the firing building, but it’s, ah…” The unicorn glanced in the direction of one of the porthole windows.

“...Colder than a windigo’s lunch?” Shining guessed.

Moon Dancer smirked a bit. “Y-yes. That.”

“Let’s go over the schematics, instead.” Shining rose to his hooves, lifting his chair in his telekinesis and carrying it over to Moon Dancer’s side of the table.

iii

On the fourth day of Shining’s ‘visit’, Spoiled Rich arrived.

The airship arrived early in the morning, as Shining was sipping some dreadful-tasting instant coffee and mulling over a photocopy of the SunTrotter schematics that Moon Dancer had printed off for him.

It was a fascinating machine. Part of him detested to admit it, but it was simply factual. The Flim Flam Brother’s hoofprints were all over it, though never in a formal capacity. It was rather obvious, though, and even Moon Dancer had agreed with him.

An enigma, like the mare who had been showing it to him, but that was alright to Shining Armor. It was far more welcome than the wild theories his panicked mind had been concoting since he’d seen that airship looming over his apartment complex. The entire ride into the facility four days ago had been one flooded with morbid imaginations of himself being dumped out the side of an airship. Left to freeze to death in the icy wastelands of the Frozen North--little more than a State inconvenience, remedied.

That, he reminded himself--as he watched the supply airship setting down on the landing pad outside the SunTrotter Facility--was still a distinct possibility.

He’d been polite but firm to Moon Dancer about his reluctance to become involved with their SunTrotter Project. And she’d been quietly understanding, the mare seemed far too clever to not be without her own suspicions about her usefulness to the State. Now, though, the face of the State itself was donning a respirator and starting down the gangplank of the supply ship.

After several seconds, the vault-like door of the facility was forced open, and Spoiled Rich herself trotted inside. Two guards lingered behind her, one stopping to close and seal the metal door and the other following her as she made her way into the common room.

Besides Shining, there were a few of Lightning Dust’s guards in the common room, eating their bland-looking oatmeal. They rose to attention the moment Spoiled Rich entered, but she didn’t seem to register their presence as she honed in on Shining Armor instead.

“Good morning, Miss Rich.” Shining rose himself, taking his coffee with him as he walked over to meet her halfway. “Quite the highly-dangerous and ethically questionable project you’ve been funding in secret outside the public’s eye.”

Spoiled Rich smirked. “A rather hypocritical introduction from the stallion who leaked confidential State secrets to the public press. Though I can’t help but notice you left your own complacency in Celestia’s imprisonment go conspicuously untold. Selective, self-beneficial honesty is always so inspiring from a member of the Royal Guard.”

“Uh huh. Funny how blackmail does that to somepony.” Shining returned.

“Sooner or later, your sister will learn that you stood back and left Celestia to her fate. And when that happens, I want you to remember that you brought it on yourself.”

Shining sighed. “My squad. They’re safe?”

“They haven’t been charged, yet.” Spoiled Rich lifted a cigarette case from a jacket pocket. “Light, darling?”

Shining flared his horn, casting heat magic around the tip of the cigarette. “They’re likely wondering why there’s suddenly complete radio silence between me and them. They’re going to put two and two together and start looking.”

“Yes, well. It is a good thing for them, then, that you are being sent on a diplomatic mission to Griffonstone for the next three months.” Spoiled Rich smirked. She trotted her way over to the common area, giving the guards a judging glare. They were still standing at attention, though they faltered a little under her icy gazy. “All of you, get out. I am talking to Captain Armor in private.”

The guards gave the most reluctant and forced salute Shining had ever seen, and began shuffling out of the common area. The moment they were gone, Spoiled Rich made her way into the common area proper, sitting down at one of the loveseats seemingly at random.

“Griffonstone, eh? Some sort of civil unrest there?”

“Yes, actually. Riots and infighting, as per usual with those beaked savages. Your presence there is a rather dashing cover story. And, so long as you keep co-operating, in three months time you can go right back to your depressing little Royal Guard life with this as a little secret footnote someplace in that empty little Royal Guard brain of yours.”

“And if I don’t comply?” Shining stayed where he was--standing, tall and proud and high above the haughty mare before him. He was Princess Celestia’s guard, after all. Her stature, her dignity, her future--that was his privilege to protect.

“Then that is a similarly simple affair.” Spoiled Rich exhaled a long breath of cigarette smoke from her curled snout. “Your trip to Griffonstone will unfortunately end in disaster. Your squadron will be court martialed post haste for their involvement in spreading confidential state secrets. And from that point on, well. What point is there in keeping around an insubordinate guard squadron, yes?”

Shining glared. “If you lay a hoof on them--”

Spoiled Rich snorted. “I have ponies that do that for me.”

“You know damn well what I meant.”

“If I am forced to take action to silence them, dear, then it will be on you. Not that such will be a concern of yours by then.”

“What do you want from me, then?” Shining Armor just about growled it out.

“Your assistance in what will surely be one of the most revolutionary actions in Equestrian history. Your presence amongst a group of ponies who, in mere generations, will be the newest heroes of Equestria.” Spoiled took a measured draw from her cigarette. She offered one to Shining as well, but he shook his head. She seemed rearing up for some sort of speech or tyrade, so Shining conceded to a loveseat with an annoyed sigh.

“For as long as Equestrian history records, we’ve relied on the goodwill, the mercy, the kindness, of alicorns. Of unicorn tyrants more powerful than any one of us could ever hope to be. We rely on them to bring the very Sun about. Has that thought ever disturbed you, Captain Shining Armor? Do be honest, now.”

Shining shook his head. “Celestia is a good mare. She wouldn’t wield that power if she wasn’t.”

“Mm. Perhaps, yes. Perhaps you’re right.” Spoiled tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are wrong, though. She feigns guilt well, but I don't know to what extent she regrets her mistakes. She is intelligent, yes, but stubborn. Senile. Tell me, do you think she truly regrets letting your wife--”

Shining rose to his hooves instantly, flaring his horn to life. He was casting anything, yet, but it didn’t matter. He simply wanted to know he still could. “You’re treading on very thin ice.”

Spoiled Rich was unfazed, taking another casual draw from her cigarette. “I don’t care. It is ice that must be treaded on if we are to progress. Extinguish your horn and let’s chat like mature adults, yes?”

Shining killed his purposeless magic, but he refused to sit down. Looking into Spoiled Rich’s smug expression nearly tempted him to light it back up again with a more malicious intent, so he turned away from her and looked out the porthole window instead.

“My point, Captain Armor, is that none of us truly know Celestia. Even assuming her compassion is eternal--and trust me when I say that that is a dangerous assumption--how long does she have left, hrm? Do you know? I sure as Tartarus don’t. What happens if she grows ill again? What happens if she truly does pass? What contingencies has Princess Celestia--the supposed rightful ruler of Equestria--brought forwards? None. She's tied our own survival to hers without even knowing she was doing so."

“If she croaks, then we’ll find a way. Then this little device of your has a purpose.”

“Yes. And we will be prepared to fulfill that purpose." Spoiled Rich had been gradually discarding the harsh, sneering tone from her voice. She sounded far different to Shining, when she was speaking with level thoughtfulness. It was somehow more intimidating than any of the body-language lessons he’d endured during his Royal Guard training.

“The gemstones that the SunTrotter uses were found, mined, and refined by some of the most gifted earth pony hooves I’ve encountered. These gemstones were further enchanted, perfected, given purpose, through the hard work of intelligent unicorns. The facility itself--running on electrical power generated by pegasi weather-moulding ingenuity. You may have your cynical opinions of me, or my Corporation. Or my intentions. But… know that you are seeing a very narrow picture, Captain Shining Armor.”

Shining bit his lip. Hearing it from Spoiled Rich wasn’t anything new. He’d heard it all from Moon Dancer before--and seen the evidence with his own eyes. It wasn’t false--divorced from its purpose, the SunTrotter Project was unlike anything he’d seen outside of wartime.

Perhaps that was why he was there. Perhaps they were tapping into that instinct. It was possible.

When faced with the unknowable--with a problem larger than the power of any small, insignificant pony, Shining had grown used to seeing miracles. Petty differences dissolved, and friendship and companionship was the only matter of importance for a brief but important moment.

When Celestia had taken the front lines during the Crystal War, all three races had stood behind her. They’d been comfortable there, because their princess had vowed to help keep them safe. And she’d succeeded--she’d been a shield outstretched across bloody snow and arcane chaos. She’d been hope when hope was in short supply.

And even Celestia had been overwhelmed. Briefly, but notably, she’d been forced to exit the war, or face the very tangible prospect of dying on its battlefields. And, as everypony feared and knew it would, the war carried on without interruption.

Shattered Shields. The final battle of the Crystal War. The last ditch suicide march of King Sombra’s troops, and the final stand of Celestia’s. But without the alicorn herself, as she reluctantly stood behind the lines, letting the medics tend to her crippling injuries.

They’d held the line. Shining Armor had seen it himself. With or without her, they’d fought for a peaceful Equestria and they’d won.

“It’s a fascinating device" He finally admitted, not meeting Spoiled's gaze. "Built by creative hooves.”

“And wings. And horns.” Spoiled Rich’s smile shifted. It didn't seem taunting anymore. For the first time, it seemed earnest to Shining. “You help us conduct a test firing, in three months time, and that will be that. You will be thanked and compensated for your service, and you will be left in peace. You have my word.”

Nightmare Moon was facing away from her, lying on the fishscale shingles of the Everfree Castle’s dilapidated roof. The reconstructed spire had once more been reduced to
ruined shambles, through which the Moon was hanging solemnly--dim and fading against the starless night sky.

“Twilight, come here,” Nightmare Moon said. It was gentle, but firm. An order, but one spoken softly, to her own faithful student. And it was one Twilight obeyed without question. As she got closer, Nightmare Moon’s skeletal bat-wing shuffled, outstretching for a moment as though she were preparing to welcome Twilight without it. It closed against her side just as quickly, the black alicorn sniffing smugly and looking away.

Twilight stifled a snicker, settling down next to Nightmare Moon on the edge of the roof. “Y-yeah?”

“Twilight, do you know where we are?”

“Yeah. The old castle, right? Where you and Celestia…” Twilight started, and then trailed off some. “B-but not really, either. A dream, right?”

Nightmare Moon nodded. “My dream. I don’t normally have them, but stranger events have unfolded, I suppose. I suppose our magic being interlinked is what brought you here.”

“Had a bit of the dreamroot before bed.” Twilight nodded. “Do… do you relive it, too?”

Twilight pointed a hoof back at the castle. There were still fires smouldering further into the Everfree Forest, signs of some recent arcane duel that Twilight had no small theories as to who had been the perpetrators.

Nightmare Moon nodded. “From time to time, yes. When I dream, which isn’t often. I exist during… fleeting moments. But that isn’t what I wish to talk to you about. Let’s just let this be a backdrop for tonight, yes?”

Twilight smiled back. “Alright. What’s on your mind, Nightmare?”

Nightmare Moon lit her horn, looking away from Twilight and up at the starless black sky above them. The pure black emptiness was somewhat unsettling--Twilight had grown used to either skyglow or stars or some combination thereof--and Nightmare Moon was quick to begin weaving aurora-like patterns of brightly coloured stars into the dreamscape’s ceiling.

Twilight followed the wordless lead by lighting her own horn. The castle around them was in violent disarray, and she reached her magic out to the shattered stone of the nearest spire. It wasn’t formless, but it didn’t have the proper weight of a tower of stone, either. Twilight had never studied pegasi cloud moulding, but part of her assumed it felt a little similar to prodding the dreamworld back into some semblance of order and dignity.

“The other night, you asked me if I would… ahem. I believe you used the phrase ‘stew in my melodrama.’” Nightmare Moon said, still looking up at the stars she was creating.

“I think you used that phrase.”

Nightmare Moon chuckled. “Regardless. It’s… what I wish to do, right now. If you would humor an old tyrant, that is.”

Twilight saw the black alicorn’s wing shuffling again. It was as though she wanted desperately to do something with it, but didn’t quite know what would be appropriate. She was looking away, too, her gaze deliberately kept away from Twilight so as to prevent her from seeing clearly what Nightmare Moon was feeling. Her voice seemed passive, as though the alicorn were more bored by her own confessions than anything else.

“Of course I would.”

“Of course you would.” Nightmare Moon finally turned to look at Twilight, a wary smirk on her face. “Twilight, did Celestia ever ask you about Tartarus?”

Twilight frowned. “She asked me about the Afterlife, once. She asked me what I believed. Is that what you mean?”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I don’t know.”

Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes, letting out an annoyed snort. “And, were I to tell you to discard your infernal indecision for once in your life?”

Twilight’s ears sunk against her head, a blush flaring across her face. “Then I’d say that I don’t believe in it. But you asked me about Tartarus, not the Afterlife. Why would you ask me about that?”

“Because you are a pragmatic mare, not a superstitious one, and your perspective is one I am intrigued by.” Nightmare Moon gave a little shrug. There was an aura of nervousness about her that Twilight had never come close to associating with the imposing black alicorn. Her gaze, normally firm and piercing, was distracted. Focused more on the crumbling brick spires of the old castle than Twilight herself.

When she spoke up, her voice was wary and quiet. “I’m… sorry, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight blinked, perplexed. “Er, about what specifically?”

Nightmare Moon rose an eyebrow, smirking. “Have I been that dreadful to you that I must specify? I’m sorry that I ridiculed you before, when you told me your fears of acceptance. I’m sorry that I told you that you didn’t understand, when truthfully I knew that it was a lie on my part.”

“It wasn’t entirely.” Twilight shook her head. It felt like several eternities had passed since that conversation in the traincar, during their rainy spring pilgrimage back to New Canterlot. “I… I doubt my feelings are nearly equal to yours.”

“Different, perhaps. But ‘equal’ is an unfair metric as far as emotions are concerned. What bounces off the mind of one pony is a dagger to another.” Nightmare Moon exhaled deeply, letting the silence reign for several moments before she continued. “The truth is, I was never born into this world, Twilight Sparkle. I was created. A magical being, constructed to perform a magical function. A weapon wielded. I believe even my own consciousness was unintended. Luna treated it like... an inconvenience. And… I think of that fact often. More than I have ever admitted to you, and certainly to Celestia.

“It’s not that I detest it. But I was brought into this world as little more than a means of bringing about regicide. I’m not a being. I’m a blade, broken at the hilt from too many strikes.”

Twilight bit her lip. Nightmare Moon closed her eyes, shuffling a little, and so Twilight brought herself a bit closer. Against her better judgement, she rested a hoof on the black alicorn’s back. It felt less like an equine hide, and more like cold tar, and Nightmare Moon herself winced from the touch. She didn’t back away, though, and instead continued on with a newfound calm to her voice.

“I thought it was Celestia that broke me. My hatred for her fueled me, and I knew Luna’s desire for revenge was the only purpose fate had given me. I wanted to see Celestia suffer as Luna had, and when she defeated me, I wanted to drag her down into the same empty void I would end up now that I’d failed my one purpose. After all, a sword too dull to slice deserves little else but to be melted down for scrap. I tell you all of this, because I need to give you some context into why what you did for me matters. Because you did something no mortal ever did. Nopony including Luna ever did. And though it’s too late for it to matter now, I want you to know that because of it, I feel I’ve managed to become something more.” Nightmare Moon gave a nervous laugh, opening her eyes again and looking down at Twilight with a warm, genuine smile. “This, all just a roundabout way of saying… Thank you, Twilight Sparkle, for helping me when none would. Thank you for choosing to carry Luna’s legacy, without carrying her destructive hatred. Of herself, of Celestia, of me… I’m grateful to have been your friend during these solemn times.”

Finally, the wing that Twilight had been anticipating outstretched. As nervous as the rest of Nightmare Moon’s uncharastically stilted speech, and colder in temperature than Celestia’s had ever been. It rubbed against Twilight’s side for a moment, straying away at first but then pulling the unicorn closer with genuine compassion.

“You always deserved it, Nightmare. I hope you know that.”

The wing shifted, folding back against Nightmare Moon’s side.

“I did not. I was a murderer, and a monster. And I would have done terrible things for the pleasure of having done so. I would’ve done them to you, when we first met.” Nightmare Moon shook her head. “But perhaps I deserve your friendship now. Perhaps that is enough to be content with. I used to think there was an order to this world… strong and weak, mortals and gods. I used to think I had a place in that order, and by allying myself with gods, I might become one myself. I see now that regardless of what we are, we're all given little else but the chance to matter to somepony or something during the time we have. For some of us, like Celestia, that time is an epoch, and it still doesn’t seem like enough. For others, it’s a small flicker, gone before any could notice it had even existed in the first place."

Nightmare Moon fell silent again. Her horn relit, and she began to weave the night sky together once again. Stars blurred into being, the Moon's light growing a little dimmer as Nightmare Moon's attention shifted to other celestial responsibilities.

Twilight had repaired much of the main spire of the Royal Sisters' Palace. As she eased the last dozen or so bricks back into place in her telekinesis, Nightmare Moon let out a gentle sigh of satisfaction.

"Nightmare…?" Twilight glanced over nervously. "W-why did you ask me about Tartarus?”

"Because I am curious if it is a place reserved for beings of flesh. Or if us dark magic constructs might find a home there, too."

"You don't belong there, Nightmare. I… I want you around. You're not an inconvenience to me."

"You are kind, Twilight. But I am. I will be. This is an inevitability that we owe consideration."

"How?!"

"You love Celestia. Don't you?"

Twilight sighed. "I… I'm pretty sure I do."

"And yet you would call yourself a friend of the mare who is still killing her. You would say such is 'not an inconvenience to you.'" Nightmare Moon shook her head. "Don't you get it, Sparkle? I don't have a choice. I am an enemy of Celestia's by design. I am the tunnel that nearly killed her, when you recovered the Sunstone. I cannot help it.”

"Even if that is true, we can find a way to fix that. So you don't have to keep hurting her. We can find a way for you to survive without leeching off her magic."

"I am a parasite by design. I always have been. And I have done terrible things because I am too much of a coward to admit that to myself." Nightmare Moon rose to her hooves, gingerly lifting her wing off of Twilight.

"But I am beginning to make peace now. I can’t know if what I taught you… of raising the Moon, of traversing the dreamscape, of Luna’s legacy and her hatred… I can’t know if any of that will be remembered. I can’t know how history will record me, besides as one of countless tyrants who fell as they always do. I can’t know if you and Celestia will succeed in fighting off all the tyrants that will come along after me, or if you will fall, too, and it was all in vain. All I can know for certain is that in the time I had, I was part of a force that fought their damndest to return hope and compassion to Equestria, instead of wrenching it away. So… Thank you for helping me make my own flicker matter, Twilight Sparkle. "

Nightmare Moon’s horn lit. The moon, dim on the horizon ahead of them, began to glow with icy blue light.

And then, suddenly, Twilight felt something grab her. She screamed out, whipping around to confront whatever was behind her, but she quickly realized that magic itself had wrapped her in a frigid embrace.

“Shh. It’s okay.” Nightmare Moon tilted her head downwards--Twilight mistook it as a bow at first, before realizing that the alicorn was simply readjusting herself to aim her magic better. “There is something I wish to show you, Twilight. One last… waypoint, to guide you down Luna’s path.”

Around them, the world seemed to unfocus. The bricks on the collapsed spires began to blur, as the clouds in the sky and the smouldering smoke on the horizon lost detail and became all encompassing all at once.

A shifting, changing dream. Twilight was already beginning to familiarize herself with the signs.

The Everfree Castle didn’t vanish, so much as it dissolved. Brick oozed into brick, the castle’s form and colour shifting and distorting into a muddy blur before resolving itself back into shape. The trees surrounding the castle seeped into the forest soil and didn’t return, so that the forested grove surrounding the Castle was now a well-tended courtyard being surveyed by bright electric light.

Nightmare Moon’s magic was still enveloping Twilight, and suddenly the grip around her felt stronger as Nightmare Moon set them both down onto the newly renovated roof of the Everfree Castle Museum deep within Twilight’s industrial Equestria. The magic around Twilight continued to grow, coming in pulsating phases.

Twilight bit her lip. Her heart was racing as she watched Nightmare Moon cast, the alicorn’s own expression one of passive focus. Then, abruptly, two skeletal appendages began forcing themselves out of Twilight’s barrel.

“Stay calm, Sparkle.” Nightmare Moon anticipated Twilight’s panic before it arrived, her voice level and restrained. It was a somewhat tall order to Twilight, though, as she watched in horror while three insect-like limbs pushed out from where her hide and fur had been. Membrane eventually began to weave its way into being between the limbs, seemingly phasing into being as a construct of the growing fog all around them at the top of the castle spire.

When Nightmare Moon finally extinguished her horn, she did so with a small smile. “Thestral wings are simpler. Far less feathers to worry about. Would you like to fly with me, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight simply gawked for a moment, staring at the appendages and giving them a few testing shakes. The more logical part of her brain continued to remind her that this was impossible, Nightmare Moon hadn’t touched her nervous system at all so there was no way she should be able to do this…

And then she reminded herself where she was, and afforded herself a nervous laugh and nod. “A-alright. B-but I’ve never… uh, flown…”

“Then glide, and I will assist you as required.” Nightmare Moon spread her own wings, and without further warning kicked off the fishscale roof and began to soar over the Everfree Museum roof.

Twilight stared down at the hundred foot drop in front of her, sucking in a long breath and closing her eyes as she kicked off the roof and spread her wings to follow Nightmare Moon. She did her best not to envision herself colliding with the ground below head first, and miraculously when she opened her eyes it wasn’t looming down upon her.

Nightmare Moon had circled around to come up behind Twilight again, looking over to inspect her flying form.

“It’s… adequate. If you are intent on gliding everywhere--which I recommend you do to practice--then move your forehooves forwards to reduce drag. Our destination is the castle cemetery.”

Twilight could see it ahead, and she gave her wings a few testing flaps as she descended down upon it. From higher up, she could see the fringes of the dreamworld, where the Everfree Forest gave way to fog and cloud. Lands the mind had yet to populate with memory. The surrounding area around the Everfree Castle Museum was far more detailed and refined--more so now that it was the castle as Twilight was most used to seeing it.

Nightmare Moon set down on the cemetery first, turning to watch as Twilight hit the ground a little too fast. She would’ve lost her balance entirely, but Nightmare Moon’s horn lit at the last moment to help her right herself to a less-than-graceful stop.

“Evidently, more practice is required.” Nightmare Moon smirked. “But for what it’s worth, landing and taking off are the hardest part of flying.”

Twilight blushed at Nightmare Moon’s teasing. “S-sorry.”

“You are under the impression I dislike teaching you.” Nightmare Moon rose an eyebrow. Then, before Twilight could stutter out another apology, she turned towards the cemetery ahead. “Recognize this place? It may seem different now that we’re coming upon it from the top.”

“...Instead of after fifty flights of stairs.” Twilight scoffed. “Yeah, I recognize this old sliver of Tartarus.”

Nightmare Moon smirked. “Do not disrespect the place I was born, Sparkle. That is awfully impolite.”

“W-what?!”

Nightmare Moon laughed. “Is it really that surprising? Luna carried out all of her little magical experiments deep in those catacombs. You, my dear, have only scraped the surface of what they contain.”

She turned away from Twilight, her hooves crunching on the frost as she trotted into the cemetery proper. The mausoleum she and Celestia had unfortunately desecrated when they’d recovered the Sunstone was still in the same state as they had left it, and Nightmare Moon led the way towards it with a regal and purposeful stride.

Her horn lit as she walked, and she frowned. “The night is uneasy. Even with so little of my magic, I can feel it. Plenty of nightmares in Equestria, as of late.”

“Lot’s been changing,” Twilight said, following closely. “Where are we going, Nightmare?”

Nightmare Moon stopped her pace and turned around to look Twilight in the eyes. “Contingency. In the times ahead, you will see less of me, Sparkle. As you already have been. I will perhaps still be here, in the dream realm, if you seek me out. But I can feel my… soul, spirit, magic... whatever term endears you… I can feel it fading away. Slowly, but I suppose that is true of all of us.

“You are enthusiastic and intelligent, but… well, power is the one thing you lack. And if you are to assume Luna’s role as stewardess of the night, I would like to present you with the opportunity. Now, please be silent and follow.”

Her piece apparently said, Nightmare Moon turned once again. She moved the stone door of the mausoleum aside and promptly did the same with the stone casket in the middle.

The stairwell ahead of them descended on into darkness, but Twilight could hear the distinct sound of water flow from deep within the catacombs ahead. There hadn’t been anything resembling a lake or river when she’d been here with Celestia, but she was certain her ears were not mistaking her.

“W-where does this lead?” Twilight looked back towards Nightmare Moon, but the thought died when she took in the unsettled look on the black alicorn’s face. Her horn was still lit, and a disturbed expression had overtaken her usually-pensive demeanor.

“Sparkle, something is very, very wrong.” Nightmare Moon looked back where they had come, trotting back out into the dreamworld cemetery. The sound of the wind through the trees had increased dramatically in the short time they’d been in the mausoleum, branches and bushes shivering all around them.

Suddenly, and without further elaboration, the alicorn’s horn grew brighter. As she did a dozen times before, Nightmare Moon dissolved into deep purple mist, which was caught by the swirling winds and streaked into the encompassing haze.

And then, abruptly, Twilight was shot from the realm of dreams and back into her library, with a dull, fading phantom pain on her back, and Princess Celestia sleeping peacefully beside her.

In the corner of the bedroom, the Sunstone was glowing in a few wavering pulses. Twilight rose on wavering hooves, gently removing herself from Celestia’s wing and creeping across the old library floor. The Sunstone was still aglow when she took it in her hooves, but the light was fading away. No brighter than if the moonlight had been shining through it… a muted reflection split a thousand times by the old, imperfectly polished stone.

Breathing out a long exhale, Twilight rose to her hooves to wake Celestia, hoping she wouldn’t be too bothered to hear what ultimately amounted to a strange dream. Still, the memory of Nightmare Moon’s sudden unease was enough to dismiss such worry, and she started back towards Celestia.

She hadn’t made it two steps before an earthshaking rumble nearly knocked her off her hooves.

The smell of coffee was already percolating within the control room when Spoiled Rich entered, still shaking off the last of sleep herself.

It was still dark out the long front window of the control room. Still, they could make out the long antenna tower immediately in front of them, divided by a hundred meters. It had been lit up like a Hearth’s Warming Tree for the firing, sharp white light flooding out for kilometers across the silent tundra.

A light snow was falling, but the night’s blizzard had passed. A few stars shone where they could be seen, though a large portion of their horizon had become obscured by the black smoke rising immediately behind them. The glass windows surrounded the control tower on all sides, and if Spoiled turned her head from the metal stairwell she’d ascended from, she could see the stacks spewing refuse into the sky--more than she’d ever seen before.

Moon Dancer was already awake, along with her three other assistants. They were all peering over a long array of gauges and dials set beneath the window facing Shining Armor’s chambers and the firing antenna.

“She’s still stayin’ steady at eight hundred.” One of the assistants was saying.

Moon Dancer’s ear tilted in Spoiled direction. “Morning, Miss Rich.”

“Yes. How are the preparations going?” Spoiled asked. The smell of coffee had already become infuriating--the mugs resting on the control panel were all empty, and there was no fresh pot to be found. Wonderful. Didn’t they know who she was?

“The answer better be well.” Spoiled added, tapping a hoof.

“We’ve been having a bit of trouble with two of the burners.” Moon Dancer confessed. “Ice build up causing interference, most likely.”

“Ice build up.” Spoiled echoed. “It’s a bloody chimney.”

“It’s… it’s far more complicated than that, Miss Rich. It is possible that some of the heat exchange vents are improperly--”

“Details of your incompetence do not interest me. We are scheduled to fire in less than an hour.”

“I-Indeed. We’re working as fast as we can, Miss Rich.” Moon Dancer’s ears folded down against her head.

Spoiled rolled her eyes, and motioned to the control panel with a hoof. “Get on with it, then.”

Moon Dancer nodded shakily, turning back towards her assistants. “Gold Sky, I need you to close the intake valves of Stack Three and Four entirely, and the valves of One and Two halfway.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The brown and gold coated earth pony stallion nodding as he leaned over his respective panel to do so. Three came a low hiss as he shifted the four circular valves into their respective positions, but the dials ahead of them didn’t shift.

“Still eight hundred.” The first assistant spoke out again, after several seconds. “One and Two are going down, but Three and Four are maintaining their temperature.”

“That’s… that is simply not possible.” Moon Dancer frowned, trotting over to verify herself. “Perhaps the dial is malfunctioning?”

“It’s possible.” Gold Sky said. “We can try shutting down the panel itself and see if it corrects the reading? But that means we’d temporarily lose control of the chimneys and communication with Captain Armor.”

“What, precisely, is the hold up?” Spoiled piped up again, indignantly trotting closer and analyzing the panel herself with a sneer. “We should be calibrating the antenna direction by now, not peering at switches and dials like amateur electricians.”

“Miss Rich, with respect, I think we should shut down entirely and get Captain Armor out of there. This is an unprecedented issue.”

“Ludicrous. You fools are wasting time that is not yours to waste. Now explain to me what is happening, and how you intend to fix it.”

“We started heating the catalyst gemstones at four-hundred hours this morning. The stack temperature rose as normal until reaching eight-hundred degrees, at which point stacks Three and Four stopped rising entirely while One and Two reached unusually high temperatures of over two-thousand degrees celsius. Adding fuel to the catalyst gemstones at this temperature seems… reckless.”

“So, their respective workload is slightly unbalanced. There’s four of the damned things, I doubt it will be a problem.” Spoiled shook her head, peering at the temperature monitoring gauges herself. Two of the stacks had been an extra, precautionary measure--she’d been promised such when they’d begun construction a year ago. The construction crew and Moon Dancer herself had assured her that the facility could carry out a successful test firing with just two of the stacks without compromising employee safety nor infrastructure integrity.

She repeated such to Moon Dancer, who shook her head slowly.

“It’s not that simple, Miss Rich. All of our equipment has been calibrated to run with all four stacks. We would have to let them cool down for a full twenty-four hours, and thoroughly clean the fuel-line filtration system, and then we would run an increased risk of ice build--”

“Bore somepony else with your theorizing.” Spoiled Rich cut in. “How long would it take to conduct an initial test firing after that? To say nothing of how expensive it would be replacing the catalyst gemstones.”

“Months.” One of Moon Dancer’s scientists piped up--a black coated stallion, with a cutie mark of some constellation or other. “Picking this day wasn’t a coincidence.”

“The fall equinox. I’m aware.” Spoiled Rich shook her head. “But surely we are still afforded a bit of wiggle room.”

Moon Dancer shook her head. “The probability of success would be very, very small. Enough to qualify as futile.”

Spoiled Rich scoffed loudly. Six months. They would have to wait six bloody months until they could even hope to conduct a successful test firing, if they missed their chance today.

Plenty of time for Celestia’s influence to keep on growing. Plenty of time for her to gain more and more political traction, or worse--catch on to what they were doing before they’d even conducted a successful test. She very much doubted she could keep Shining Armor quiet for six months, and the investigation into the unexpected disappearance of a decorated wartime Royal Guard Captain would be as thorough as possible.

“Then we fire today. The two working stacks can handle that, yes?”

“Theoretically, yes, but--”

Spoiled Rich rose a hoof. “There you have it. Unless you have any other bright ideas?”

“I believe we should expel the unspent fuel from the reactors, remove the gemstone catalysts, and delay the test.”

“For over half a year.”

“For as long as it takes until we’re absolutely sure it would be safe!”

“You have given me little convincing that it is not safe right now,” Spoiled Rich shook her head. “You said it might be equipment malfunction, yes? Giving you untrustworthy readings.”

“It might, but the reason for the malfunction is unknown to us right now.” Moon Dancer stomped a hoof on the control room floor. Spoiled was well aware of the unicorn’s passion in her work--her unwavering pride in what she believed to be her achievement.

It was, of course, an achievement funded by Spoiled’s state dollars. On her orders, in order to fulfill her needs. And the pride of some pencil-pushing unicorn wasn’t about to interrupt that.

“Restarting the console might fix the issue,” Moon Dancer continued. “But it would be off for several minutes. Anything could happen in that time, and we would have no way of controlling it.”

“Do you project anything catastrophically dangerous to occur in the next five minutes, Miss Moon Dancer?”

“That’s not the point! You don’t always expect catastrophic failures, you react to them accordingly!”

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘no’ to me. Restart the damned console and stop wasting my time. That’s an order. Do I have to have Commander Lightning Dust enforce it?”

Moon Dancer glared. Her team were also glancing at her, evidently expecting her to make some misguided attempt to convey some manner of authority. Or, as Spoiled knew it to truly be, a cowardly refusal to do their damned jobs.

Spoiled walked a little closer to Moon Dancer, her voice lowered--enough to be considered polite, but still loud enough that everypony in their vicinity, assistants included, would hear her well enough. “I will remember your performance today, Moon Dancer. And then, it will be a miracle if you’re ever able to get funding for another magical research endeavour again.”

Moon Dancer sighed. “It’s not safe. I refuse.”

Spoiled Rich narrowed her eyes at the insolent unicorn. Then, she brought the glare over to her assistants instead. “You. Restart the console. Now.”

Miraculously, one of the assistants did. The earth pony gave Moon Dancer an apologetic look as he rose to his hooves, making his way over to the main breaker panel and fishing out a ring of keys and inserting one into the panel.

The humming of running equipment lowered in pitch and volume almost instantly as the lighted console extinguished. Ahead of them, the first few running lights leading to the firing antenna went out, too, though the antenna building itself stayed illuminated. Evidently, it was running on its own power.

True to Moon Dancer’s word, it was several minutes before the console came back online again. It was plenty of time for Moon Dancer herself to have a whispered conversation with her assistants--one that Spoiled Rich didn’t care enough about to try eavesdropping upon. In less than forty minutes, the entire conversation would be deemed worthless anyways.

In less than forty minutes, the first mortal ponies in recorded Equestrian history would carry out a successful raising of the sun.

In less than forty minutes, Spoiled Rich, Moon Dancer, and everypony else in the control room would shed their status as eager inventors altogether. By then, they would be something far greater.

Celestia had been sleeping when it happened.

The entire library shuddered, and Celestia was instantly flung from dreamless sleep into wakefulness.

A few books had been jostled from the intense rumble, and were now laying on the study room bed with Celestia. Dogs were barking in the back alley outside, as Celestia stumbled for her glasses in a daze.

“Celestia!” Twilight exclaimed, already across the study room floor with her eyes wide to meet Celestia as she rose from the bed. “D-did you feel that?!”

“An earthquake?”

“I don’t know! It felt like a shockwave!”

Celestia’s horn lit, and she deposited the two of them unceremoniously onto the roof of the library.

What she saw made her blood curdle and her eyes go wide. It was like a comet in reverse--an immense streak of brighter yellow light fading away into the rest of the orange aerial light pollution. The clouds had parted around the beam of light, disturbed and turned a sickening black as a heavy cloud of smoke joined them on their upwards glide.

Then, Celestia crumbled in agony as a dagger of pain split into her chest.

She hit the ground before Twilight could react and stop her. She wailed, but her ears were ringing too much for her to properly tell at what volume. Twilight was before her in an instant, screaming repeatedly with her horn alight as sound gradually returned to Celestia.

The pain didn’t subside, but it was the same bite as she’d recalled a dagger or magic blast having been. She didn’t like knowing she’d grown used to it, but she was able to stagger her way back to her hooves just in time to see the Sun rise without her help for the first time in almost three thousand years.

“Oh my gods…” Twilight gasped.

Celestia was speechless. She simply stared.

Then, her horn lit. Her wits returned, like a distorted sunset dancing off rippling ocean waves.

Damn you, you worthless old harpy. Get up and do your job.

She hobbled over a few paces closer, leaning onto Twilight for support. The Sun wasn’t where it should’ve been. It should have been further back--she shouldn’t have felt its tug for at least another hour. But she found it’s tug all the same, spreading her wings in case she had to get above the cloud cover to grasp it better.

“It isn’t me,” she said softly. She kept her magic on the Sun’s stream, neither pulling it nor letting go, yet. She could feel it shifting on its own, like she was on a shore holding onto a rope flowing down a river’s current. “It’s been nudged into its orbital pattern without my aid. That is… that is not possible.”

“P-Princess… the Sunstone… I was just about to wake you…”

“No, this can’t possibly be the Sunstone if it were still here.” Celestia pointed a hoof at the fading beam of light. “I can still feel it’s tug. B-but… Twilight, I told you about when I stole the Sun from Discord, yes?”

Twilight nodded many times in rapid succession.

“It f-felt like this.” Celestia exhaled. “S-somepony is challenging my right to raise the Sun. Twilight, I… may need your help.”

“Celestia, the Sunstone was… glowing. I… I talked with Nightmare Moon. She’s…”

“Nevermind the Sunstone. Your magic will suffice, Twi. I need you to keep the Moon up for several hours. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why? Celestia, what are you planning?”

“On extending the night for several hours. They have effectively interrupted the Sun’s orbit around Equestria in order to prove that they may. This is… incredibly dangerous.”

“Then why in Tartarus would they do it?!”

“To prove that they may.” Celestia repeated patiently. She could feel the Sun’s tug as it was guided along Equestria’s orbit… it didn’t seem to be off it’s traditional course. Whatever they had used to raise her sun had been… surprisingly accurate.

She had been careful in the past not to discuss too much the details with which she approached raising the Sun. It hadn’t been as though they hadn’t asked them of her, but her stance had always been firm.

Let her see the damned Sun one last time before they took it away from her.

Time and time again, it had been refused. She’d practically begged Raven on some of her worse days for it.

She exhaled, glancing back to Twilight. The poor mare had been staring up at the inkling yellows and grays on the horizon, her eyes wide as the Moon even as she struggled to find its grasp.

“To be earnest, I was somewhat expecting something like this.These damned ponies have kept me in line by forcing my hoof through stunts such as this. I have dealt with their behaviour before.”

“Y-you think this is them?” Twilight frowned. “The brothers?”

“I… suspect they were involved.” Celestia nodded slowly. “They were inventors, they always had been. Not politicians. But if they have managed to create some way of grasping the Sun via pure energy, I suspect their creativeness was in some way involved.”

“S-so you’re just gonna let them take the Sun?”

“Of course I’m not, Twilight. They cannot be trusted with it, and their willingness to go to these extremes to prove it is evidence of that fact. But if I pull some… extravagant show of magic like I did at the Shades, then…”

Celestia shook her head, pawing at the weather-beaten shingles on the decaying library roof. “It proves that I am prideful. Arrogant. I am… temper tantruming, as they put it.”

“That’s ridiculous. They can’t possibly believe--”

“Imagine the headlines, Twilight Sparkle. Just for a moment. Princess Celestia refuses to raise Sun. Imagine what sort of image that paints in Equestria’s head. Because… regardless of how I act today, this will be a large moment in Equestrian history. This is the first and only time in… in as far as I can remember… a non-alicorn or draconequus has been able to raise the Sun. Ponies deserve to be proud of that fact.”

“Not if they’d done the whole damn thing as a ‘gotcha’ to some mare they tortured!”

“Precisely. And it is a highly irresponsible thing to be using to that end. Imagine if it had failed. They likely would have killed me in a matter of weeks. They would have to expend ludicrous amounts of energy to regain control of the Sun again. I understand that this is a big moment in… ahem, mortal history, as my sister would put it. But to have been done so in the shadows is… questionable.”

“So, what? Are they just crazy?! How could they possibly think this would work?”

“They likely did not. It would explain why they hadn’t tried it in over a decade.” Celestia shook her head. “The brothers were affiliated in some way, but I very much doubt they had any say in it’s usage now. No, I believe this would be an effort of Spoiled Rich. That haughty earthpony mare.”

“Really?”

“She’s likely desperate. She knows that I’m going to destroy her in any actual public broadcast, which makes the prospect of campaigning against me a nightmare to her. A larger portion of Equestria seems to be very interested in the prospect of me taking the reins back from her, and if I’m given a chance to prove it through a fair assembly or vote, I believe it is unlikely they will trust Spoiled Rich over me.”

“Well, especially not after this whole stunt!”

“Twilight, if I interfere from this point forward, I will be putting the entire orbital arrangement of the Sun in jeopardy. This is… an extremely delicate balancing act, to put it lightly, if not being performed with highly refined magical energy. Too drastic, and one risks spinning the entire planet into disarray, without any immediate hope of correction.”

Celestia exhaled. “And… she likely knows through personal analysis of my character that toying with the concept of me losing the sun will…”

“Trigger an emotional response.” Twilight breathed out as Celestia broke off, nodding her head with one ear down as she listened. “They did stuff like this to you before?”

“Yes. And Miss Spoiled Rich is likely aware of it.” Celestia shook her head. “She expected me to react dramatically and make a fool of myself. It would be… much more surprising to her if I simply extended her and her Industry a polite little golf clap and then went back to focusing on my own plans for campaigning.”

“But what if it isn’t safe, like you said?”

“Which is why I am monitoring the Sun.” Celesta pointed to her horn, still alight as she ran her magic around the Sun’s stream.

Shining Armor’s was in there, too. Fading, but it was.

A small tear ran down Celestia’s cheek, but she corrected herself with a little snort and glanced back to Twilight. “I need you to focus on doing the same for the Moon, without lowering it.”

“Wait, so, I’m keeping the Moon risen?”

“Yes. I am… using their own impulsive little chess move as a chance to retaliate myself. I know that seems… ahem, selfish and vainglory of me, but…”

“No, it’s totally called for.” Twilight shook her head. “So, how much longer am I keeping the Moon up, for?”

“At least for a few hours, while I…”

Celestia broke off.

The Sun’s orbit was shifting on her. Whatever they had used to initially grasp the Sun had evidently not been strong enough to do so entirely. She could feel it in her horn… the small tug of gravity for the little green and blue rock Celestia had been protecting, and that of the colossal Sun some hundred-million kilometers away.

Beside her, Philomena had set down nearby, glancing over at Celestia with a pensive stare. The bird had landed down unceremoniously above Twilight Sparkle’s head, using it as a perch to regard Celestia thoughtfully from afar.

“Something is very wron--”

Another earth-shaking shockwave interrupted her. Philomena left Twilight in a flurry of phoenix feathers, the unicorn herself nearly swept off her feet as she grasped onto the library roof railing for balance.

A few windows had been shattered by the second rumble, and the smell of something burning had taken over the air. The Sun seemed to be shuddering to enter the Equestrian sky, Luna’s Moon instead still holding precedence over Equestria.

Far, far away, a thin train of light had split through the sky like a capsized lighthouse beam. An abrupt beacon of light tearing upwards through the thin morning air, as though daring Celestia to get closer.

And, like a moth to the flame, she would do just that.

“Don’t lower the Moon yet, Twilight. We may need it to help tweak the planet’s orbit.” Celestia breathed out, her wings already flaring to life. “Something is very wrong. I would ask you to come, but you cannot fly. I’m counting on you to hold onto Luna’s Moon in case something terrible happens to me.”

“W-what?! Celestia, I want to help! Don’t you dare take off on me!”

“Twilight, I don’t wish to go. No matter what happens to me, this will always be true.” She spread her wings. Clicking her tongue, she let out a quick whistle for Philomena to follow as her trot turned to a canter, before kicking off and beating her wings against the early morning darkness.

Author's Note

Synthetic Bottled Sunrise (XXII)

The smell of smoke became more recognizable as Celestia and Philomena continued to fly North.

She’d taken two short teleportation breaks to aid her, but she hadn’t wanted to expend too much of her magic along the way.

As she flew, she’d guided the Sun carefully back into its normal morning orbit. She’d given the mortals a grace period of five minutes after she’d noticed its tug fading away, but nothing had come of it. No further attempt had been made to correct Equestria’s orbit, and the planet itself would ultimately go astray.

It would likely take several years, of course, provided it was risen under ideal circumstances from then on. The fading was minute, and Celestia didn’t suspect most ponies would even notice the longer nights for at least a couple of seasons. And yet, the feeling of gradual drift was unmistakable. She could distinctly feel the path it was supposed to follow, and the current one where it was going, and they were not the same.

Celestia prayed it wasn't permanent, and corrected it with a grim frown. The last traces of Shining Armor’s magic had vanished completely.

“Please…” she breathed as she flew, squeezing her eyes shut against the blowing wind. Philomena glanced over, confused, as she spoke up. “Not him, too.”

“Auntie.”

She had been quiet. Celestia hadn’t noticed her wingbeats beside her.

Starlight shone through too many missing feathers against Cadance’s decayed wing. “Auntie, don’t be scared.”

“I am terrified for him.”

“I want to see him again. I want to hold his hoof and tell him I do like I always dreamed I would.”

“You’re not here.” Celestia breathed, shaking her head. “You’re not here, Cadance.”

“That’s not my fault, now is it?”

“Cadance, I can’t lose another. Please don’t make me.”

“I’m not making you. I never did you any harm when I was living, why the blazes would I start now?” Cadance gave Celestia a small smile. Her wings had spread to catch some invisible breeze as she followed Celestia along her flight. “I’m just telling you how it is, now.”

“I can’t lose--”

“You’re going to have to learn to, Auntie. Chin up and go do this.”

Cadance was gone by the time Celestia opened her eyes. Her flight had slowed to a little glide, and she suddenly realized just how out of breath she truly was.

Sighing, she lit her horn again. One last teleport. Already, she could somewhat make out the telltale lines of smoking ascending into the predawn light. A heavy cloud of smoke being quickly sucked North, into the Crystal Empire’s eternal fury.

But still large enough to send an angry spiral into the Equestrian North’s sky.

A flash, and suddenly the smoke was several hundred meters away. The teleport left her winded, her left wing was starting to ache.

Or, really, her entire left side.

She hit the snow shivering, her landing less than graceful. Ahead of her, a dozen kilometers over empty snow fields, a plume of black smoke was rising into the now darkling skies ahead.

Nautical twilight. It was still likely much brighter back in Old Canterlot already.

Philomena continued flying ahead of her, spiraling down to a landing with far more grace than Celestia had and settling down in the snow next to her. She looked at Celestia with curious avian eyes, more focused on how she was planning on handling the destruction ahead than the destruction itself.

“You do not have a means of keeping your lungs clean, sister.”

Celestia cast an irritated glance to her side. “Indeed. But we don’t know how dangerous this problem is unless somepony investigates. If we do not act immediately…”

“We know that whatever this is, it likely killed those brothers. We’re willing to die for it, too?”

Celestia tilted her head behind her, towards the still dark night sky. “Equestria is waking up to it. How they handle it defines their future.”

“Then let them handle it!”

Celestia shook her head. “I have the right to help them with it.”

“It might kill you!” Nightmare Moon spat. “At least wait for Sparkle, you madmare.”

Biting her lip, Celestia met Nightmare Moon’s glance. Back towards the rest of a waking Equestria. “Fine.”

“Weather patterns. Get to checking those.” Nightmare Moon jerked her head towards the black smoke. “It’s blowing away, right now. But you know how unpredictable these arctic winds can be.”

Celestia held up her left wing, narrowing her eyes. “Yes, let me spring up and get on that.”

“Ah.”

“So long as it’s blowing away, I can at least search for an appropriate vantage point and gauge how to proceed from there. If you can, tell Twilight to come as soon as she can and to bring a respirator for both of us. She should alert Raven and Blueblood of what happened as soon as possible as well.”

Nightmare Moon didn’t answer. Indeed, when Celestia glanced where she’d been, the snow was once more uninterrupted.

Ahead of her, the facility in flames was a truly unsettling sight. She nudged her magic towards the sun’s tug--still largely intact, though any trace of Shining’s magic stream was long gone. She didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or disappointment, so she saved it as she untensed her left wing and slowed her trot a little.

As she got closer to the facility, its true size became a tad more clear. About forty acres worth of the arctic tundra had been devoted to it--at one point or another. The entire back half had caught fire, leaving a shuddering cauldron of smoke where at least four tall smokestacks had once been erected. Celestia could make out their remnants, scattered outwards across the eerily quiet tundra.

A small monitoring station had been built before the larger facility. It was no more than three rooms total, with a tall radio mast atop it jutting into the icy black sky. Celestia made her way over to it first, her horn aglow. It was noticeably darker than it had been when she had set out from Old Canterlot, and the actual light was needed to investigate the building proper.

The glass from the front window shone in her bright yellow magic as she trotted closer--she imagined the initial blast had shattered nearly all the windows in a decent enough radius. She kicked off the ice, her wings still aching a little even as she did her best to keep her wingbeats shallow and steady. Philomena took off next to her, beating her to the station and waiting perched atop an icy metal railing.

She set down on a metal balcony circling the station, folding her wings against her side and perking an ear in the direction of the small building ahead of her.

It was set up in a way not dissimilar to a ski chalet, Celestia noted, while she brought her glowing magic to the knob of a metal door leading inside, forcing the door open. She could see through the broken windows a tiny little common-area of several couches and not much more, as well as plenty of radio equipment lining much of the other side of the building.

She exhaled as she entered, letting out a full-bodied shiver as she shook the snow off her back. There weren’t many windows inside the monitoring station, but their absence was still dearly felt. Long piles of snow lined much of the inside, already starting to coat the radio panels directly facing the miasma of smoke that was the bulk of the facility ahead.

Celestia’s horn lit, but no magic emerged. Her light spell didn’t immediately extinguish, but Celestia had felt it waver a little and dim. The shield spell she’d tried to will around the shattered windows hadn’t even registered, and so she settled on physically forcing a bookcase over the window instead.

The CB radio panel ahead of her had been deserted, but a dim red light to one of the corners of the device was still illuminated. Celestia searched the thing for a switch, finding it tucked neatly away beneath the panel. She didn’t bother changing the tuned frequency, and instead simply wrenched the microphone stand in her telekinesis and began rattling off the Equestrian Navy’s S.O.S. sequence. She continued to do so as she searched around the station--wrenching storage lockers open in frustrated unison and scattering their contents with her telekinesis.

Plenty of paperwork. A few binders full of timetabled lists of correspondences. In one locker, she found a respirator, and a hoof-full of filters. In another, a first aid kit, contained in a medic-style saddlebag. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start, she supposed. She stuffed the respirator and filters into it and clipped the saddlebag onto her side, trotting over to the broken window. The arctic wind was biting, and she instinctively rose a wing to shield herself from the harsh blasts of snow howling through the shattered glass.

Ahead of her, the rest of the facility was lying in wait. Red emergency lights were flickering--as though they were struggling to hold onto whatever power they were receiving, with much of the smouldering facility lit only by the bright flames engulfing the stacks. The entire thing was shrouded in smoke, which seemed to be permeating through the shattered glass with ease.

Celestia had never used the respirators before, but they seemed fairly simple in concept. They clearly weren’t made to accommodate an alicorn’s larger snout, and it pinched at her mane somewhat painfully, but she supposed it was better than succumbing unceremoniously to preventable lung disease.

"You," she said, turning back to Philomena. As she walked, she levitated one of the discarded notebooks closer, along with a pen she found amidst an avalanche of stationary. "...are not following me."

"Aurkk?" Philomena tilted her head.

"No buts, missy." Celestia shook her head. She ripped out a page from the notepad and wrote a brief but thorough message.

To whom receives this first,

Please send help to the Frozen North as soon as possible. A great cataclysm has unfolded, and I fear our time to react is limited. Bring respirators and ponies trained in dangerous firefighting.

If this message receives you too late for me to welcome you in person, know this; every Longest Night that Equestria has faced has had an eventual dawn.

--HRH Princess Celestia

Philomena took the carefully folded note in her beak, understanding the gesture but still peering at Celestia with confusion and concern. Celestia reached a hoof to stroke the old bird's head and give her a small, comforting smile. It was a moment that lasted perhaps longer than it should have, with the destruction awaiting her outside, but still never long enough for her beloved bird.

"Go to Raven, Philly. As swiftly as you can fly. I love you."

Her wings were still a little sore, but the brief pause within the monitoring station had allowed her enough of a rest to cross the distance to the facility proper. As she flew on, Philomena flying in the opposite direction where they had come, she could make out the smouldering wreckage of an airship that from a distance she’d assumed had just been some other part of the facility. The telltale signs of a metallic ribcage and steel cabin car were all that remained, the rest claimed by the fires.

A heavy steel door separated her from the facility, but Celestia was able to forcefully wrench the thing open with her magic, grunting a little from the exertion but thankful for the warmer air within the inside corridor. The facility itself was drowning in snow from broken windows, and the ear-splitting sound of alarms from deeper within the yawning maw of the entrance corridor lit by somber red emergency lighting.

She slammed the door shut behind her and started her way into the facility.

“Hello?” She called out. Her voice sounded somewhat strange from beyond the respirator, but she knew better than to remove it just yet. “Is anypony here? I’m here to help.”

She lit her horn, feeling for her Sun, though she felt her heart sink when she realized she couldn’t. It was as though she were back in the catacombs, when she’d recovered the Sunstone with Twilight Sparkle, but the steel ceiling of the facility shouldn’t have been nearly enough to block off her access to the Sun. Without having the Sun in her reach, Celestia felt a fresh panic course through her. Being cut off from it was a crippling feeling--as though one of her limbs had unceremoniously fallen off and she was now looking at it lying forgotten on the floor. Swiftly, she changed her calm, investigative stride to a more urgent trot.

“Hello?” she called out again. “Captain Shining Armor? Can anypony hear me?”

The red emergency lights seemed to be leading someplace, and in absence of any other reasonable direction, Celestia followed wherever they may be leading her. Past the common area, various other corridors snaked off in different directions--all labeled, thankfully, and with a flare of her horn she could read the signage properly. Kitchen and dining hall, bunks, electrical room. She ignored them all for now, and continued trotting along the main corridor instead.

Eventually, she came upon a metal stairwell rising into a superstructure above the rest of the facility. Within, she could distinctly make out equine voices ahead, partially drowned out by the alarms echoing from all around the building.

Celestia trotted up the stairwell and pushed the door open without wasting any time. She was immediately greeted to a control room shrouded in the same red light as everyplace else, with long panels of flickering dials and switches helmed by three terrified looking ponies--all of them wearing respirators. None of them were facing Celestia when she entered, and she doubted they’d hear her hoofsteps on the metal stairwell with all the noise around.

“...nothing, the damn line is dead! I’m not getting any response from--”

“Gold Sky, calm down and keep trying!” A unicorn mare returned, her voice harsh and commanding. “I can’t focus with all of your shouting!”

“There’s nothing to focus on, anymore! We’re all dead, Moon Dancer! All of us! You, me… dead!”

“That’s enough,” A pegasus mare--dressed in a Wonderbolts-issue parka spoke up. She’d been lounging in one corner of the control room, watching the others work, but she rose to her hooves and started trotting over, her back to Celestia the entire while.. A guard, Celestia supposed, judging solely by her tone and posture. “You’re not makin’ it easier on anybody, Goldy.”

Celestia took a step into the control room. “Good morning. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Every single pony in the control room whipped around instantly to look at Celestia, who rustled her wings a little as she trotted inside. The stallion who had been panicking prior to Celestia’s entrance looked about ready to faint, and even the pegasus guard looked mortified.

“P-Princess Celestia…” The unicorn apparently named Moon Dancer stuttered.“P-p-please, j-just listen to us before you… We didn’t mean to…”

Celestia rose a hoof for silence. “You rose the Sun, and it went wrong. That much is obvious. I have one question and one question alone. Shining Armor… where is he?”

Moon Dancer bit her lip, not answering immediately. Celestia took the silence and used it as a chance to examine the control room more thoroughly, casting her magic all around it to help build a more complete picture than her pitiful eyesight would allow her. Plenty of shattered glass, but large metal blast shields had been lowered down to keep the outside world at bay.

In the corner of the room was a familiar earth pony mare, laying slumped down against the metal wall of the control room.

“I felt his magic stream while I monitored your device from afar. Fading, but present. I have been in his position before, so don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Shining Armor was in charge of… of operating the…” Moon Dancer squeezed her eyes shut as she spoke. “The SunTrotter.”

Celestia grimaced. “You don’t know if he’s dead or not.”

“W-w-we can’t know. Comms are down, and e-even with respirators, we’d be dead in five minutes out there.”

Celestia exhaled. One thing at a time. She wasn’t going to get anywhere scaring the souls out of every pony in the control room.

“How many personnel, in this facility?” She nodded her head towards Spoiled Rich’s unconscious form in the corner. “And what the blazes happened to her?”

“I… can, uh. Explain that one.” The pegasus guard spoke up. “Mainly, honest to goodness fits of hysteria weren’t, uh. Helping our cause. She’ll be fine, I didn’t hit her too hard.”

“A tragedy.” Celestia rolled her eyes.

“There’s twelve in the facility total. Six here in this room, one unconscious thanks to Commander Lightning Dust, one was killed instantly when the front glass exploded.” Moon Dancer spoke up. “Two guards are presently unaccounted for. MIA, likely dead. Finally, four ponies--including Captain Shining Armor--in the firing building.”

“As if there’s anything left of the firing building,” The stallion who had been panicking earlier--Gold Sky, it seemed--spoke up again, growling out the words under his breath and earning a cold glance from Moon Dancer.

“The firing building… that’s closer to the smokestacks?” Celestia prayed to any listening higher power that Moon Dancer’s answer wouldn’t affirm her suspicions, but her heart sunk as the unicorn nodded her head all the same.

“Yeah. Whatever wasn’t destroyed in the first two explosions is going to be flooded in smoke.” Moon Dancer looked to her hooves as she spoke, unable to meet Celestia’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Princess Celestia, but anypony who was there is almost guaranteed to be deceased.”

“They had respirators though, yes? Please at least tell me you fools had the forethought to supply them with those?”

“They did.” Lightning Dust nodded. “But they’re the cheap ones the State gives us. They’re built for normal coal plants, not Moon Dancer’s project.”

Moon Dancer winced at her name being linked to the apocalypse around them, but she nodded her head many times in rapid succession. “W-w-what she said.”

Celestia let out a tired sigh. “You irresponsible fools…”

“We tried to delay the test!” Moon Dancer protested, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears. She extended an accusing hoof towards the unconscious form of Spoiled Rich. “She ordered me to continue with it, after I told her this would--!”

“I don’t give a damn who’s to blame!” Celestia snapped. “There will be time to worry about that later. For now, a friend of mine is in danger and I’m not resting until he’s either safe or I know that he’s beyond saving.”

Moon Dancer bit her lip. The mare had gone deathly silent after Celestia had whipped around to address her. When she was finished, she took a long exhale and spoke with wavering conviction forced back into her voice. “Princess, it isn’t safe to go out there. The fumes from the stacks are lethal. You’ll be dead in minutes, even from a distance.”

“And even with respirators?”

“Respirators will protect you from the immediate effects, but your long term survival is still… uncertain.”

“Stars above.” Celestia brought a hoof to her snout, and took in a deep breath. “What about here? Are we even safe in here?”

“The air filter alarm has been going off since the explosion.” One of Moon Dancer’s assistants--a green-coated earth pony mare with a nametag that read Winter Spruce piped up. “We sealed off the facility as best as we could, but the ventilation isn’t built to handle this much strain. If it doesn’t poison us, then the fire will consume all of the oxygen we’d need to breathe and we’ll suffocate.”

Celestia exhaled. She had been completely expecting to fly into a death-trap, perhaps, but the cynical prediction did little to dull the profound sorrow inherent to hearing such from the ponies in it with her. She hadn’t known these ponies for very long, but the certainty in their terrified, wavering voice while they discussed their immediate survival was sobering all the same.

“Then we must evacuate,” Celestia said, firmly and matter of factly. “I saw a downed airship on my way in. Please don’t tell me that’s the only means of transport back to the mainland?”

“It… was.” Lightning Dust gave a solemn nod. “Then, a supply airship arrives in two days’ time.”

“We’re not going to last two hours in here.” Gold Sky shook his head. “If the arcane fumes don’t kill us, the cold will. Or… or the fire will keep on spreading, or the electrical systems will go haywire, or a godsdamned windigo will burst through--”

“Ahem.” Celestia glared at the stallion. “Gold Sky, was it? You are not making it easy for me to come up with a plan, here. Please, if you don’t have anything constructive to add, be silent. I know you’re frightened. I do believe we all are. But we must keep our wits about us if we are to get out of this alive. Do you understand?”

The stallion stared at her for a few seconds, gulping and giving her a tiny nod of his head.

“Thank you.” Celestia nodded back, before turning to Moon Dancer. “How are your teleportation skills?”

Moon Dancer frowned, swishing her tail thoughtfully. “Best I’ve covered is about fifty clicks, and that was after a week of practicing.”

“How many ponies?”

“Just myself. Though, ever other pony I take would theoretically reduce that distance in half, according to Clover the Clever’s Third--”

“--Theorem on Teleportation, yes. I’m familiar.” Celestia waved a hoof. “That’s still enough to get you and your assistants a safe distance from the smoke’s effects.”

“Still less than a third of the way home. And directly into unrepentant blizzards. And that’s to say nothing of the possibility of the wind changing,” Moon Dancer said. “Which it will. Then that cloud of poison’s going to be blowing right back to Equestria. Or… or East, towards Griffonstone. Then… there’s going to be far more ponies than us in danger.”

“We have no choice but to put off worrying about that until we have a weather team at our disposal. For now, teleportation remains a last-ditch option to buy ourselves some time.” Celestia turned to the pegasus. “Lightning Dust, was it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“How many pegasi in your squadron, including yourself?”

“Three. One was stationed with Captain Armor. He’s likely out of commission or dead, now. Second pegasus is MIA, like I said earlier. Which means I’m the only bird left in this facility. Sides you, of course.”

“Okay. I can work with that. How are you with long distance flying?”

“It’s where I earned my stripes, ma’am. Can’t do the tight maneuvering and trick flying like I could in my academy days, but I can still cover a lot of ground when I have to.”

“Good. Okay. I’m starting to see a way out of this for us, then.” Celestia nodded her head at the plate-metal windows of the control room. “I can do my best to keep the smog away from us using my telekinesis. A small but hypothetical shield is within my ability--would that not help protect us from long-term effects of the fumes?”

Moon Dancer pursed her lip. “It… it actually might, yes.”

“I teleported twice getting here, I don’t believe I have it in me to do so to get all of us out. But I can at least help us hold off the smoke for long enough for a potential rescue party, provided we send for one immediately.” She nodded out the window, looking back to Lightning Dust. “How long would it take you to fly to civilization if you took off immediately?”

“Oh, gods above. Two, three hours? Longer, if the winds don’t co-operate.”

“They rarely do up here.” Celestia gave a sad little nod. “Another question, then. Where is the closest exit towards Shining Armor and his escort’s last known position? Is it possible for us to scout it without leaving the facility?”

Lightning Dust rose to her hooves, trotting over to Celestia. “I can show you to it myself. Got two of my colts in there someplace." Lightning cast a glance over to Spoiled Rich's still unconscious form. "Moon Dancer, if she comes to and tries to… y'know, take the helm from us or the Princess--”

“Then I have spells to handle her.” Moon Dancer waved a hoof. “You two, don’t do anything stupid.”

Celestia turned from Moon Dancer and started down the steps. She gave Lightning Dust a grateful smile as she led the way to the metal stairwell leading out of the control room superstructure. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Be straight with me, your Majesty.” Lightning Dust turned as soon as they were out of earshot of Moon Dancer and her assistants, pausing with a wing outstretched. “Our chances?”

“They… have been better," Celestia admitted. "What do you expect the chance of a rescue operation from the Industry is?”

Lightning Dust laughed, turning and continuing her brisk trot down the hall. She grabbed for her respirator, wrestling it onto her snout and glancing back at Celestia.“Honestly? It’s about fifty-fifty in my mind. They have everything to lose, letting this get out. Assuming they don’t know you’re here. Spoiled would’ve been the one sending for them, and she’s… well, I have a meaner left-hoof than I thought.”

Celestia tried and failed to suppress a smirk as she put her respirator back, too. “Moon Dancer tried though, yes?”

Lightning Dust nodded. “Shortwave radio lines in the control room are dead, along with the rest of our electrical power. The comms outpost is a ways out--I sent a guard and radio tech about forty minutes ago, but I haven’t heard back. The two MIAs I told ya about. Was going to go look myself, till you showed up.”

“I saw the radio building on my way in. It seems like it is in good shape; to my knowledge, the radio equipment is still operational. I tried several frequencies but received no response.”

“Gold Sky’d know how to tune it. Y'know, that squirrelly changeling that works for Moon Dancer?”

Celestia blinked, tilting her head. “He’s a changeling?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d have to rip that bandage off eventually.” Lightning Dust gave Celestia a sideways glance--almost sternly protective, as though she were measuring Celestia's reaction in case it was one of disapproval. “He’s a good colt, though. Changeling or not. Just tryin’ to get by in Equestria, same as the rest of us. I’ll send him as soon as we’re done looking around.”

“Indeed,” Celestia replied, a little uncertain how to answer. Fortunately, they’d arrived at their destination a long steel corridor framed on both sides by simple rounded doors. They looked as though they had been designed specifically to be locked efficiently--she’d seen similar designs during her first few escape attempts. A conspicuous lack of windows, and a focus on simple, streamlined designs.

There were four rooms on each side, for a total of eight along the steel corridor. Most of them had been battered open by the initial explosion, the half-open doors revealing unremarkable barracks-style bunk rooms. At the end of the hall was a steel vault door, rather identical to the one Celestia had seen on her way in.

“Shining Armor’s bunk is right there.” Lightning Dust nodded at a metal door that had largely survived the blunt of the initial explosion’s impact. “At four hundred hours this morning, we escorted him out to the SunTrotter’s firing building, which can be accessed by exiting that door and following the snow-cable.”

“Okay,” Celestia said. “The building itself… you suspect it was entirely destroyed in the impact? It was… admittedly difficult for me to make out on my flight in. My eyesight is not the best.”

“Mine’s okay. Problem is, we need to go outside to look.”

“It will give us a chance to examine the wind direction while we are out there.” Celestia pointed out. “If we can get an idea whether or not it will continue blowing away from us, we will have a chance to plan our next moves a bit more efficiently.”

“Good thinking, Princess.” Lightning Dust gave her a curt nod. “The door freezes easily, though. We’ll probably both have to give it a go to get it open.”

Celestia nodded, already at the door herself with her horn lit. “On three.”

“Counting on you to keep us safe with your magic. We shouldn’t be any longer than a minute out there, tops.” Lightning Dust wrapped her hooves around the top while Celestia grasped it in her telekinesis.

Celestia nodded. “One, two… three.”

The door was, true to Lightning Dust’s word, a little bit of a hassle, but after several seconds Celestia could feel it turning. Whether it was more attributed to Lightning or Celestia, she really had no idea.

It was still largely twilight outside, and the cold bit at both of them with a fierce vengeance as soon as the vault door swung open to the frozen tundra.

vii

Twilight Sparkle rapped violently on the door of the duplex for what felt like the fiftieth time, breathing out a sigh of relief when it was finally opened by a peach coloured unicorn mare. She looked tired, and was still in the process of attaching her Royal Guard regalia when she opened the door.

“Twilight Sparkle? The captain’s sis?”

“Where’s Shining? I visited his place and he wasn’t there and it didn’t look like anypony had been there in months and I don’t know who else to turn to for help because the gods damned sky is on fire right now and--”

“Woah, slow down there.” The guard--Aura Gleam, Twilight could distinctly remember her name being something similar to that--rose an eyebrow at Twilight’s panicked, semi-coherent ranting. “Boss’s needed on a diplo mission in Griffonstone. He’ll be back later on this week. He didn’t tell you?”

“I need help.” Twilight shook her head. “I need the Royal Guard. Something’s wrong. Have you looked outside?”

Aura Gleam nodded, though she looked past Twilight again as if to verify that the pillar of fading light was still casting the north sky in a dull orange glow. “Aye. Probably some scheme those Industry bastards brewed up, gone wrong. Another wagon-wreck they’ll want us to mop up, no doubt.”

“Princess Celestia took off to investigate it. By herself.”

Aura Gleam frowned at that. “Shit. You don’t say. When?”

“Like, an hour ago? Half an hour? I don’t know, I’ve been sprinting around Old Canterlot since five-thirty this morning!”

Aura Gleam let out a little sigh, which tapered into a short chuckle. “Alright, alright. Listen, I’m already trying to get on the horn to the rest of my squad. We’re waiting on the okay from the New Canterlot PD to take an airship up there and have a look ourselves. Why don’t you come in outta the cold, catch your breath, and you can get a ride up with us when they okay it?”

“When they okay it? Why in Tartarus would they okay an investigation into their shady crap?!”

Aura Gleam gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just how it is. We don’t have an airship in our budget, so we’d have to go up with the Industry police.”

“Gah, fine. Fine, I’ll wait.” Twilight groaned out. Aura held the door open a little wider for her, trotting her way back into the duplex. Twilight was close behind, closing the door to the horrible sight of the blood-red morning sky outside.

Aura led the way up the stairs and into her humble little home--largely the same as when Twilight had last visited with Shining, with the only notable difference being another pegasus pony Royal Guard already lounging on the couch within.

“Got the Cap’s sis.” Aura Gleam introduced with a nod in Twilight’s direction, closing the front door gently.

“Mornin’, Miss... Sparkle, is it?”

Twilight nodded. “Twilight Sparkle, yeah.”

“Solar Wind, and you already know my roomie Aura.” The pegasus lifted her helmet from the coffee table as she spoke and put it over her head. “I’m guessin’ you want to go North with us?”

“Yes, I do. Princess Celestia’s already gone, and I’m worried about her.”

Solar Wind glanced over at Aura, who gave a somber little nod of her head from the kitchen.

“Damn mare,” Solar Wind growled out under her breath. “Still runnin’ on ahead of us. After all these years.”

Aura let out a snorting laugh, her horn lighting as she lifted a few steaming coffee mugs from her counter and passed them around. “Whaddaya take, Twilight?”

“Er, just black.”

Aura rose an eyebrow as Twilight took the mug in her own magic. “Fair warning, it isn’t the best coffee, so if you go changing your mind, just let me know.”

Twilight sipped hers with immense gratitude anyway. “S-so, uh. How are we going to… y’know, secure an airship?”

“Waitin’ on Shallow Step to show up,” Solar Wind replied. “He’s got friends in the Old Canterlot PD who just might score us a few seats on their scouting expedition.”

“What about Shining?” Twilight looked around, as though expecting him to enter from one of the small house’s spare bedrooms. “He’s meeting us there?”

“He’s been in a bit of a communications blackout the whole time he’s been in Griffonstone, so it’s probably not likely until later on this week.” Aura shook her head. “Sorry, Twilight. So, Celestia went in alone...”

Twilight stirred her coffee idly with her magic as she nodded. “Yeah, basically as soon as she felt the Sun shift on her.”

“Mother Epona--” Solar Wind nearly spat out her coffee. “She what?”

Twilight threw up her hooves helplessly, her horn glowing a little brighter as she held onto her mug in her magic. “Without warning! They just up and yanked it from her! She was sleeping when it happened!”

“Saints above.” Solar Wind nearly growled the words out. “I say to Tartarus with their airship. How good are you with teleportation, Twilight?”

Twilight rubbed a hoof. “I can do maybe… Seventy k? A hundred on a good day? Probably need a visual trigger of where we’re going for that, though.”

“Woah, hold up, you two.” Aura frowned. “I say we wait for Shallow before we go discussing teleporting directly into the place where the Sun is literally being stolen from Princess Celestia.”

“Not if we can help her by doing so sooner!” Twilight blurted out.

“I know. And I get that, Twilight.” Aura Gleam shook her head. “But Celestia needs more than us going in horns ablazing, like some sort of corporate goons. She might need medics. First responders. Supplies. We have no idea what she’s getting into up there, and we don’t want to find out by being unprepared for it.”

“Fine, fine.” Twilight took to sipping her coffee in silence as Aura and Solar Wind talked--largely inside jokes about the apparent upcoming nightmare that was the inner workings of the Old Canterlot PD. She’d taken to nursing the mug nervously in her magic and casting glances at the glimpses of a rainy Old Canterlot back alley. They were in one of the nicer sides of the city and it still had the same feeling of decay as the rest of the old capital.

Shallow Step arrived after about ten minutes--the sound of a gentle rapping like music to Twilight’s ears as they sliced through her awkward fidgeting silence. Aura answered it immediately, greeting the earth pony stallion with a wide smile.

Twilight herself gave a little wave. “Heya. You must be Shallow Step.”

He nodded. “Twilight Sparkle. Voice’s familiar.”

Twilight blinked. “Really?”

“You’ve been on the radio enough for it, kiddo.” He laughed, and nodded his head towards the camera strapped around Twilight’s neck. “You’re coming up north with us?”

“As soon as I can.” Twilight gave a curt nod.

“Guessin’ Celestia’s already gone ahead.” He looked around Aura and Solar’s apartment, frowning. “Not… particularly surprising.”

Solar Wind snorted. “Let’s just get goin’, already. She’s having fun without us right now.”

Aura Gleam lit her horn, but then extinguished it and glanced over to Twilight, instead. “New Canterlot PD. You’re familiar, yeah?”

Twilight couldn’t help but chuckle. “Could say that. I’m supposing Shiny told you?”

Aura Gleam stifled a chuckle with a hoof. “Shiny. That’s new. Wait till I use that on him. Let’s just say your reputation precedes you, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight blushed. “Y-yeah. I have, uh. History with them.”

“Well, that’ll be fun,” Aura Gleam said. Twilight wasn’t sure if the unicorn was being critical or comedic, but she certainly hoped it was the latter. “Just… try not to piss them off too much. They are our ride.”

“Just here to take pictures and help Celestia.” Twilight brought a hoof across her lips. “No sermonizing, promise.”

Aura smirked, and lit her horn again--first to lock the door to her duplex, and then to mentally carry the four of them across the rock and murky morning sky between the old and decaying capitals of Equestria.

The roof of the New Canterlot Police Station was the same, but still looked different to Twilight in the dark and dry weather. The terrible pillar of white light that had split the sky was obscured by the towering Canterlot Mountain, the old city like twinkling constellations as it woke to another morning in Equestria.

A few pegasi officers were already approaching them almost immediately. One of them was gripping a firearm in their wing, though it was pointed away from them and relaxed in his grip the moment he recognized the Royal Guard armor.

“It’s six-thirty in the bloody morning,” he called as he approached them. “The hell do you Royals want?”

Shallow Step scowled. “Cooperation between departments. A wet dream of mine, I know. We want to talk to Thundercloud.”

The pegasus officer rolled his eyes. “Commissioner likes to sleep in till ten. Come back later.”

“Then just wake him up!” Twilight barked out. The pegasus officer’s gaze narrowed, as though he were noticing her for the first time. “How the hell didn’t that explosion?!”

“They’re likely just blasting in the Crystal Caves again.” The officer shared a glance with his partner. “He hates bein’ woken up, and Commissioner Thundercloud’s pretty scary when he’s mad, so unless you’ve got a valid reason why--”

“Gods above, you’re idiots!” Twilight blurted. Suddenly she became conscious of Aura trying to silence her with a few desperate sideways glances, but it was too late for Twilight to turn back now. “Tell him we know about the Sun! And if he doesn’t do something about it, we will! Tell him that!”

The two officers both laughed aloud at that, and beside Twilight, Aura Gleam cleared her throat.

“Princess Celestia is investigating an explosion to the far North of Equestria. As her Royal Guard and the State’s oldest guardforce, we’re requesting permission to aid her. Tell Commissioner Thundercloud something terrible has happened and we need his help putting it right.” Aura Gleam glanced over to Twilight at that. “Like she said. Tell him now, that’s an order.”

It felt strange to Twilight, following the Royal Guards into the polished and gleaming skyscraper. They were led on by their reluctant pegasi escort, down a set of steps and toward a rather modern-looking elevator. It was like a pilgrimage in reverse--when she’d been arrested they had taken her inside on the ground level, and she hadn’t seen the rooftop until she’d been with Celestia the next day. Twilight had no doubts as to the efficiencies of dragging the controversial anarchist rebel through the street level of New Canterlot, and it felt a little liberating to enter it again with the roles as reversed as they were.

She was with the Royal Guard now. Part of her still felt like little else but their reluctantly protected basket case, but it was a dwindling feeling, as she followed them inside the Station.

viii

The cold bit at them as soon as they were outside.

Celestia winced, instinctively raising a wing and squinting her good eye against the howling winds. Beside her, Lightning Dust was lifting up the hood of her parka and fixing a pair of goggles to her head. Between them and the respirator, she looked like some horror figure Celestia would have expected to see from one of those sappy science fiction novels.

“Two minutes!” Lightning Dust called out against the wind’s roar, and Celestia nodded.

Ahead of Celestia’s squinted eyes, the entire horizon was a muddy haze of roiling black smoke dissipating into the dim morning sky. Celestia was unable to properly make out the SunTrotter Building that Lightning Dust had mentioned--simply that a large chunk of the facility was indeed in the midst of being engulfed in vicious flame.

Fortunately, the flames themselves were being pulled away from them by the winds. Deeper into the forsaken tundra, instead of back towards where Celestia had come. Towards Equestria.

“SunTrotter doesn’t look good, Princess!” Lightning Dust announced. Celestia tilted her ear in the pegasus’s direction. “Still, y’know… looks like the fire hasn’t spread to the entire complex yet. It’s mostly the reactors that blew, and blast damage for the rest of the structure.”

“Then it is possible there are survivors. We need a rescue team immediately.”

“Right.” Lightning Dust nodded. “But let’s worry about that when we’ve got one for ourselves. I’m on wind patterns--quick flap around the building, then we're goin' back inside."

“You will have to leave my magic’s influence to do so.”

“Yeah, but it’s blowing away from us and we’ve both got a job to do.”

Celestia smiled despite herself. “Be swift, dear. I will verify the orbital integrity of my--of the Sun.”

“Don’t stray far.” Lightning Dust nodded again, and spread her wings. She jogged ahead of Celestia and lifted into the air with a few powerful flaps, vanishing into the blurry mush where Celestia’s line of sight ended. As soon as she was gone, Celestia lit her horn, bringing her magic into the air to once again search for her Sun.

It had drifted from her again, in the time she had been inside the facility. It was further again, and she brightened her horn to hastily bring it back into its proper position. A minor adjustment, but not one she was used to having to do, and the very act of doing so was enough to put her on edge.

Lightning Dust set down after a bit, immediately trotting way back towards the metal door leading into the SunTrotter facility and beginning to wrench it open.

Celestia assisted, and together they quickly burst their way back into the building.

“Wind patterns are all over the place,” Lightning Dust said immediately, yanking off her respirator and taking in a few much-needed panting breaths. Celestia lit her horn, conjuring up some light heat magic around them as she shook the snow off her back. “Ready to turn at the drop of a hat. How was the Sun?”

“In an unusual place from where I am used to seeing it.”

“Mother Epona.” Lightning Dust spat out. “We need to let Moon Dancer know immediately. This is officially out of control.”

Celestia’s horn brightened. A shorter range teleport, back into the main control room, where Moon Dancer and her scientists all jumped up in surprise.

And somepony else, too. An earth pony mare, who was the first to discard their surprise and replace it with a sneer directed at Celestia. She was being attended to by one of Moon Dancer’s assistants, but she did her best to glare at Celestia through cracked and crooked eyeglasses all the same.

“And here she is, here to save the day.”

“Spoiled Rich, I do not have time for your pettiness. Either assist me or be silent.” Celestia turned away from her immediately, addressing Moon Dancer instead. She donned her eyeglasses as she spoke, the unicorn mare coming into the slightest bit more focus. “The Sun’s orbit is irregular. It should be rising into Equestria on its own, but I have had to correct it twice.”

Moon Dancer’s eyes went wide. “H-how severely?”

“Fortunately, they have been relatively minor corrections. I don’t imagine we would begin to encounter longer nights until several months from now if left unchecked. Perhaps an extra two hours by January, and not subsisting from then on.”

“Our machine is in no state to offer any sort of correction.” Moon Dancer bit her lip. “You need to get back to Equestria, Princess. If something happens to you… our relationship with the Sun as we know it is in jeopardy.”

“You are my subjects, and I will not abandon you to your fates. Besides, it seems that Equestria’s safety is in jeopardy even if we ignore the obvious issue of the Sun.” Celestia nodded her head at the barricaded windows of the control room. At the pillars of rising black smoke hidden by the plate metal.

Moon Dancer sighed. “Point taken.”

Celestia turned to Spoiled Rich as she spoke next. “I am taking the reins back now, dear. Please… just co-operate with me. You are in no state to do anything else at the moment, considering your concussion.”

She was, to Celestia’s surprise, silent by way of reply, not breaking her glare but looking away from Celestia and back to the assistant in the midst of dabbing her forehead with an ice pack.

“She’s going to stab you in the back the first chance she gets, y’know.” Moon Dancer glanced over, keeping her voice low. “Try and claim you interrupted the test, or something.”

“Fortunately for me, I have you and your assistants to testify otherwise.” Celestia looked back to Spoiled Rich, raising her voice a little in her direction. “Besides, that is a hurdle I will cross when we are safe enough to worry about it.”

“Wind patterns are irregular,” Lightning Dust spoke up. “Could be a blizzard brewing up, which would be, uh. Not good. Assuming the station’s ventilation systems aren’t on.”

Moon Dancer motioned at the dead control panel. “We have an hour of clean oxygen in here, tops.”

“Then we send for rescue as soon as possible.” Celestia looked over to the disguised changeling Lightning Dust had mentioned. “Gold Sky. I am told you can operate radio equipment?”

“Y-y-yes ma’am.”

“Okay. Then I propose several of us head to the communications building immediately. We must work quickly if we are to get there and radio for help before the winds shift on us.”

“W-what? I’m not going back out there!”

“My dear, I saw the building on the way in. It is far enough away for it to be safe for us.”

“Then explain where Cicilia and Misty Zoom went!” Gold Sky shrilled in reply. “They went to the comms building an hour ago! For all we know, a windigo got them!”

“And if something has indeed happened to them, our chances of finding and helping them increase exponentially if we go ourselves.” Celestia returned. “I cannot force you to go, my dear. Only you can make that choice.”

He gave a helpless little whimper, but nodded his head shakily. “A-alright.”

“Thank you.” Celestia looked back to Moon Dancer. “You mentioned the ventilation of the complex is compromised?”

“Yes. If the winds shift, we are in very significant danger.”

“Then we must act fast. Moon Dancer, you stay here and do your best to return power to the facility.” Celestia looked back to the changeling. “Gather your respirator and parka, dear. I can teleport us when you are ready.”

“You seem to be teleportin’ a lot for a supposedly weak and feeble old mare.” Spoiled Rich called over, starting to shakily rise to her hooves. “Why haven’t you just taken us all back to safety already?”

“Because long-distance teleportation is a physically exhausting task, and I’ve done so twice already. Shorter-distance teleports to recently visited locations are significantly less tiring." Celestia rose an eyebrow, a little amazed by the extent of Spoiled Rich’s gaslighting abilities. “No matter how much you would perhaps wish for me to be, I am not a goddess, Miss Spoiled Rich.”

“In other words, shut the buck up and let the mare do her job.” Lightning Dust piped up, glaring daggers at Spoiled Rich. “She’s done a hell of a lot more than you so far.”

“Thank you, dear.” Celestia gave Lightning a grateful nod. “Are you coming with us to the communications building?”

Lightning Dust nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m ready when you are, Princess,” The disguised changeling said, and she lit her horn once again, depositing the three of them into the comms building. The earth pony winced, and Celestia once again rose her right wing to try and shield them from the worst of the growing blizzard around them. Beside her, Lightning Dust did the same, letting out a little grunt as the winds once again bit at them through the cracked glass of the communications building’s back wall.

“This is bad.” Gold Sky breathed, frowning at the snow-covered radio equipment. “Y-you’re sure it’ll even work?”

“I am sure that it is worth the effort.” Celestia lit the weather-battered shed with her horn, trotting closer to the equipment. “Who knows about this facility? There is likely somepony trying to contact you now to verify the test’s success.”

Gold Sky shook his head. “There’s likely somepony wondering as to the best way to let it burn and pin it on Spoiled Rich. They’re just gonna be shifting into PR mode and we’re all collateral.”

“You are not one for inspiring confidence, are you?” Celestia shook her head. “If you are nervous around me, I promise you I do not mean you harm.”

“No, I know.” Gold Sky exhaled, nudging his snout into a saddlebag from his side and fishing out something that sounded vaguely like a keychain. He kneeled down before the radio equipment, and a gentle hum flooded the shed as the equipment came to life, the changeling letting out a sigh of relief.

“I-I can show you my Residency Tags,” he said as he rose to his hooves again. “If you need to see them.”

“I do not, dear. What I need from you now is your help in averting a major Equestrian tragedy.” She gave an inviting nod over to the newly ignited radio-equipment, which Gold Sky immediately turned his attention to. He lifted one of the pairs of headphones to his ears and began fiddling with the tuning dials on the radio console.

“Alpha this is Sierra Tango. Please respond. Repeat, this is Sierra Tango requesting immediate assistance and evacuation.”

Celestia tensed as silence followed the stallion’s broadcast. Beside her, Lightning Dust rustled one of her wings, a frown on her face. Empty static responded to his broadcast--Celestia wasn’t entirely familiar with the mechanical aspect of these devices, but she’d never seen them capable of producing the sound without some manner of power.

No, the radio equipment itself surely would have been functioning correctly.

It was just that nopony seemed to be hearing.

“I’ll… keep trying on different frequencies.” Gold Sky rubbed his forehooves together nervously, and began to fiddle with the radio tuner again. Lightning Dust rustled a wing again, glancing at Celestia.

“If… I start now, I can likely make the mainland station in two hours.”

“The blizzards seem to be stirring up, dear.” Celestia nodded her head out the windows. “You… likely would get lost quite quickly if they do. If not forced to land.”

“I’ll take a look around for a compass.” Lightning Dust said, motioning around with a wing at the ransacked shed. “Either way, I don't exactly trust the Industry enough to sit around waiting for their rescue.”

“If you insist, dear.” Celestia found a map pinned to a wall in the communications building, and she gently removed it with her telekinesis, offering it to Lightning Dust. “I can get you a headstart of several kilometers using this.” Celestia nodded to her lit horn as Lightning Dust took the map gratefully. “If you insist on flying out for rescue, it is best you head out immediately if you are to avoid the worst of the blizzard that seems to be rolling in.”

“Got it. Just let me get airborne before you zap me South.” Lightning Dust folded the map and tucked it into an inner pocket on her bomber jacket. Together they trotted back to the deck surrounding the south-facing wall of the communications building. “You take care of these ponies, Princess. They're relying on you."

“As long as you take as much care of yourself, Commander Lightning Dust. I will see you again soon.”

“Let’s hope.” The pegasus kicked off the porch without ceremony, starting to flap her wings against the growing trade winds of the Frozen North. Celestia waited until she’d reached the stride of her ascent before lighting her horn again.

Ten kilometers. The best she could spare and not risk exhausting herself too much to be of any use to the ponies waiting for her back in the control room of the SunTrotter. Pennies compared to the vast sum that would be Lightning Dust’s perilous flight back to Equestria.

But a little nudge forwards all the same.

Gold Sky was still engaged in a one-sided conversation with dead static when Celestia returned to the inside of the communications building, looking back at her with a frown. “Commander’s gone?”

Celestia nodded. “To get help. We should get back inside with the others. Nopony is answering us.”

“I’ll stay. I’ll keep trying.”

“Dear, the winds are blowing in our direction. The fumes from that fire will blow directly through those windows.”

“Princess, I’m a changeling. We… have quite durable respiratory systems.”

Celestia blinked. “...respiratory systems?”

“We can hold onto fresh oxygen for longer. Keep running on it. We’re naturally immune to a good many of the worse effects of the Industry’s pollution.” ”

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? It only made sense. She nearly slapped herself on the forehead for not recalling.

She had been kept largely from reliable knowledge of the changelings during her… gods, what could she even call it anymore? Now that she was here at the end of it all? Her exile? Her banishment? No words she picked seemed to be sufficient.

She’d gone over the memories, though. She’d read and reread the newspapers, that Raven would bring her. Back in her cell. She’d reread the older ones with somber regret, and hastily devour the newer ones in a sort of horrified, tense sadness. Moreso, seeing how often they’d been bent as a dagger into the remnants of her legacy.

At the genocide they claimed she, at least in part and through inaction, supported.

Why hadn’t she been on good terms with Queen Chrysalis before? Why hadn’t she been more upfront about changelings to Equestria as a whole?

The relationship with the changelings during the last year before Tirek’s attack was a turbulent one, to say the least. Attacks had been rare, but not entirely impossible. There had been a few. Celestia would have continued looking into them, but Tirek and Sombra hadn’t been ones to sit by and let her figure them out.

The newer headlines over the next twelve years had been relentless. As best as she could tell, after Tirek, Equestrian had been sent into a tailspin. Chrysalis hadn’t returned, but there had still been many fringe groups of minor changeling invasions across the drastically weakened nation.

Then, they had vanished entirely. Declared extinct by many Equestrian scholars. A former enemy of Celestia’s, now gone forever. Like the changeling Queen that her own subjects and guard had watched her kill.

And now, here was a changeling offering to stay behind for a few of his Equestrian friends. The changeling himself had shed his pony disguise sometime during her nostalgic reverie, peering back at Celestia through reflective blue eyes.

“If it gets too bad, I’ll head back inside.” He gave her a shaky nod. “Can just follow the snow cable back. You should be back in there with Moon Dancer, though. Making sure Spoiled doesn’t try to take things out of her hooves.”

"Are you sure, dear? You would be all by yourself. It may be dangerous."

"Yeah, well. That's what we changelings are for."

Celestia sighed. "That is not right at all."

Gold Sky shrugged. "It's how it is. Just because the Equestrian governments's welcomed some of us onto their soil, doesn't mean its ponies are ready to consider us one of them."

“Perhaps...” Celestia said, shaking her head sadly. "Something to talk about together, when this is all over, hrm?"

"Yeah. When this is all over."

"You take care, Gold Sky. We will get through this together.”

“Good luck, Princess Celestia.”

She trotted to the south-most deck once more, glancing back for a moment at her teleportation destination a short distance north. The inner common area, as she recalled it in her memory. A simple hop.

She reached out with her magic for the sun one more time, though.

She readjusted its orbit with Equestria once more. The inner walls of the SunTrotter facility seemed to interrupt her abilities to do so, so she figured she would correct it while she could. Still, the Sun was drifting on her. It hadn’t corrected itself like she had hoped it would have by now.

She shook her head. The common area. There were still ponies within the greater facility who needed her.

The short teleportation back inside hadn’t been kind to her. A sharp pain in her lower thigh. She winced the moment it hit her, leaning against one of the common area couches for support.

“Damn you, Tirek.” She hissed out aloud, announcing it to the empty common room. She limped on towards the corridor, and retraced the winding sterile halls of the facility towards where Moon Dancer was waiting for her.

Celestia could hear Spoiled Rich’s hushed voice as she reached the metal stairwell leading into the control room, doing her best to straighten her step as she climbed the metal steps. They creaked all the same, and Spoiled was quick to go quiet by time Celestia re-entered the control room.

“So?” Moon Dancer’s frown intensified the moment Celestia entered alone. “Bad news?”

Celestia nodded. “Nopony seems to be hearing us.”

"The weather?"

"Worsening. A blizzard, with the wind direction blowing north to south."

“The Sun?”

“Drifting from me, still. In need of constant correction.”

“Gods and goddesses above. It’s the damned Fourth Longest Night.” Moon Dancer murmured. “Where’s Lightning?”

“Gone to go get help, though as I stated, there is a blizzard brewing. How far she gets into it… I am admittedly a little wary about. But... she at least has a head-start on the trade winds.” Celestia trotted closer to Spoiled, glancing at the same dead keyboard and monitor she had been when Celestia had left. “She states that if she is fortunate, she might be able to make the nearest outpost in two hours.”

“Well, that’s something to look forwards to with our one hour of clean oxygen, I guess.”

Celestia turned to Spoiled Rich. “Who knows that this facility is here, besides you? Who can we expect a rescue operation from?”

Spoiled Rich scoffed. “I seem to distinctly recall you stating your adamant refusal to partner with me, Miss Celestia. Why would that change now?”

Celestia blinked. “You can’t seriously be that petty. Do you honestly think there is any way I can allow you to stay in power if this is the limit you are willing to go to in order to prove it?”

“Shocking statements from the alicorn. I have no obligation to indulge every detail of my life with you, Miss Celestia.”

Moon Dancer let out an audibly annoyed groan from the other side of the room, and Celestia turned away from Spoiled Rich immediately. She was wasting her time.

“She likely doesn’t even know, Princess,” Moon Dancer said aloud as Celestia limped her way back to Moon Dancer’s corner of the control room.

“How have you fared with the air filtration?”

“We… haven’t made any progress, Princess.” The assistant named Winter Spruce piped up, glancing at Celestia. “The explosion knocked out most of our electrical power systems.”

“Can they be powered by another means? Some manner of diesel engine?”

“Nothing we’d have available to us right now,” Moon Dancer said, nudging her head towards Celestia’s awkward gait. “How are your mana reserves, Princess?”

“They are fine. It’s simply that a frustrating old splinter from Tirek is… quite irritating me right now.”

“Convenient,” Spoiled Rich said with a scoff. Celesta ignored her. Beside her, Moon Dancer’s tail was swishing irritably.

“Princess, how long do you imagine you could keep back the worst of the SunTrotter’s fumes with your magic? Long enough for a rescue expedition?”

Celestia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “If I pace myself and work calmly and safely, I believe I can buy us as much as four hours.”

Moon Dancer glanced to Spoiled Rich. “How long until somepony comes looking for you?”

There was no response. Celestia had another stern retort on her tongue as she whipped back around, only to see the mare herself lying unconscious, both eyes shut. The earth pony medic--Clary Sage, it seemed, according to her nametag--that had been tending to the older mare gave them a helpless look, both ears sinking against her head.

“Damn it.” Celestia stomped a hoof. “Please, try and wake her up. As soon as she’s lucid, let Moon Dancer and I know.”

The earth pony medic gave a single nod. “Of course, Princess.”

Celestia looked back to Moon Dancer. “The ventilation system. We evidently need to find some way to power it if we are to survive this incoming blizzard.”

“Princess Celestia, it is… a legitimate concern of mine that Equestria may not be able to survive the effects of the blizzard.”

“I am aware of the potential impact of things here. Nonetheless, it is possible for us to weather the worst of it with the time we have” Celestia gave Moon Dancer a patient smile.

The unicorn hardly reciprocated it, though. The grim, barely restrained look of panic on her face remained, as she looked around at her two remaining assistants and the still-unconscious form of Spoiled Rich. “Princess, can I… can I speak with you in Private? Please?”

They made their way back down the stairwell and around the first corner of the corridor ahead, Moon Dancer stopping in her tracks as soon as they were out of earshot the same way Lightning Dust had. Outside them, the cold wind was already battering on the elevated superstructure Celestia and the remaining crew of the SunTrotter were hiding within. They would have to relocate soon--the superstructure would likely be the first to fill with toxic air.

Moon Dancer was silent for a moment, leading the way on through the hall with a somber expression. “Princess… the reason I wanted to talk to you... if we do make it out of this, I want you to know that I’ll have your back for whatever follows.”

“You mean with Spoiled Rich.”

“I mean with the fallout of this. I... I’m not wrong in assuming you’re… ahem, taking control of the cleanup here? If we survive long enough for a rescue party?”

“It was my intention, yes. I hope that does not seem overly bold of me.”

“Overly bold is letting that mare send the planet’s orbit into a tailspin.” Moon Dancer sunk her head, staring at her hooves as she walked. “Overly bold is spending six months helping her to do so.”

“Contingency, I presume.” Celestia looked around at the polished metal corridors of the SunTrotter Facility. Moon Dancer gave a little nod.

“That’s what I’ve spent the last few months telling myself. The justification doesn’t feel as strong now, though. Now that the thing I helped build might…” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. “Whatever happens next, I did it. If we die today, I did that. And when the SunTrotter poisons the skies of Equestria, I did that, too. When the Sun goes adrift and the lands freeze, that’s on me.”

“It is not that simple, Moon Dancer.” Celestia brought a hoof to the unicorn’s sunken chin, gently lifting it up to look her in the eyes. “And… and the doom that you seem to be projecting is not a guarantee.”

“It’s a probability, though. A strong one. Stronger than it's ever been in my lifetime.”

“And certainly not in mine.” Celestia shook her head. “I thought Tirek’s destruction of Equestria was inevitable, once upon a time. I thought there was no way we could turn the tides of the Crystal War. And… I thought that the very idea of a mortal pony so much as touching my Sun was an arcane and scientific impossibility. For what it’s worth, dear, I am impressed. If you can believe that. I… I just wish I had been involved. I wish I could have helped. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Moon Dancer nodded, slowly and sadly. “I know. I’m sorry, Princess.” She rubbed a forehoof against the other, nodding back down the hall towards the metal stairwell into the control room. “I just wanted you to know where I stand. I know you’re not the… the smiting type, but in case the worse does happen, I wanted you to know. But you’re right. We should get back and prepare for what’s coming.”

“Yes, we should. I am right behind you.”

Moon Dancer trotted on ahead, vanishing around the corner of the corridor. The moment she did, a sudden shimmer of purple light lit up the hall beside Celestia, and she didn’t need to glance over to see that Nightmare Moon had arrived once again.

“Sister, if the Brothers are still alive, they will likely kill you to stay in power. Or capture you once again.” Nightmare Moon said. “There is a significantly high chance the mare feigning unconscious back there will be using this as a potential opportunity to do the same.”

“You predict… some manner of cover-up operation to arrive here before a proper rescue?”

“Yes. Everything that Twilight has discovered points us to that being a likely possibility.”

“I am aware. I am also confident in the fact that Twilight herself wouldn’t let that occur without interfering.”

“You would trust Equestria with that assumption?”

Celestia frowned. “The two do not equate.”

“Don’t they?” Nightmare Moon tilted her head thoughtfully. “I am begging you, just this once, to admit to your own mortality, Sister. Not for yourself, but for Equestria.”

“You think I should have stayed home.” Celestia frowned. "I should have sent Twilight handle it.”

“I did not say that.”

“You implied it quite strongly, sister.” Celestia afforded herself a wary smile, despite everything. “P-perhaps I should not have run ahead alone. I will give you that much.”

“I trust Twilight with Luna’s Moon. Evidently, you do the same.”

“Of course I do.”

“If that is the case, she deserves a chance to help with the Sun, too.”

“And she will. I completely trust Twilight Sparkle to be the first hooves off the first airship here. I would bet the damned Sun itself on the probability.”

“That’s obvious.” Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes. “I am simply trying to make you admit the reliance you have on that mare right now.”

“Of course I do. I’ve needed it every second since I escaped.”

“Then don’t run off ahead without her. Ever.”

“I will apologize to her profusely when I see her in a few hours.”

“Uh-huh. Don't go dying before you get the chance, Sister.”

Outside them, the halls of the SunTrotter facility had started to shake more against the enveloping blizzard. Still, it sounded too rhythmic to be natural. Too forceful, too. Like rapping on the walls and ceiling of the SunTrotter Facility. Like claws dragging themselves down the metal walls, searching for weakness or purchase.

As though something was trying desperately to get in.

A trick of the wind, and the cooling metal, no doubt. She told it to herself as she trotted on where Moon Dancer had been, Nightmare Moon once again a memory in her consciousness. Still, there were the tales, of course. Celestia was no stranger to them. The claims that the windigos had gone extinct were still claims, to this day. Celestia had thought it to be true of the changelings, too, and she’d been proven wrong about that.

At the thought of the changelings, her mind returned to Gold Sky’s panicked ramblings. They’d been the first thing she’d truly heard, upon arriving in the SunTrotter Facility, after all. Disregarding them proved to be more and more difficult as the blizzard around them battered against the facility.

She lit her horn to correct the Sun again, but her magic still could not seem to penetrate the facility’s ceiling. She continued her way back where Moon Dancer had headed, instead, pushing the fear in her heart down one more time.

She’d had many final stands before, after all. What was one more?

Twilight’s first encounter with Commander Thundercloud was as unpleasant as she’d predicted it would be.

He’d stormed in nearly two hours after the officer had vanished to go wake him. Twilight had been pawing at the waiting room carpet the entire time, her ears perking the moment she heard the elevator chime out from somewhere down the corridor.

He stormed in without ceremony, glaring at Twilight. “What in Tartarus is this punk doing in my office at this hour?”

"Likely wondering why her brother isn’t having this conversation with you.” Aura Gleam stepped forward, giving the pegasus stallion a quick salute. “Commander Thundercloud. Warrant Major Aura Gleam, sir.”

Thundercloud gave a somewhat half-hearted salute back. “What do you want, Warrant Major?”

“Access to a medium-sized, arctic fitted airship as soon as possible,” Aura Gleam said, quickly and urgently.

“Denied. Are you out of your mind, mare?!”

Twilight groaned. “Princess Celestia felt the Sun move. There was an explosion someplace out there large enough to shake Old Canterlot.”

Thundercloud gave Twilight a cold glare, evidently disgusted by the prospect of talking to her. “I didn’t feel anything. The Sun is rising as usual. I’m not about to throw you lot the keys to a multi-million bit airship because you’re worried about your senile marefriend.”

“Sir.” Aura Gleam cleared her throat. “There have been several confirmed eyewitness reports of smoke someplace to the North of Canterlot Mountain. At least four separate provinces have reported them by now.” The unicorn gave Thundercloud a look that seemed almost sympathetic to Twilight. “However you wish to address this, and your previous experience with my guard division disregarded, it will get handled for you eventually if you don’t act first.”

Thundercloud glared, and then let out a long sigh through his snout. “Fine. You and your guards can go. She most certainly does not.”

Twilight scowled at Thundercloud’s pointing hoof. “Why? Afraid I’ll see something I shouldn’t?”

He laughed. “The mare with the camera around her neck who talks to herself? Yes, I’m terrified.”

“Sir, she’s in the company of the Royal Guard.” Aura Gleam piped up. “We’re with her as an escort. Wherever she goes, we--”

“Don’t care. She’s been nothing but trouble the entire time I’ve known her and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Sending her along on a highly hard-to-sell-at-this-hour airship ride doesn’t exactly seem like a worthwhile use of fuel and oxygen.” Thundercloud shook his head, looking back to Aura and the other uniformed guards surrounding Twilight. “You lot are welcome, she goes home. I’ll even pay for her Air Taxi fare.”

Twilight gawked, hardly believing her ears. It felt like the entire office was imploding, crushed into a singularity by the morning outside the brightening windows. “L-look. I need to get up there. If Celestia is in danger then the Sun is in danger and if the Sun is in danger, then I can’t not be there for that!”

Thundercloud scoffed. “You’re out of your mind, mare. Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in if the Industry finds out I sent along Twilight Sparkle on a highly secret state investigation? I’d lose my job.”

“B-but... I’ll be quiet, I swear! They won’t even notice I’m there!” Twilight was practically begging now. After everything, all the promises she’d made to always be there for Celestia… it couldn’t end here! “Please. I… I have bits. Nearly… nearly a million. Nopony has to know that I went along…”

“You have bits.” Thundercloud rose an eyebrow.

“Yes! From Princess Celestia’s inheritance! Prince Blueblood gave it to us.” Twilight nearly winced at how shrill and irritating her begging voice had become. “P-please, Thundercloud. This has nothing to do with me or the Industry. I’m… I’m just worried about my marefriend. I swear. Nothing I see will get published.”

Thundercloud let out another mighty sigh. “Ugh. If it’ll save me from enduring any more of your sobbing. But that camera stays on my desk.”

Twilight had to wrestle down the snide remark before it left her tongue. Instead, she vented her frustrations into a spiteful tug of the camera strap with her telekinesis. She tossed it angrily onto Thundercloud’s desk. “There. T-thank you.”

“W-well, alright then…” Aura Gleam glanced around. “Which way to the airship hangar?”

“Oh for the love of… you want to go now?!” Thundercloud let out a groan. “Let me finish my godsdamned coffee first!”

“Drink it on the way down.” Aura shook her head. “We need to act fast.”

“Yeah?” Thundercloud laughed. “How do you figure?”

“An explosion means smoke. Smoke spreads, obviously,” Twilight said, wrinkling her nose in disbelief that she even had to explain.

“Right, and you’ve seen signs of this smoke?”

“Yes! You can smell it from the top of Old Canterlot mountain!” Twilight gawked. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Yes, and none of it particularly convinces me of much besides the obviously pitiful retail value of Old Canterlot.”

“Sir, I can confirm what Miss Sparkle is saying.” Aura Gleam looked from Twilight to Thundercloud. “Similar reports from Neighara Falls and Trottawa also confirm that something to the far north of Equestria is expelling black smoke at an alarming rate. The last time this happened, the Royal Guard was the one entrusted with responding to it.”

“Yes, and we all know how swimmingly that went.” Thundercloud rolled his eyes. “Your boss made sure of that, leaking State secrets to the press. Damned treasonous traitor.”

Twilight glared, a retort on her tongue, but Aura Gleam was quicker on the draw. “Don’t you dare say that of Captain Armor. You’re not even half the leader he is.”

Thundercloud laughed. “Don’t say it, or what? He’s going to come all the way from the Dragonlands or Griffonstone or whatever hole the State shoved him in? He’ll come all the way back to scold me using all that power he’s still got, right? A squad of irrelevant relics in silly armor. I’m terrified, really.” Leaning forwards in his chair, Thundercloud tapped his badge with a hoof. “If I’m not half the leader he is, why do I have the authority to send him out of the country when he becomes a nuisance? I am allowing you to take up important resources that I could be trusting my own stallions with instead, Warrant Major Aura Gleam. Do keep that in mind.”

Beside her, Aura Gleam’s glare had grown even more venomous than Twilight’s, but she forced her head into a single nod. “Yes sir.”

“I’ll send for an airship at eleven, when I’ve got enough officers in to send along. You ponies can ride along with that one.”

“At eleven?” Twilight shrilled. “Are you crazy?! That’s in, like, three hours! If the fire is as bad as it seems, they could all be dead by then!”

“And if it’s not, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do to the Industry. If you don’t want the free ride up, just let me know, Sparkle.” Thundercloud narrowed his eyes. Twilight bit her lip, shaking her head. “Uh-huh. Didn’t think so.”

“Isn’t there any way you can send a ship sooner?”

“Plenty. But I’m not going to. And I’m behind the desk, not you, so that’s how it’s going to be. So, if you want to join an investigation effort, then you’ll follow my orders, and if you make any trouble for my officers...” Thundercloud jabbed a hoof in Twilight’s direction. “...then you can walk back from the Frozen North for all I care. That clear?”

“Crystal.” Twilight gave a defeated little nod. “Thank you, Commissioner. I guess.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Aura quickly ushered them out into the hall again, marching them onto an elevator and hitting the button for the airship hangar immediately. “This isn’t good.”

“I can’t believe that stallion. Celestia might be in danger up there!” Twilight stomped a hoof on the elevator floor. “How can he not know that?!”

“Unless… maybe he does.” The earth pony guard, Shallow Step, piped up. “It’d match what we found with Captain Armor, about how the Industry behaves about its secrets.”

Aura Gleam gave a little nod. “Shallow’s right. It’s what I worried would happen. They’re probably sending a clean-up crew before us. Wiping the place down of hoofprints and individual accountability before we show up. Y’know. Like we were supposed to do.” Aura glanced over to Twilight as the elevator rattled on.

“What are we going to do?!”

“Our best damned detective work when we get there, I guess. Hate to say it, but Thundercloud’s right. He makes the call, and if we go against his officers, it’s well in his power to just arrest the lot of us and keep us here.” Aura gave a helpless shrug, glancing over to Twilight. “I’m sorry about what he said, by the way. Y’know. Bout your brother.”

Twilight let out an annoyed whinny. “T-thought you were going to deck him out for a moment, there.”

Aura laughed. “Wanted to, trust me. Still, ponies like him are everywhere they shouldn’t be, and we have a job to do that kinda requires keepin’ him on our side.”

“Guess so.”

Aura Gleam shifted a little, taking off her helmet to scratch at her mane for a moment. “Dunno how I feel about what he said about Shining’s redeployment, though.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole,” Twilight said. “I get it.”

Aura shook her head, putting her helmet back on. “Not that. It’s that he changed his story. Subtly, but he did. First, he said ‘Dragonlands or Griffonstone or wherever they sent him’. They. And then, ‘I have the power to send him out of the country.’”

Twilight blinked. “W-wait. Yeah.”

“Just on the back of my mind, is all. I guess three months without proper contact with him fills me with theories and suspicion.”

Before Twilight could ponder the intricacies of such suspicions, the elevator chimed out its own arrival, its metal grating doors opening to the New Canterlot PD Airship Hangars. They were greeted by a long metal mezzanine, lined on both sides by sleeping airships lit by bright spotlights. They were all lying in silent wait, their tall, goldfish-like forms looming on both sides of them as their hooves clanked on the mezzanine. The Royal Guards led on to a waiting lounge at the end of the mezzanine, where two Canterlot Police officers ushered them in with quick salutes.

It was another silent agony to Twilight, sitting within the lounge and watching the clock tick on the hours of what could quite possibly be Equestria’s demise. Celestia had feared as much, after all, and it was all the convincing Twilight had needed to share the fear herself.

She ran a hoof along the cool polished gem of the Sunstone while she waited. She couldn’t imagine what Nightmare Moon would have to say about her idleness, but there was truly nothing she could do shy of teleporting herself aimlessly into empty air.

So instead, she tensely watched from beyond the glass of the waiting lounge. Already, one of the more narrow and streamlined airships was being awoken, although it looked far too small to have much use as a rescue vessel. It was rumbling to life as if it were a living thing--smoke billowing from its sides like a dragon, the sound of its warming engines drowning out most other sounds along the metal strut connecting the various sections of the airship hangar. From within an observation deck, Twilight and the Royal Guards had watched the procedure. Twilight watched with her face pressed against the glass, while the Royal Guards waited in patient formation behind her.

“Is that our ship?” Twilight frowned, pointing it out to Aura, who was closest.

Aura trotted over, a frown on her face. She glanced back to check the lounge clock, and shook her head. “Way too early. But it does look like its been built for arctic travel. Look, you can see the reinforced plating jutting out from the balloon near the front and back, and the engine cars are much bigger than normal.”

Twilight blinked. “Wait. Do you think it’s…”

“Wait here, Twilight,” Aura said, and before Twilight could protest she quickly trotted out of the lounge, the sound of the waking airship growing much louder for the brief moment the door was open. Twilight watched her talking with the ponies attending to the airship’s fuel lines, Aura seemingly a little upset about something as she continued to speak to them.

When she re-entered, she motioned for Twilight to come closer and spoke in a hushed voice. “I think that’s the one, Twi.”

“What?!”

“Shush! Keep your voice down!” Aura Gleam snarled, but then nodded her head. “They’re filling it with alpine diesel. You can tell by the way it smells. Officers are refusing to tell me where they’re heading--calling it a State secret. I very much doubt it’s just a coincidence.”

“I need to get aboard…” Twilight whispered. “If we let them get there before we do… and Celestia’s in danger…”

Aura Gleam nodded again. “Well, it’ll be taking off soon. How good is your blind teleportation, Twi? Moving target, but it’s a big one. Even a ship that size is going to have a cargo bay. About thirty square feet wide, right in the main balloon below the hydrogen cells. If you can handle the cold and know how to keep your head down, you might be able to hitch a ride aboard their top-secret attempt at kicking Celestia back down into the little hole they’re digging for her.”

Twilight nodded eagerly. She didn’t need the extra convincing; she was already itching to let loose with her teleportation spell the moment Aura had returned.

“Wait till they’ve cleared the hangar, Twilight Sparkle.” Aura Gleam gave Twilight a little pat on the shoulder. “Trustin’ you with a lot, but Celestia’s already done that, so. Trust well placed, I think.”

“You’re not coming?”

Aura nodded her head to the ceiling, where a dozen floors but still only one short intercom call separated them from Commissioner Thundercloud’s influence. “Probably best if somepony sane is aboard the rescue ship, eh?”

Twilight managed a little smile, despite everything. “A-alright.”

Outside, the last of the mooring lines had already been detached from the airship. It was lumbering above the metal struts freely now, its powerful twin propellers already starting to spin to life. Aura gave Twilight one last nod, taking off her helmet to do so. “Good luck, Twilight. Go save the Princess.”

Moon Dancer and her two assistants had already donned their respirators by the time Celestia made it back into the control room. Spoiled Rich was conscious again, in the middle of putting her own respirator on between spiteful glares in Celestia’s direction. Thankfully, she remained silent, apparently no longer trying to interrupt Celestia’s control over the crisis.

Moon Dancer trotted over, giving Celestia a grim look. “We have about twenty minutes before the ventilator goes. Think you’re gonna be ready for that, Princess?”

Celestia nodded. “Not only am I ready, but twenty minutes may be enough time for me to show you the gist of the spell myself. If I pass out, you can take over and buy us a bit more time.”

“Let’s not delay, then.” Moon Dancer nodded eagerly. “Show me what I need to do.”

Both of Moon Dancer’s assistants approached, too. Of the two, only Winter Spruce was a unicorn, but Clary Sage abandoned her care of Spoiled Rich in favour of watching Celestia and Moon Dancer all the same. Hopefully, Celestia thought, that was some indicator towards the stability of Spoiled Rich’s condition. As much as she hated the mare, it wouldn’t exactly bode well on her to allow her to die before the rescue arrived.

She demonstrated the spell to Moon Dancer in quick, simple instructions, and despite everything, she felt somewhat comfortable doing so. She forgot about the outside world for a brief moment, and ignored the sounds of the blizzard and the pounding and scraping on the facility walls--she wasn’t even fully convinced that they weren’t a symptom of her own madness anyways. For the moment, the only thing that mattered was a quick little magic lesson taught to an eager young unicorn.

It was, of course, not a particularly simple lesson; shield magic rarely was, and in her time Celestia had only seen a few unicorns excel at it. It was less a true shield, and more an elaborate modification of outwards telekinesis. Pushing matter away from the caster, instead of drawing it closer or specifically manipulating it. She’d already done it, back in the fields of Hollow Shades, and fortunately smoke should ultimately be easier to push away.

It certainly helped that Moon Dancer herself was no arcane slouch, and quickly seemed to get a general understanding of Celestia’s explanations as the minutes ticked on.

“Oxygen is still going to be a problem,” Clary Sage said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Even if we’re able to make ourselves an airtight bubble with positive pressure. We just have until we exhaust the oxygen in that bubble.”

Celestia pursed her lips thoughtfully, nodding. “You have an infirmary in this facility, I hope?”

Clary Sage nodded. “Of course. Down the hall, two rights.”

“Go there, and take in any external oxygen tanks you have,” Celestia said, earning a quick nod from Clary Sage. “Spoiled Rich, are you fit to walk?”

Spoiled Rich let out an irritated hiss, her ears perking at being addressed. “Yes, if need be. Why?”

“Go with Clary Sage and help her, please. And do make haste.”

“Obviously.” Spoiled Rich rose to her hooves begrudgingly, and together the two earth ponies scurried out of the control room.

Twenty minutes passed sooner than Celestia would have liked. It was time in which Moon Dancer was given little opportunity to practice the spell Celestia had flung at her, but still enough time to imbue her with some fragment of understanding towards it. She listened intently and interrupted only when necessary, and by time Spoiled Rich and Clary Sage returned she had gained some manner of purpose to replace the crippling dread Celestia had seen in the corridor outside.

“Smoke’s already in the north-wing of the building,” Clary Sage said as soon as she entered. The earthpony mare was helping Spoiled Rich walk while also carrying a few oxygen tanks on her back, and Celestia took one in her magic as she approached to relieve some of the pressure.

“Okay. Everypony, please stay close.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Moon Dancer glanced up at Celestia with widened eyes. The other two assistants nodded themselves, and even Spoiled Rich gave Celestia a little bow.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, Celestia,” Spoiled said, coming out of her bow and double-checking her respirator. The assistants and Moon Dancer did the same, and Celestia took to staring down the steps leading back into the rest of the facility.

She took in one deep breath--or, as deep as she could through the respirator. She let it out, again. If she would’ve known it would be the last breath of untainted air she’d be getting, she perhaps would have savoured it a bit more.

But she did not. She lit her horn, and the crew of the SunTrotter had gathered close to her, each wearing some variation of fear and anticipation on their faces. Even Spoiled Rich seemed to be looking up at her with widening eyes, wordlessly hunting for some assurance that they weren’t about to all choke on the arcane fumes penetrating the SunTrotter Facility.

Celestia couldn’t offer such assurance through words. Not anymore. Instead, she simply lit her horn brighter and began to calmly cast magic away from her--away from all of them, and outwards towards the south-wall’s exposed ventilation shaft. Telekinesis, but with direction. With a flow, like the babbling brooks that had once lined the outskirts of her little pony’s cities and towns. A warm orb of magic had enveloped the Princess of the Sun, and the rest of the Sun’s unexpected new caretakers as well.

A steady mist had begun to creep up the walls of the control room, rolling off the walls of Celestia’s magical barrier and crawling across the ceiling. The mist clung to corners in the control room like a rot, making the air feel heavier and heavier by the second. The ceiling had become a rolling ocean of smoke, which Celestia pulsed her horn against, fighting desperately to push it away from them and out through the exposed ventilation shaft. Outside of them, the pounding on the facility walls had resumed with an angry vengeance. Celestia winced, and Moon Dancer did, too. Whether it was from the sound or the sight of the princess struggling, Celestia didn’t know.

Celestia squeezed her eyes shut, and felt a hoof on her back the moment she did.

“N-need a break, Princess?” Moon Dancer’s wavering voice sounded out.

“No, my dear. I’m fine.”

Celestia’s wings quaked. Her muscles tore themselves apart. Her breathing was pained and labored. She wasn’t a triumphant hero, she was a weak, old mare.

And she was going to die here. Die in a museum of her own subject’s desires to do away with her.

Why had she ever hoped for anything different?

The blizzard winds outside the walls of the SunTrotter Facility had resolved into a constant, furious shrilling. Windigos. Celestia didn’t know how she knew, but some part of her did. How fitting that they would be here, at the end. How fitting they would be here to consume her, as the SunTrotter had consumed the Sun. As the smoke that was suffocating them would continue to consume the skies above. As the fear and paranoia that Spoiled Rich had fought so hard to incite would consume the last traces of equinity that her ponies might still have throughout the dying days of Equestria.

She fought to calm her breathing. A difficult task, through the respirator, and through the knowledge of what lay beyond her closed eyelids. Moon Dancer’s hoof on her back remained, though. It felt comforting, to Celestia. With effort, she straightened her posture once again and brought her focus back to her task. For two thousand, seven hundred, and fifty eight years she’d been dragging her old carcass across the aging, cooling world. She could handle a few more hours.

They ticked onwards in a hazy blur. A blessing, Celestia supposed, of the excruciating focus she was forcing her body through. She could feel her mana pools draining the whole while, a horribly headache splitting through her head. Her eternally blurry vision was a mess of brightening colour now, the faces of the ponies she’d been protecting lost to her panicking, misfiring brain.

Too much magic. She was nearing her limit. She knew it as her legs started to waver, her head thumping harder than the clawing, angry blizzard battering the lonely superstructure. It was all she could hear--a constant angry war drum, like her brain was noisily tearing itself apart.

Whether it had been twenty minutes or two hours, she had no idea. She was distinctly aware of the fact that she was crying, but every other feeling was gone to her. The pain of her strained magic wasn’t growing, anymore. It was numbing. Fading. Not subsiding, she was just losing her own grasp on it entirely.

It was the last thing to go, before nothingness consumed her. A vague feeling of relief, squashed by the realization that this could be it. She was losing consciousness, that much she was certain of. And, for the first time in her life, she realized how likely it may be that it would be permanent. This wasn't the bold little stunt she pulled in the Hollow Shades, after all. This was far bigger than that.

The Sunstone, Twilight Sparkle, Nightmare Moon… Had it been enough? If she fell here, would she ever know?

Her brain ended the last of the world around her before an answer arrived, everything collapsing back into blackness.

Author's Note

Orange Aerial Sky Pollution (XXIII)

The cold was nearly overpowering.

Twilight hadn’t wanted to cast spells while she’d been hiding in the nearly deserted cargo chambers of the rumbling airship, but she’d had to settle for nursing a small orb of warmer air immediately around her. Still, she could see her breath rising and falling despite her best efforts, and without a sense of time or distance, the entire affair quickly became quite excruciating.

“Nightmare?” she’d whispered into the silence, hoping the black alicorn would appear to, at the very least, provide her with some company.

Nothing.

The Sunstone was still pulsing in her hooves whenever she took it out of her saddlebags, but her appearances with Nightmare Moon seemed to have been limited to the dreamscape still. For weeks, Twilight hadn’t seen her anywhere but, and it seemed even at the end of the world that remained unchanged.

She let out another sigh. No, this wasn’t the end of the world. She was getting ahead of herself. Celestia would be there, waiting for her with a smile on her face. She would be fine. Everypony would be fine. No matter what happened, she’d fix this. Or, if it came down to it, they would.

Nearly two hours into her flight--or, what felt to her like two hours, anyways--there was finally some movement. Twilight could hear their hoofbeats on the floor above, along with loud shouting too echoed for her to make out the proper meanings of until the metal door into the airship’s cargo bay was forcibly shoved open. Twilight quickly extinguished her horn and skittered behind a crate tightly bound up in cellophane.

“Get the gangplank open!” A stallion was loudly shouting, and Twilight heard the sound of heavy industrial machinery whirring to life. Life returned to the cargo hold with drama, the whistling of the outside wind overpowering any sound, and the bright light of arctic whiteout causing Twilight’s eyes to water.

The gangplank was thankfully slammed shut again, silence returning to the cargo hold. Somepony was panting, and Twilight afforded herself a nervous glance to see who had just entered.

A pegasus. She was wearing goggles and a respirator, and she was coated almost completely in frost and ice. There were three other ponies in the cargo hold besides her--all guards, two unicorns, and one pegasus, every one bearing what Twilight believed to be bolt-action rifles.

The pegasus simply sat for several seconds, panting, before producing a battered badge out of her ice-coated bomber jacket. With shaking hooves, she wrenched off the respirator. “C-Commander Lightning Dust, Wonderbolts. Y-you guys better be heading North.”

“Where you comin’ from, Commander?” The rifles stayed trained on the pegasus. She eyed the barrels as she struggled to catch her breath, glancing back towards the gangplank as though suddenly preferring the outside blizzard a more tempting alternative.

“Easy there. Who sent you? Thundercloud?”

“Give us an answer, mare. The Frozen North is off-limits to civilians, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Lightning Dust rose an eyebrow. “The Industry pays me to be there. Relax and put the feather-flippin' guns down.”

The rifles were lowered at that, the three guards sharing a glance.

“She must be from the SunTrotter,” The pegasus guard said, somewhat hushed.

“Alright, come with us back to the bridge, Commander Dust.” One of the unicorn guards said. “Start tellin’ us what in Tartarus happened.”

“Wasn’t in the room when it happened, so I’ll do my best,” Commander Lightning Dust said, still shaking snow out of her mane and tail.

As she followed the three other guards back up the stairwell into the airship, Twilight felt her blood go cold as Lightning Dust’s gaze strayed over to Twilight’s hiding spot.

The sound of the pegasi’s hoofbeats on the gangplank ceased. The two locked eyes. Twilight quickly yanked her head and tail back into cover, but she knew it was too late.

“Got a problem there, Commander?” Another pair of hoofbeats, getting louder now, as one of the guards trotted back towards her.

“No, no,” Lightning Dust replied. “Just catching my breath.”

There was silence, for several seconds. Then, the guard spoke up again, and the tone of his voice was enough to make Twilight wince.

“Stars and spirits…” The sound of the rifle being raised. “There’s a pony in here! You, come out right now!”

Twilight contemplated teleporting out into open air instead, for all but a moment, before she rose to her shaking hooves. As she emerged into plain sight, she could see that every rifle was pointed at her now.

“Please don’t shoot. I’m not here to hurt anypony.”

The guard glared at Lightning Dust, for all but a moment, the barrel of the rifle never leaving Twilight’s snout. “Who in Tartarus are you? What are you doing here?”

“Probably lookin’ for the Princess.” Lightning Dust spoke up. “Same as you’s, I hope. Everypony, just stay calm.”

“You’ve seen her?” Twilight exclaimed. For a moment, she forgot entirely about the rifles pointed at her--Lightning Dust was instantly the only pony that mattered. “Where?!”

“She showed up outta the blue to save our hides,” Lightning Dust said. “She’s holdin’ down the fort further north. Would be a buncha frozen corpses if it weren't for her.”

“Both of you, bridge. Now.” The guard growled out. This time, both she and Lightning Dust were marched up the metal stairwell leading into the airship’s bridge, flanked from their front and rears by guards.

The Frozen North was sprawled out in front of her as she was led into the white light of day within the airship’s windowed control bridge. The ship was flying into a furious-looking blizzard, black and white at the same time, as heavy plumes of smoke belched into a swirling tempest of snow and wind.

It rose to the heavens and was lost into the enveloping ceiling of cloud a dozen kilometres up. Like a tornado, but built from smoke and snow, swirling upwards into the cloud cover. The entire sky to the north was the same raging, roiling tempest, and it looked to Twilight like the end of Equestria itself.

“What in Tartarus did you do?” she breathed out. She was harshly led away from Lightning Dust once they entered the bridge. There were two more ponies manning the controls, and both turned to stare as they were both led in.

“Found this one stowed away in the cargo hold.” The guard escorting Twilight shoved an inhibitor onto her horn. “Which one of you was in charge of inspecting it before takeoff?”

“That’s Twilight Sparkle.” The earth pony manning the airship’s controls gawked. “That journalist mare.”

“What did you do to the Sun, huh?” Twilight glared back to Lightning Dust, who was being treated only marginally less like a prisoner compared to Twilight herself.

Lightning Dust frowned, looking from Twilight to the guards still gripping their rifles tightly in their wings or their magic. “Kind of a long story, miss. I’m sure you’ll be findin’ out soon enough.”

“What did you do to Celestia?”

“Celestia is fine. She’s back there, helpin’ some of the crew of the--”

“That’s quite enough out of you, Wonderbolt.” The guard watching Twilight said. “Last thing we need is you talking to a sunblasted journalist. What the hell are you doing here, anyways?”

“I teleported in. Y’think I’m just going to let you cover up what happened up here?” She forced out a laugh.

“Uh huh. Not the best plan. Give me a good reason why we shouldn’t just let you off here and let you figure out where to go.”

“‘Cause landing in this is suicide, for starters.” Lightning Dust piped up. She started across the airship’s claustrophobic bridge towards Twilight, regarding the mare with a look that seemed to border on sympathy. “And I’m sure as hell not gonna be in the room when you break it to the Princess why you thought that was a good idea. Not to mention you’re going to need every bit of help you can get for what’s coming. No, I think you’d be best leaving the unicorn the hell alone.”

“Thank you.” Twilight gave Lightning Dust a single nod.

“As for what happened…” Lightning Dust nodded her head towards the horrifying scene facing them out the airship cabin’s long bow window. “Figure that’s gonna be somethin’ all of Equestria is going to be findin’ out about, no matter what you try to do here. Though, you are armed pretty heavily for a first-responder crew. Probably weren’t expectin’ the Princess to beat you there, were ya? Kinda puts a wrench in your plans.”

There was some nervous shuffling of rifle barrels, hastily pointed away from Twilight and Lightning and back towards the floor. Lightning Dust afforded herself a smug smile at the sight.

As they approached the tempest ahead of them, Twilight could feel the airship itself starting to react to the furious swirling winds around them. The craft shuddered and shook and the sounds of the howling winds grew louder, and the heavy engines she’d seen on the sides of the ship had shifted in pitch to an ear-splitting whine. The pilots of the airship continued to talk in whispered secrecy as they brought the ship down towards the icy plains, and as they approached Twilight could gradually make out their destination.

“Respirators on.” Lightning Dust spoke up, replacing her own and taking in a deep breath of filtered air. “Smoke’s toxic, and it’s out of control.”

They were quickly passed around the airship bridge, and thankfully Twilight was deemed deserving of one herself. She had just enough time to struggle to put it on with just one hoof and no magic before the inflamed facility ahead of them had replaced the furious tempest of smog it had caused.

When the airship had landed on a narrow strip half-covered in snow, she hadn’t hesitated. It’d been a foolish, silly attempt, but she’d made it all the same. Her horn lit, and the inhibitor around her horn bit back at her. It hurt like nothing she’d felt before, but she’d been expecting that much.

Celestia had told her. One of her more difficult nights, her slumber infested by horrid reminders of her imprisonment and torture. Twilight had nuzzled her snout into Celestia’s barrel as she’d shakily recounted tales of attempted escape and frenzied confusion...

With a mighty flash, Twilight appeared in the common area of the SunTrotter Facility. Her violently unkempt mane was coated in the ash remains of the horn inhibitor. She could hear the airship outside still in the process of landing, but she didn’t wait for it.

She tore through derelict halls with her horn lit. The howling of the wind was overpowering. There was no light save for the light of her horn, and she could have sworn she’d seen movement in her peripherals the entire sprint through the strange and confusing structure. Whether it was rolling smoke, snow, or something else, she didn’t know. She didn’t care--Celestia was somewhere in here, in all of this.

She found her, eventually. In a raised structure, separated by a metal staircase.

She was unconscious, and she wasn’t alone. In presence, nor in senselessness. There were at least five ponies, all gathered close to Celestia and lying down on the floor of a control room already starting to ice over from the elements outside.

Twilight was already sobbing as she reached for Celestia’s hoof. Cold, but everything was. A numbing, paralyzing chill, spreading out in a swirling hurricane of smog.

She gripped Celestia’s hoof tight and brought her magic to life. As she had before. As she had in the catacombs when she’d been certain she would lose her.

Her magic was still there. Her heartbeat, faint and fading, but hadn’t that always been better than nothing at all? Lucidity and consciousness were a flame Twilight couldn’t stoke, and so she held onto Celestia instead, in her magic and in her hooves. She was still sobbing and grasping Celestia’s hoof even as the airship crew found them. They tried to pry her away from the alicorn’s unconscious form and received a feral snarl by way of response from Twilight. Their voices sounded like they were coming from beyond a tunnel to Twilight, but she was able to make out a few scattered words.

Airship. Canterlot. Hospital. Help.

They’d loaded Celestia onto a stretcher, and several of the ponies that had been in the control room had already begun to stir as they quickly scurried back to the waiting airship. Only one was somepony Twilight recognized, and it had taken her a moment--solemn fear wasn’t something she’d ever seen in Spoiled Rich’s expression before.

They didn’t waste any time leaving the smouldering facility behind. They were talking about it, urgently and fearfully, but Twilight found it difficult to really focus on their conversation. She stayed by Celestia’s side, still gripping her hoof and sobbing gently into her white fur and smoke-stained mane.

The Sun didn’t set until long past midnight.

And then, when it came time for another morning in Equestria, the night remained unbroken.

Nopony had wanted to be the first to say it, but Twilight had known even from the shelter of the New Canterlot General Hospital waiting room that the Fourth Longest Night had officially begun.

The flight back South was quick--they had the wind at their backs, which wasn’t exactly good for Equestria as a whole but was at least good for Celestia in the present. The airship had headed for the hospital immediately without making any other stops, and Twilight had watched as Celestia was quickly wheeled away from her and into the depths of the mighty stone building by a gaggle of nurses and doctors. Twilight wasn’t allowed to follow, and so she’d settled down for the long wait inside the clean and well-furnished waiting room.

The other ponies in the SunTrotter were taken into intensive care alongside Celestia, while Twilight, Lightning Dust, and the rest of the airship crew were subjected to an embarrassingly communal shower together to eliminate the last traces of smog clinging to their coats and manes.

It was 3:37 PM when Twilight finally made it back into the waiting room, settling down to wait for the moment she could see Celestia again.

Nightmare Moon still hadn’t arrived. Twilight hadn’t been able nor willing to go to sleep to join her, and so she’d stayed as close to Princess Celestia as the nurses would let her. She’d been amongst the first to arrive for such a goal, but certainly not the last. Twilight had very quickly realized she’d be unable to claw her way through droves of belligerent hospital staff to stay by Celestia’s side, her fight for her life apparently something she would have to combat on her own. Twilight instead watched from the waiting room as the message trickled its way through Equestria, reporters shuffling their way into the isolated South Wing of the New Canterlot Hospital.

The entire time, she’d been waiting for Shining. Where in Tartarus was he? Surely the telephone services in Griffonstone weren’t that bad?

More reporters--peers, as rarely as Twilight herself actually got to see them--meant she couldn’t really show her emotions besides a great many wavering drags of the rest of her pack of cigarettes. She’d wanted to be angry at her brother and cry out in worry for her lover, but she could do neither with so many ponies wanting to know what she herself had seen.

She’d asked to be left alone. As politely and as calmly as she could, but she knew her annoyance was clear.

They hadn’t given a damn for Celestia while she’d been living. Now, here they were as she was rumoured to be dying. These journalists had spent their entire careers ridiculing Twilight and calling her a freak--a disgrace to her profession--and now here they were trying to be her friends. It was despicable.

Eventually, though, it was an internal little war she hadn’t had to fight alone. Raven Inkwell, Prince Blueblood, and a beautiful mare who’d called herself Rarity, had all arrived less than an hour after Twilight had.

Raven Inkwell had been first, trotting over to Twilight and announcing her presence with a quick and gentle little nudge of her snout on Twilight’s shoulder. “Twilight. You’re alright.”

“Raven.” Twilight blinked. She snuffed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

“Celestia sent Philomena.” Raven withdrew a crumpled note from her saddlebag, jotted down in Celestia’s signature cockatrice-scratch. A simple and brief please for help. “I came as soon as I knew where they were treating her.”

“They have her under intensive care right now. I tried as hard as I could to get through, but--” Twilight trailed off as Raven squeezed her eyes shut, giving a few quick nods of her head.

“Gods above. Celestia…” Raven whispered, more to herself than to Twilight. “How was she when you saw her? Do you know what happened?”

Twilight was silent for a moment. “They have everypony except me in for questioning right now. It was a-a building. It’d been destroyed when we showed up, and Celestia was in some sort of control room. There were ponies… scientists, I guess..? And… and I guess she was protecting them.”

“Some sort of SunTrotter thing,” Raven said it like it was a curse word to her. “You can see the damned smoke from half across Equestria, but nopony knows what it is.”

It was at this point that Blueblood and his wife had arrived, and Raven had stood up to greet him with a solemn little hug. Rarity had looked to Twilight instead, and to Twilight’s shock had mirrored Blueblood’s gesture herself.

“Miss Rarity. I heard about your marefriend…” she said. Her voice was kind and compassionate, and her hooves wrapped around Twilight as though the act were effortless. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

Twilight had been taken aback, but thankfully, Rarity’s comfort hadn’t demanded a response.

The hug was enough, and Twilight found herself grateful for it after it had ended. Blueblood, amazingly, had reciprocated his wife’s warm response, in his own aloof way. He gave Twilight a single nod instead. “Twilight Sparkle. You’re alright?”

Twilight let out a long exhale. “N-no. Not really. I’m worried sick about her.”

Blueblood’s ears sunk, and he gave a few little nods of his head. “They’re saying something happened to the North. Something the Industry did.”

“Twilight says they tried to steal the Sun from Celestia,” Raven said, swishing her tail. “Emphasis on ‘tried’, from the sound of things.”

“Official word from the State is to stay indoors with the windows down,” Blueblood replied. “Apparently we’re safe in the shadow of Canterlot Mountain, but I don’t know how much stock I’d put in that being true.” He let out a sigh, bringing a hoof to the bridge of his snout and shaking his head slowly. “How was the Princess, Twilight? When you last saw her.”

“Unconscious. But she was breathing. Nurses won’t tell me when they’ll be finished.”

“Doubt they even know,” Raven said, pawing at the carpet. “I… I guess we wait, then.”

And together, they waited. The traffic within the waiting room continued to grow until the nurses began escorting ponies out, and then more ponies continued to leave on their own vocation when it became obvious that Celestia would be a rather pitiful interview target in her present state even when they could see her.

Sundown came, but the event itself did not. Six PM and the sky outside still looked like noon. Rarity excused herself politely shortly after, and her husband followed suit an hour later, wishing Twilight and Raven both good luck.

Eight PM, and Raven had since left for and returned with a take-out meal for Twilight and herself.

Midnight, and the Sun had finally started to set. Raven had fallen asleep, and Twilight had stayed awake. She’d paced the waiting room’s outdoor promenade, casting glances at Luna’s Moon still standing vigilant in the midnight sky. She took out the Sunstone, stroking the cold gem with a hoof.

“Nightmare, please. Please answer me.”

Nothing.

She called Shining’s apartment from a payphone.

Nothing.

She wept in the waiting room bathroom for several minutes, cleaned herself up, and rejoined Raven’s gently slumbering form.

Six AM, and the Sun did not rise. The first truly sunless day of Equestria had begun. Reporters arrived by nine, and left disappointed when the nurses told them that they would not be permitting any visitation besides those close to Celestia herself. Raven had made another pilgrimage for food, returning with coffee and bagels and a grim, shaken look on her face.

“What?” Twilight asked.

“It still looks like Tartarus out there.” Raven levitated a styrofoam coffee cup to Twilight. “You can smell it in the air. Like sulfur. I don’t know where I’m going to stay, because I don’t think I trust going back up to Old Canterlot with that stuff hanging over.”

“Me neither. Wonder if they’ll order an evacuation.” Twilight accepted the coffee in her own magic and took a long swig, realizing as she did just how tired she was. Apparently, Raven could see it, too, because her expression turned sympathetic as she watched Twilight down her coffee.

“Y’know, if you wanna try and get some rest, I can wake you up if anything changes.”

“What kind of Crown Minister would I be, sleeping on the--” Twilight yawned. “...On the job…?”

Raven smiled, calmly and patiently. “One that’s at least well-rested enough to be of some service to the Princess.”

“C-couldn’t fall asleep even if I wanted to.” Twilight shook her head. “Feel worthless, just sitting here.”

“Celestia’s lucky to have you and don’t you dare suggest otherwise.” Raven gave Twilight a look somewhere between stern and reassuring. “Why don’t you at least try to get some rest? I’ll be right here. I’ll wake you up if anything changes. You have my word.”

Despite her initial worries, sleep found Twilight with ease.

It was short-lived and dreamless, though, and it didn’t seem like long before her eyes fluttered back open an hour later to the familiar golden shine of Royal Guard armour. She jerked herself awake with frenzied excitement, but it dissipated somewhat when she saw the expression of the pony rousing her into consciousness.

Aura Gleam. She was frowning, and holding her helmet to her chest in a hoof. Beside her, Raven was looking at the floor, her expression a mixture of intense anger, and intense sorrow.

“Twilight… I… I don’t…” Aura Gleam’s register was low enough that Twilight had to perk an ear to hear her better. The strong-willed, confident Royal Guard Warrant Major Twilight had nearly been looking up to yesterday was gone. “I have terrible news for you, Twilight. Your… brother was killed yesterday. We found him in the wreckage of the SunTrotter explosion this morning. I’m so sorry.”

For the third time in less than two days, Twilight felt the world end around her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

“Twilight, I’m so sorry,” Aura whispered again, as much for herself as for Twilight. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“No. Please… no.”

She was dreaming, still.

She was going to wake back up next to Raven in the waiting room proper. She’d have to yell at Nightmare Moon as soon as she saw her again for even thinking this was an appropriate thing to do to her even as a joke...

The tears streaming down her face felt real, though. The look of defeat and profound sorrow on Aura Gleam’s face--Twilight didn’t think her mind was even capable of producing such a thing on its own. The strange and confusing mixture of hatred and sadness on Raven’s… suddenly it made far more sense to Twilight, now.

Suddenly, Twilight wanted to run. She wanted to teleport away, and not ever teleport back. To run and run and run until Equestria and the SunTrotter and Celestia and Shining Armor and Twilight Sparkle were little more than ideas in her head.

She made it as far as the hospital waiting room bathroom, instead. She melted the door handle with her magic, locking herself in and collapsing in a heap on the polished tile floor.

It was too much.

All of it, just… too much.

More than ever before in her life, Twilight Sparkle didn’t want to be alive anymore.

Her eyes grazed on herself in the mirror, and she realized she hated it. Not the mirror itself, but the stupid and worthless mare looking back at her through it. She hadn’t been able to save Celestia, and now, her brother had fallen victim to her worthlessness, too.

It still felt surreal. Like a horrible nightmare that she wanted desperately to awaken from, but the waking world never came. Instead, she felt her horrible reality crystallizing with every hour she spent alone in the waiting room bathroom. Outside the walls, the skies were decaying. Something terrible to the far North had wrapped itself around Celestia, threatening to choke the last bit of life from the Princess who had only ever wanted to try and spread kindness and fairness to her ponies.

How was it fair? How could this have happened in an Equestria that Twilight had been told as a filly would always be there for the ponies who needed it?

What the hell was the point of any of it, if this was what always happened? What was the point of friendship or compassion or understanding or peace, if it took the greed of a few to tear it all away and fling them back into darkness? They would’ve been better falling to Nightmare Moon, or Chrysalis, or Tirek. At least then, it would’ve been swift. At least then, they wouldn’t have been slowly suffocated by their own skies and poisoned by their own water.

Eventually, though, she had to leave. Shining Armor stayed dead no matter how hard she wept, and Celestia was still out there. Still alive, for whatever little that might have been worth. Too many times, she’d watched Celestia shove down her own grief and continue dragging herself forward to some noble goal. She supposed that if she were to ever be a fraction of them are Celestia was, she would have to do the same.

The first thing she said to Aura Gleam--who had been waiting patiently for her on the other side, quick to redirect her undivided focus on Twilight--was a bitterly growled question.

“Who is responsible?”

Aura Gleam frowned. “For your brother's passing?”

“For my brother’s murder. That’s what it is, right?”

“I don’t… I don’t know why he was there, Twilight. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“They were forcing him to be there. Same thing they did to Celestia. I know they were. And they’re going to pay. I’m going to make sure every single one of those bastards pays.”

Aura Gleam sighed. “I… I guess I’m in charge of investigating that, now. I g-guess I’m…” The unicorn guardsmare closed her eyes, bringing a hoof to the bridge of her snout and letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I’ll… get you some names as soon as I can. I'm sure you want to interview them.”

“We rescued some ponies alongside Celestia. I want to talk to them first.”

“They’re in intensive care right now, same as her.”

“Good,” Twilight said firmly, tail swishing. “That means they’re not going anywhere.”

The idea of direction gave the billowing sorrow within her some pause. She’d replace it with anger and hatred for now, because then at least she’d be getting someplace. What good was she, lying worthless on the tiles of some bathroom floor? She’d have time to mourn her brother when the ponies responsible for stealing him had been made to pay. They'd been so close before the SunTrotter Incident, and she wasn't about to let them lose the traction they'd been gaining.

She knew Celestia would have made her reconsider letting anger and hatred direct her, but Celestia wasn't here to stop her because of those ponies. She couldn’t hear Nightmare Moon, but part of her knew the alicorn would have approved all the same.

And for all the wisdom Twilight attributed to Celestia, Nightmare Moon had been her teacher, too. She wasn't about to just discard that.

It was dinner time when one of the intensive care nurses finally emerged to collect Raven and Twilight. The poor earth pony mare looked positively exhausted, likely having been awake and on her hooves for at least as long as Twilight had been minus the short little nap she’d taken. Still, even despite her exhaustion, she afforded Twilight a somber little greeting smile, bowing her head to the two unicorns.

“Princess Celestia has been moved to a room,” the earth pony nurse said, her voice quiet and kind. “She’s still unconscious, but… well, I figure you’d like to see her?”

Eagerly, they followed her down long sterile corridors into the intensive care ward, every nurse and janitor seeming to call themselves to attention as Twilight and Raven passed. Twilight spotted a few ponies she recognized from the airship ride away from the SunTrotter in their own rooms--Lightning Dust, staring out a window at the darkling skies. A glasses-wearing unicorn staring at the ceiling of her room, ghostly indifference on her face. The look of a mare who hadn't just seen the apocalypse, she had accidentally ushered it in. She looked around for Spoiled Rich, but couldn’t see her in any of the rooms with open doors. Perhaps she’d specifically requested privacy. Some darker part of her hoped she was currently bunking in the morgue, instead of a room, though she knew that wouldn’t bode well for Celestia’s own struggles.

A doctor was waiting for them at Celestia’s room when the nurse finished leading them. He gave Twilight a sympathetic look and wasted no time leading her into Celestia’s room.

And there she was. The Former Princess of Equestria, in all her glory, asleep in a hospital bed with tubes snaking their way into her snout and limbs.

“Twilight Sparkle. I’m so sorry for making you wait,” the doctor was saying, though Twilight was only partially paying attention as she dropped down before Celestia, fishing for her hoof amidst the hospital bed blankets and gripping it tightly. It was cold, as though Twilight were holding the hoof of a mannequin.

“Is she okay?” Raven asked before Twilight could.

“She’s on oxygen right now. We did a series of x-rays and found signs that she underwent some manner of cardiac arrest that has put her into a comatose state. Likely a result of overuse of her magic. Worse, we also found onset signs of some manner of pneumoconiosis that is... difficult to trace to any predictable source as of now.” He produced the relevant x-rays for Raven to look at, but Raven seemed more focused on the machinery carrying out Celestia’s respiratory functions. “She must have suffered her cardiac arrest shortly before you found her. Any later, and it's unlikely she would be alive."

“Pneumoconiosis...” Twilight whispered, finally looking away from Celestia and back to the doctor himself. “That’s... a lung disease, right?”

“Yes. Separate from her coma, but no less dire. Several other ponies that you and the guard recovered seem to be showing similar signs in varying degrees of severity.”

Twilight felt tears welling in her still-reddened eyes, and she promptly squeezed them shut. “Is it reversible?”

She already knew the answer, of course. But she needed to hear it anyway.

“No. I’m sorry. The best we can do is try to clear her lung passageways and prevent further damage. However, this sort of disease typically develops over years of toxin exposure, and Celestia likely only has several hours' worth of exposure by comparison. For it to have developed so quickly is... alarming. In this specific case, we are dealing with a mixture of toxins that we are as of right now unsure as to the exact nature and severity of, but their impact on Celestia’s lungs seems clear in the x-rays we’ve done.”

“Oh, Celestia…” Raven was at Twilight’s side now, too, both huddled over the comatose alicorn like some pair of priestesses at an altar.

“She goes in for more treatment tomorrow. I… wish I could tell you how long I expect her comatose state to last, but I truthfully have no idea. We've monitored slight increases in heart rate following physical stimuli, but no physical reaction.” The doctor gave the two mares a look of concern. Twilight was acutely aware of his intentional refusal to look out the window at the still-dark daytime sky. “You two are welcome to stay as long as you want until we have to take her in.”

After the doctor had left them in private, Raven had allowed herself to cry. Gently, and without sound, and concealed in her own private and somewhat embarrassed way, like a mother might cry out of fear of their foals overhearing.

Twilight had wanted to do the same, but the fury that had taken a hold of her earlier had returned. She dismissed herself to Raven and to a Celestia who would never hear her, and started into the hallway of the ICU once again. Fury had made her want to visit Spoiled Rich first, but the two guards posted outside her closed doors very swiftly shut down any chance of that happening.

It was probably a blessing in disguise, she figured, given her current circumstance and her current emotional state. Celestia needed her on top of things--a sane mare preventing a spiral into chaos. She certainly didn’t need her Crown Minister-to-be locked away in a jail cell after assaulting an older mare in a hospital ward. It was frustrating, being barred away from answers and the chance to vent her emotions, but that was much of Twilight’s professional life anyways.

She walked through the halls of the ICU in a daze, before vaguely realizing that her path was taking her back to the waiting room. That was alright, she wanted to take a look outside, anyways. It had been nearly two days since she’d breathed in air from the outside, and though they’d passed in a blur, it did still feel nice to exit into the cool early autumn air. There was a long veranda that snaked its way around a courtyard outside the hospital wing, and Twilight made her way to a quiet spot to settle down and watch the streets of New Canterlot. The streetcars still weren’t running, and there weren’t many carriages passing through the rain-soaked streets--perhaps a stay-at-home order was in effect, Twilight thought.

True to Raven’s claims, the air did indeed have a strange scent to it. Not unlike the factories in Old Canterlot or the outskirts of New Canterlot, but distinct all the same. Twilight had never been alive through a major volcanic eruption, but she imagined the scent must have been similar. A putrid, ashen smell, interspersed with a thick diesel. The source was unmistakable--even amongst the vivid skyglow above New Canterlot, she could see the long plumes of smoke snaking their way over the ceiling of the sky kilometers above. Canterlot Mountain, normally visible from most places in Equestria, was lost to a dense black cloud cover that obscured the majority of the mountain’s peak.

The Moon had been nudged out of view by the Sun’s strange orbit. She couldn’t really see it through the skyglow, but she could feel it below the horizon all the same. Breathing out a long sigh through her snout, she donned the Sunstone crown atop her head and cast out her magic, searching for the Sun amidst Equestria’s chaotically unnatural night sky.

She found it rather quickly, but that had always been the easiest part. It was still there, the Industry fools had at least not banished it completely, but it felt… dimmer, than when she’d last felt it alongside Celestia. Or perhaps it was simply further away, she had no idea.

Her horn pulsed, and nothing happened. She could feel the Sun, and it was immovable. It was as though she were attempting to whittle down a planet sized sphere of steel using nothing but a pegasi’s feather. The attempt felt so utterly pathetic to Twilight that she could have laughed, although she found herself weeping quite suddenly instead.

Celestia had made it look so easy. Some foolish part of her had desperately hoped that her tutelage had meant something, but now Twilight knew that if it ever had, it simply wasn’t enough.

She rose the Moon instead. It wasn’t time, but she didn’t care. The Equestrian skies needed something looking over them, even if it was a pale shadow of the Sun’s glory. Wiping her eyes clean, Twilight made her way back inside with a defeated sigh, already thankful to be away from the wretched smell of the SunTrotter’s influence.

Raven was still in Celestia’s room when Twilight returned, though she seemed to be in the process of gathering her jacket and saddlebags.

“Hey, Twilight. I’ve… I’ve gotta go back to Old Canterlot and get Philomena. Think I’m probably going to check into a hotel someplace down here, and you're welcome to stay with me. Is there anything from the library you maybe want while I’m getting my stuff?” Raven scratched her mane with a hoof nervously. “It, ah… might be awhile before you’re able to go back, after all.”

Was there? Twilight couldn’t think of anything she really wanted. Besides her brother, and she knew better than to go thinking anything quite so silly.

There was likely a dozen things Twilight could have used, but she couldn’t think straight enough to remember them. She shakily told Raven no, and then watched as if through blurred glass as the older unicorn said her farewells and vanished into the hall, leaving her alone.

Or, not alone. Not really. It felt horrible, being in a room with Celestia and not having the Princess to proudly stand beside. She’d seen Celestia crumble and fall in the Fields of Hayseed, and the Catacombs, and onto Twilight’s barrel after a long day of visiting the factories, but this felt different. Perhaps, Twilight thought, it was the hospital room backdrop itself. This was a place for sick and injured and dying ponies. It wasn’t a place for Celestia.

Or, at least, it shouldn’t have been.

She brought her chair close to Celestia, and took her cold white hoof in her own. She nuzzled her head against Celestia’s unconscious side, and she did her best to imagine Celestia wrapping her wing around her as she was so fond of doing. Perhaps when she awoke, she’d awake next to Celestia stroking her mane and telling her everything would be okay. Perhaps she’d wake from this damned nightmare already. Even as unconsciousness swept over her, it was the last hope before sleepless dreams took her.

A nurse woke her at dawn. Or, whatever passed as dawn, anyways. The nurse had gently but firmly prodded Twilight back into consciousness, her eyes fluttering open to an empty hospital bed and pale moonlight shining in through the window. The nurse calmly told Twilight that she had to go--Celestia had been moved once again, and they would soon need the room for another patient. Twilight idly wondered, as she collected her saddlebag and the Sunstone, if the next patient would have any idea the importance of the pony who had previously occupied their bed.

She paused in the hallway.

Celestia had been moved, but it seemed much of the rest of the SunTrotter’s crew had remained--apparently not demanding as intensive care and privacy as Princess Celestia. Twilight recognized a few manes and coats even without the frost and smoke dying them, milling about in the causeway. Most were wearing respirators connected to oxygen tanks, but apparently more as a precaution than a necessity given the general fluidity of their movement. The SunTrotter crew were travelling freely in the hallway, though there seemed to be several guards keeping them in constant surveillance, standing at regular intervals down the hospital hallway.

Only one of the rooms themselves had any other special treatment. Even Celestia’s hadn’t been afforded extra security, but this room apparently warranted it.

Two guards. One on both sides of the door.

Spoiled Rich’s room, no doubt. The rest of the SunTrotter Crew and Lightning Dust had been kept in largely the same area--divided from the rest of the wing by the guard but largely free to roam around within. Spoiled Rich was the only one with the added security, and the only one that Twilight had not seen milling about in the causeway or balcony. The guards all gave Twilight cold glares as she walked by looking at them, wordlessly telling her to move the hell on and stop staring and discard any desire she might have to interview Spoiled Rich about what in Tartarus was going on.

She’d only ever seen nurses come and go into the room, bringing food or toiletries or magazines. Besides the two guards on both sides of the door, Twilight doubted there were anymore within. Surely the nurses would be bringing far more food and water for them if that were the case.

Walking by the room for what felt like the dozenth time, Twilight began counting her hoofsteps in her head the moment she was parallel with the locked and guarded door.

One, two, three…

She didn’t reach the next door until two strides later. About twenty feet, then, from door to door. She reset the count in her head, and again reached the same distance upon reaching the next door down the hall. Two strides, twenty feet.

Celestia’s former room, now empty, was four down from Spoiled Rich’s, and along the same wall. Twilight quickly scurried inside, shutting the door behind her and looking around to make sure she was alone within. Nopony in the bathroom, leaving her all alone within. Perfect.

Twenty feet a room. Spoiled Rich was five down, divided from her by about eighty feet and four sturdy walls. Breathing in a long sigh, Twilight lit her horn, charging her teleportation spell and praying she didn’t go flinging herself into a room full of armed guards ready to intercept her.

A flash, and she reappeared in a room that was stunningly identical to Celestia’s. Except, instead of the slumbering form of her lover, there was the hideous and surprised earth pony mare that had caused all of this.

“What the devil are you doing h--” Spoiled Rich began to shriek, and Twilight lit her horn again. She focused her telekinesis around the earth pony’s snout, jamming it shut while charging up a small bubble of magic around the two of them. She couldn’t risk the guards just outside overhearing, and sure enough the very first thing Spoiled Rich did upon Twilight releasing her was to shriek out for them. “Help! Help, I’m being attacked!”

Twilight glanced back at the door, bracing herself for a confrontation. None thankfully came, and she breathed out a long sigh of relief before turning back to Spoiled Rich.

“Save your breath. They can’t hear you.”

“What in Tartarus do you want?” Spoiled Rich sneered. “If you think I’ve got anything to say to you, you are truly as stupid as you look.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. She ignited her horn again, this time gripping a chair in her telekinesis and jamming it against the door handle the way she’d seen done in those silly spy movies the cinema would show.

“Shining Armor,” she growled out, turning back to Spoiled.

“Yes, that is a pony’s name. How very acute of you.”

Twilight stomped a hoof, her horn glowing brightly again. The bubble around them pulsed, Twilight accidentally and forcefully manipulating the air pressure within it around Spoiled Rich. She stopped when she saw the older mare wince, and dimmed her horn a little. Anger fuelled magic as much as focus did, and she'd have to be more careful. “You killed him. You lying, two faced, greedy piece of filth, you took my brother from me!”

At that, Spoiled Rich’s expression changed. She shuffled in her bed, once again casting a glance towards the sealed door. “I… did nothing of the sort. Shining Armor--your brother, that is--volunteered on his own accord. What happened to him is a terrible accident, and I assure you that the ponies responsible--”

“Shut up.” Twilight glared. “He’s dead because of you. Celestia is dying, because of you.”

Spoiled Rich blinked, and genuine horror began to seep into her expression. “No, she’s not…”

Twilight wasn’t the best liar, but her rage and hatred was as real as the sky and stars. It was the perfect veil for her bluff, and she embraced it with both hooves. Stepping back from Spoiled Rich, she surveyed the older mare with an icy glare, watching as she squirmed against a telekinetic grip Twilight didn’t even remember casting.

“I understand your frustration…” Spoiled Rich began, and she sounded so much more meek than Twilight had ever heard her before. “You’re angry, and you aren’t thinking clearly. Please, Miss Sparkle… believe me when I say that I want to help you, and help Equestria out of this mess just as much as you do, and as much as Celestia does.”

“Oh, I think I’m seeing things dreadfully clear,” Twilight growled out. “My brother is dead. Celestia is in danger. I have nothing to lose anymore, Miss Spoiled. Put the two of those sentiments together and reconsider your position before you start spewing corporate platitudes at me.”

She lit her horn brighter for emphasis, grasping the air pressure of the room and once again giving it a little tweak. Spoiled Rich winced, the way one would while riding an airship ascending a little too high and a little too swiftly. Twilight truly didn’t know how far she could push it, but she’d shattered bottles and barrels with far less anger motivating her magic. She felt stronger now--she had ever since she’d burned through the horn inhibitor. Her anger wasn’t inhibiting her anymore, and she wasn’t venting it into hatred of herself and the world anymore, either. She was twisting it into action, the way Nightmare Moon had told her she should.

“You’re out of your mind…” Spoiled Rich gasped out, her eyes wide.

Twilight levitated out her trusty tape recorder from her saddlebag, clicking it to life and setting it down on the hospital room’s end table. “Actually, I’m doing this for you. This is a chance for you to come clean with a bit of dignity. Because you can bet I’m going to be talking to every single pony who ever set foot in that building, and putting their statements against whichever ones you make… today, or in public in the future. Does that make my presence here a little more clear to you?”

Spoiled Rich’s reply was as defeated as it was venomous. “Yes.”

“Name and occupation, then. Say it for the tape recorder.”

“Spoiled Rich. Current acting Chief Executive Officer of Flim Flam Industries.”

Twilight settled down in a seat opposite Spoiled. “What do you know about the explosion to the North of Equestria, and the pollution it is causing?”

“The explosion was the result of a failed testing of the SunTrotter 3000, an experimental device designed to help raise the Sun without alicorn intervention.” Spoiled Rich’s gaze didn’t leave the tape recorder as she spoke. Twilight figured it was probably easier for her to converse with it over the mare blackmailing her. “The crew was pressed for time and poorly trained and it seems their incompetence resulted in the SunTrotter’s explosion. The pollution is a combination of deadly greenhouse gases that are life-threatening or fatal if inhaled without proper respiratory protection.”

Twilight’s glare grew predatory. “How long have you been involved in this project?”

Spoiled Rich exhaled. “I have been funding it in secret for five years.”

“Who designed it? You?”

Spoiled Rich shook her head. “The project was conceived and entered the experimentation stages twelve years ago, by Flim and Flam. It was quickly deemed too dangerous to warrant further experimentation and scrapped by the Brothers.”

“And picked up by you… why?”

At that, Spoiled Rich bit her lip. She said nothing, eyeing the recorder and then looking back to Twilight with a smug frown. “I don’t want to comment on that. Please...”

“Miss Rich, I’m going to find out one way or another. If I have to talk to every single pony in New Canterlot, I will.” Twilight narrowed her eyes, stomping a hoof on the floor. “You were still imprisoning Celestia when you revived the project, right?”

Shakily, Spoiled Rich nodded, much of her smug conviction gone. Twilight hadn’t ever seen her like this before… completely sapped of any of her pride or charisma. She supposed even a pony like Spoiled Rich had to have some semblance of humility to her position. “Y-yes. M-Miss Celestia was…. ill. We needed to start thinking of ways to raise the Sun if the… worse happened.”

“Instead of letting her go. Instead of just letting her see the damned Sun.”

“We didn’t know if that would even help!”

“You didn’t even try. You’d rather risk killing her and the Sun, over just letting her see the Sun. And why? You didn’t want her to escape?”

Another shaky nod from Spoiled Rich. “Yes.”

“So, you brought back the SunTrotter instead. And it blew up in your face, quite literally.” Twilight recapped, her voice as calm and patient as she could make it. “What about the Brothers? They weren’t around to help you? You blackmailed everypony else in your path, why not them?”

Silence, again. Not a refusal to speak, and so Twilight remained patient as Spoiled looked down at the floor and thought of how best to say it. Eventually, she seemed to decide that the simplest and bluntest way would suffice. “Because they’re dead.”

Twilight didn’t react beyond a single word. Obviously.

“How?”

“Respiratory illness caused by their experimentation with the SunTrotter twelve years ago. Exposure to its fumes killed the oldest in four years and the youngest in six. They’ve been dead for eight and six years, respectively.”

Twilight rose an eyebrow. “Is that the truth?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if it’s anticlimactic, to you.” Spoiled Rich turned her snout to Twilight, drizzling her words in sarcasm. “My sincerest apologies there is no dastardly conspiracy therein.”

“Besides the one where you lied about their deaths for years in order to use their legacy as a figurehead.” Twilight clicked the recorder off again. “You're despicable, you really are."

“...If that’s all, please get out and let me recover in peace,” Spoiled Rich said after a long and defeated sigh.

“Uh huh. This is what’s going to happen, Miss Rich. As soon as I leave here today, I'm going to begin talking to the rest of the SunTrotter Crew. If, at any point after you're released from this hospital, you lie to Equestria again, or stretch the truth, or try to throw anypony under the streetcar for your actions, then I’m going to make sure every station in Equestria hears this.” Twilight ejected the tape from the recorder and gave it a little shake for emphasis. “No matter what, I’m going to make sure that the full truth gets out. And then, when Equestria knows that you’re the reason the skies are killing them as well as their lakes and rivers--and you lied to them about it again--you’ll wish Celestia had left you to die with the rest of the SunTrotter.”

Twilight turned tail without another word, already preparing a teleportation spell to get her back into the hospital waiting room, but she halted it as Spoiled Rich spoke up again.

“...I didn’t want it to come to this, Twilight Sparkle.”

“What?” Twilight whipped around.

“I know that to you, that means nothing. But it’s the truth. I’d only wanted to help Equestria. I didn't know things would spiral so out of control. But… well, there are things in this life that make a mare feel small. When you have to shield your only daughter through cataclysm after cataclysm, and pray that the alicorn in power succeeds... How is that fair? How is it wrong to wish for a world beyond that?"

Twilight scoffed. “Is that the justification you use? Even after she saves your hide? Really? I don’t trust Celestia because she’s an alicorn, Spoiled Rich. I trust her because no matter how much everypony has tried to force her into being the villain, she’s still the compassionate and patient mare Equestria needs her to be. Despite everything--no matter how hard you might wish otherwise--she’s just… she’s just a good mare. There’s nothing else to it than that.” Twilight’s glare softened, as she packed away her recorder and replaced the chair where she’d found it. “Can’t... can’t you see that?”

Spoiled Rich closed her eyes, her ears sinking flat against her head. “...yes. I can.”

“Then why did you try your hardest to make everypony believe otherwise?”

Spoiled was silent. She opened her eyes once more, but only to gaze outside at the polluted, moonlit daytime sky on the otherside of the hospital room window. “...I want to be left alone now, Miss Sparkle. Please?”

Twilight teleported out without bothering with ceremony or farewell.

When she exited out into the waiting room again, a surprisingly familiar face was once again there to greet her.

There was the same gaggle of reporters and looky-loos within the waiting room, but a good percentage of them seemed to be subtly staring at the young thestral mare. Twilight recalled her instantly--she’d been the first face they’d seen in the Hollow Shades, and one of the ponies that had helped see them off when the time had come for them to return to Equestria. She was looking around in wonder at the polished interior of the New Canterlot Hospital right up until she noticed Twilight, where she promptly discarded all interest in anything but the mare in front of her.

“Hello, Twilight Unicorn,” she said, greeting Twilight with a coy smile.

Twilight nodded back. “Dusk Ruby, right?”

The thestral looks impressed at Twilight’s memory. “Y-yes, that’s right.”

“You’ve, uh. Travelled far.” Twilight blinked, doing her best not to look as surprised as she felt. Had word seriously travelled through Equestria that far? Then again, she supposed she’d been milling about in the hospital for the better part of three days, and it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore the changes that Equestria had been shoved through.

“Yes, well. There is much confusion at home. I’ve travelled on behalf of my tribe--ponies told me the Sun Princess is here?”

“Er, sorta. She’s… she’s sick.”

Instantly, Dusk Ruby’s warm and friendly demeanour dropped and concern took it’s place. “Sick how? Did she fight the machines again?”

Twilight frowned, prodding at the waiting room tiles with a hoof. “W-well, yeah, actually. I guess she did. It seems some of their machines went bad, and she… tried to save the ponies from them.”

“They attacked her?”

“No, not exactly. But… well, you know what the fuel from the excavators and bulldozers does, right? You’ve seen how it kills your trees and soil?”

Dusk Ruby nodded, biting her lip. “Yes indeed.”

“It’s… well, the same thing is happening with… with the air, now. And they say Princess Celestia breathed in a lot of the… ahem. The poison.”

“Dear Luna.” Dusk Ruby covered her mouth with a wing, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry for her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am, too. I’m... really worried.”

Without warning, Dusk Ruby wrapped a membranous wing around Twilight. “I’ve been praying to Luna for her safety since I left. I will pray for you now, as well.”

Twilight had half a mind to tell Dusk Ruby to forget about Luna. She suspected Nightmare Moon needed her prayers far more.

She didn’t say anything, though, save for a simple and polite thanks. Nightmare Moon, Celestia, Luna… all legacies that were Twilight’s responsibility to protect, now. Sooner than she would’ve wanted, but some part of her knew she’d never have been prepared for this no matter how much time had passed.

When better, than during the first Longest Night with a dawn that wasn’t in Celestia’s hooves?

iii

Twilight Sparkle was writing.

She'd boarded a streetcar not out of interest of reaching any destination, but simply for the distraction of doing so. They'd gotten them running again by the third morning of the Longest Night, though they were relatively free of other passengers with so many ponies fearfully staying indoors and hidden away from the angry sky above.

Twilight herself was wearing her respirator, and while it made seeing what she was writing a little more awkward, it was at least better than contracting whatever lung disease was now threatening Princess Celestia and heavens only knew how many more ponies across the wider world of Equestria.

She was listening to Spoiled Rich's testimony playing back at her as she wrote, a cheap pair of headphones fighting with the respirator for dominance over her bedraggled and messy mane. Transcribing it down to the syllable, so that the newspapers could have a go at publishing it as well. Everypony would hear it, and that at least was some empty comfort to Twilight. A barren one, and one that Twilight knew would be short-lived for herself despite how long-lived it's effects would be for Equestria.

Equestria would care about what Spoiled Rich had done, after all.

They wouldn't give a damn for Shining Armor. She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping her pen onto her notepad and closing it so that her stupid, infantile tears didn't muddy up her work.

I'm always worried, sis. Always worried I'll find your name, in some mass-grave newspaper obituary.

If only he had known.

The streetcar finished it's loop for the umpteenth time, once more winding its way around the New Canterlot Hospital Promenade and slowing to a stop to let ponies scurry on and off the rattling metal contraption. Twilight rubbed her eyes and looked around as more ponies boarded the streetcar, thankfully deserted enough that nopony had to sit close to her.

She'd had just enough time to open her notepad again, before a mare's voice rung out beside her.

"Hey, sorry... are you by chance Twilight Sparkle?"

Closing her notepad again and resisting the urge to groan out in frustration, Twilight glanced over. "Yeah, hi."

Her impatience was short-lived, however, as she saw the mare who had addressed her. She was familiar, though it took Twilight a second to pinpoint just where she'd seen her before. Back in the ICU. She'd been the glasses wearing unicorn who had been looking out at the polluted sky with a look of terrifying resignation.

"Moon Dancer. I'm... can I sit?"

Twilight moved her saddlebag onto her lap and nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

"I'm... I'm quite certain that the guards are listening, back in there. I couldn't risk talking to you in there, and I was just ready to give up entirely, but then..." She shook her head, evidently trying to calm her thoughts a little and organize them into something she could more easily express. "I was there, you see. In the SunTrotter, when it happened."

"Mmhm. You were on my list of ponies to track down and talk to."

"Well, I want to. Anything I can do to testify what happened, I want to. I can't just sit by and let them win after everything Celestia did for us. I'd be dead if it wasn't for her."

"You might be dead regardless." Twilight responded coldly, pointing her snout out the window at the sickly skies.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It's not just the pollution," Moon Dancer said, frenzied urgency trickling back into her voice again. "And it's not just the Longest Night, either. It's... it's the Sun itself."

Twilight frowned, levitating her notepad back open again. "Oh yeah?"

"Princess Celestia kept mentioning--up North, I mean--she kept mentioning that it was... drifting on her. That she had to keep correcting it, over and over, even after leaving it unchecked for a few minutes. She said it was gradual and not to worry too much... but it was happening swiftly. And now, nopony is offering that correction at all, but nothing has stopped it from drifting."

Twilight felt a fresh wave of horror sweep over her, when she'd already felt so horribly resigned to the apocalyptic nature of current events already. "Drifting... how?"

"Well, if I had my research with me I could show you, but... the way it works is; the Sun and our planet each have their own magical attraction to each other. The Sun has a... a link, with Equus, and it keeps the two thinly bound together."

"A tug. Celestia always called it a tug. She said that raising the Sun was simply re-enchanting the natural tug between the Sun and Equestria."

"Exactly! And... and she's... she's not well, is she?" Moon Dancer asked, her voice growing lower and more dire. "She... she passed out, while she was helping shield us from the worse of the fumes from the fires. The poor mare had been keeping it up for nearly two hours before she did, and she taught me the enchantment and I was able to keep it going for another thirty or so minutes. We put her on oxygen and our base medic gave her CPR, but eventually it seems I lost consciousness too."

"I think that's when we found you. Any later and I suppose we'd be having a different conversation."

"Any later and there'd be no conversation to be had." Moon Dancer replied grimly. "But anyways. What I mean to say is that... with Celestia unconscious, the Sun's drift will continue. If it already needed correction after less than an hour, then it's already likely off course severely. A few more days, and it'll be even further. A week, and we'd need a machine three hundred times more powerful than the maximum recorded output of any SunTrotter model that've been put forwards. A month, and... well, you're... seeing the pattern, I hope."

Evidently, Twilight's dawning horror was obvious enough to cause Moon Dancer to go silent. Wordlessly, Twilight gave a terrified single nod.

"I... I need to tell you all of this. Because if... if Celestia doesn't awake and she's not able to fix this, then I need to at least come clean to Equestria about where.... where we're going."

"Don't worry." Twilight whispered out, shakily closing her notepad again. "I don't intend to let them forget."

Twilight Sparkle lived in a small apartment above a bakery.

She had wanted to return to her library for her affairs. The still-blooming dreamroot up in her greenhouses was surely still lying in wait, and Twilight had no idea what would happen to it as the Fourth Longest Night began to crystallize itself into the coming week.

And yet, she’d arrived to the transit terminal to find that all trains, air taxis, and chariots entering Old Canterlot had been cancelled. The former capital had been put into lockdown, she was told, in an effort to reduce how many ponies were exposed to the vapours of arcane pollution blowing from the North. Her library was divided from her, and there were enough Industry airships puttering around above the winding mountain that she’d be spotted if she tried to hoof it.

A heavy lump hung in Twilight’s throat as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of New Canterlot, held in an artificial daylight brought on by neon and streetlights. The Canterlot Public Archives had been hers for nearly seven years, and she’d fought with fiery determination to save it from the horrible fate of becoming a shopping mall or factory. She’d succeeded against all odds and had preserved at least some tiny sliver of the once great capital’s dignity, and she’d felt some semblance of pride in that achievement.

But the air in Old Canterlot was poison. The ponies who did not flee would perish, and their deaths would be even more added to the SunTrotter’s continuing fury after it’s initial explosion had shaken Equestria. Without any way to return home, Twilight was left with little else but the contents of her saddlebag and the horn on her head.

And the Sunstone. That rarely left her now, and as gaudy as the felt wearing a tiara perpetually, she figured it was better than risking losing it again. Heavens knew she needed it more than ever now.

The Industry had waited nearly five days before making an official statement, and it was one listened to by Twilight and Raven from the confines of the hotel room Raven could afford on an Equestrian Public Servants pension. It was as brief and as non-specific as anypony with a brain expected. ‘A horrible accident has occured to the North of Equestria in one of the Industry’s power facilities. Ponies across the Northern Provinces, or residing in high altitude settlements, are strongly recommended to evacuate South. The nature of the incident requires that all ponies wear State-approved respirators if they are to be spending excessive time out of properly ventilated areas.’

Another statement had already preceded, in regards to the unending night. It was, to Twilight’s shock, more or less truthful; In a gallant effort to rescue survivors of the SunTrotter Incident, Princess Celestia had fallen ill and was currently unable to raise the Sun. It was, once again, technically the truth, and yet framed in such a way that Twilight found herself infuriated by the ambiguity.

After the announcements were done, the truth of the incident began to slowly trickle it’s way out. First through statements made by the SunTrotter Crew, all of whom verified what Twilight herself already knew. Celestia’s involvement hadn’t been controversial, it had been heroic. Spoiled Rich’s involvement hadn’t been cautious and selfless, it had been callous, irresponsible, and unnecessary. The experiment hadn’t just failed, its failure would continue unending into the days and then weeks and then months after the initial explosion--a symptom of a disease that Equestria only now knew they had contracted.

The predictions offered forth by the SunTrotter Crew were chilling. As the weeks crept on, the arcane fuel reactor’s refuse would not vanish. Instead, it would become trapped in their atmosphere. In some places, it would fall as rains of acid, which would pierce like daggers and eat away at the already ravaged ecosystems of Equestria. In others, it would blow in as an ominous fog, forcing ponies to don respirators even within their own homes.

The blizzards to the North, where the ruins of the SunTrotter were, remained in perpetual blizzard. Twilight had seen the photographs herself--it looked like a tempest, swirling forever even after the burning flames of the SunTrotter had been extinguished. The Crystal Ponies Twilight had spoken to had even had a word for it, thought Twilight couldn’t remember exactly what it was. A word from a thousand years ago, suddenly flung back into relevancy again.

There was talk of windigos striking Equestria’s northernmost towns where some stragglers refused to flee. Ancient spirits stirred back to life by the blizzard and the flames and the poisoned sky. A year ago, even Twilight would have thought such claims to be far fetched, but now she didn’t doubt the validity of such rumours in the slightest. They weren’t the only ones who’s homes had been disturbed by the SunTrotter Incident.

Fortunately, though, it seemed not all of Equestria’s mercy and kindness had been stolen away. The day after the official state of emergency had been declared for all of Equestria’s northern provinces, and the subsequent evacuation of Old Canterlot, had been the same day that Professor Fluttershy had visited Princess Celestia and Twilight Sparkle in the New Canterlot General Hospital.

And so, for the first week of the Fourth Longest Night, Twilight lived in a small apartment above a Ponyville bakery. A reluctant roommate to a dirt scientist and her botanist marefriend.

Celestia had come with her to Ponyville, too. Or, at least, she had been moved to Ponyville’s quieter General Hospital, as her coma took them further and further into uncharted and sunless waters. Twilight had committed at least half of her days to visiting Celestia. She wrote her articles in an uncomfortable seat in Celestia’s hospital room, sometimes reading them aloud for Celestia and hoping she might miraculously offer some comment or critique despite everything.

In eight days, she'd already published five articles. She'd never written so furiously in all her days, but it was better than mulling in the hopelessness of everything around her.

Twilight was sick of the dark. She was sick of not being able to go outside without worrying about the air that she breathed. But, for the first time that she could remember, she wasn’t alone, either. There was no shying away from it. No amount of propaganda or lies the Industry could produce could change the reality of what had happened. The Industry had lied and deceived in the interests of greed, and there was no hiding the result anymore. No amount of claims about the supposed sins of Celestia would ever be enough to change the irrefutable nature of the Fourth Longest Night.

All that was left for Twilight was to reiterate the truth that Equestria as a whole had come to realize with every day that the Sun did not rise:

They were lost without Celestia. They’d been lost without Celestia, and when she had tried to help them, they had ignored her. They’d tried as hard as they could to twist her compassion into something it wasn’t, and it still hadn’t been enough to stop her from sacrificing herself for the greater good of her ponies. Florina Harshwhinny’s testimony in New Canterlot seemed so relevant and so far away at the same time, now, as the crew of the SunTrotter itself had continued to testify. A mare that the Industry had claimed time and time again did not give a damn about the individual lives of the common pony had flown miles and miles to save them. That mare was the reason they had survived to tell the truth to a shattered and frightened nation. She was the reason why ponies like Moon Dancer hadn’t been buried underneath ice and rubble and lies, and why they were instead still present to help right the wrongs that only they could right.

It was a bitter tragedy, Twilight thought, that it had taken until Celestia was gone for the ponies of Equestria to realize how much they wanted her back.

At the very least, life in Ponyville wasn’t so bad.

She still felt like a worthless slouch everytime she entered Fluttershy and Tree Hugger’s apartment and made her way to the living room sofa that had started to double as her sleeping quarters after the kitchen cuckoo clock’s declaration that it was now night. Yet, the two mares were patient with her, and never made her feel like an unwelcome guest.

Still, her anxiety around the two flared up on occasion, as she knew it always would. She didn’t have a library to hide herself away in solitude now, and Tree Hugger was a sociable mare with many friends who came and went and forced Twilight to flee into the moonlit streets of Ponyville. Unlike Old Canterlot, Ponyville still had an active marketplace, though it had begun to struggle as flower and fruit harvests had all but ceased. The town had a history both proud and humble, that had been snuffed out by the surrounding industry. And yet, the stacks had ceased belching their smoke into the skies, now. The striking that had plagued them had grown worse as the rest of Equestria quickly turned against their necessity, and Flim Flam Industry continued to collapse from the inside out.

Indeed, Twilight felt as though the Industry was dying. But, Equestria was, too. The Industry had forced itself into the role of the nation’s lifeline, and then sealed it’s fate through overconfidence. There was nothing left to do now but wait for the last of the crops to wither and die out and pray that Celestia would soon awake and guide them back on track.

Every morning, Twilight tried with the Sunstone. Every morning, she failed to make any level of progress, but that didn’t matter. Celestia had never given up, so why should she? She wanted nothing more than to lead Equestria out of this, so that when Celestia did finally awake, she could awake to an Equestria she didn’t have to save, for once. But nopony would follow Twilight on empty words and promises. As much as she could work to denounce the Industry, doing so did not automatically give her more credibility as a leader. Celestia, perhaps, but not her. There was only so far Twilight could push Celestia’s trust of her without seeming like a cajoling, arrogant know-it-all, and she knew better.

When she awoke the Sun, or the mare who had served it for so long awoke instead, then they would see. The pieces were all in place, for the moment Celestia awoke. It was easy to feel hopeless until then, and heavens knew Twilight had gotten used to the feeling. Still, Celestia’s optimism was infectious. Even from beyond consciousness, Twilight could feel it.

Every eternal night thus far has had an eventual dawn. Celestia’s words, scrawled hastily on the back of a radio equipment operator’s manual and shown to her by Raven Inkwell.

Perhaps they were true.

Author's Note

Final Chapter and an Epilogue soon to follow.

Thanks for being patient with these last few.

The Roots That Anchor the Trees (XXIV)

Fine Line had cried at Princess Celestia’s funeral.

She supposed it was a strange thing for her to do, but she couldn’t help it. She'd been witnessing little else but the last rites of what more or less amounted to her old boss, but the Princess had never truly felt like such. There’d always been... a strange aura about her. Of authority and of commanding presence, but of comfort as well. Like an elderly aunt, or an old schoolteacher preserved in her nostalgia.

She’d been off for maternity leave with her first foal when Celestia’s health had started to drop. Most of the courtiers were off during the dark days of Equestria, as Princess Celestia herself had personally decreed that ponies staying home with their families was infinitely more important than them serving her Day Court during her personal ongoing efforts to find and put an end to Lord Tirek’s rampage.

Fine Line had never seen Celestia as she had during those weeks. Fine’s room in Canterlot Castle overlooked the promenade leading into the main entrance of the castle, and she would watch from her balcony as Celestia would set out on or return from her hunts for Tirek. Dressed not in her familiar golden regalia, but instead in shimmering armours of carefully moulded heavy metals. Her one tired eye glaring out from a nest of metal, and her crooked horn kept safe with thin strands of enchanted lace. Her heavy hoofsteps announced her presence to the entire courtyard, and she walked flanked with a dozen royal guards behind her.

Until one day, she didn’t return.

Or, she hadn’t returned how everypony in the castle had expected her to.

They’d brought her to her chambers as discreetly as they could, but everypony had seen the Princess’s bloodied, beaten form. Fine Line hadn’t been able to get the sight out of her brain for weeks, and it came back in full force as she looked at the closed lid of the Princess’s ornate casket.

She’d been victorious over Tirek, but he’d been victorious over her, too. The details of the story varied depending on who Fine spoke with, but the general narrative remained the same. Tirek had struck a magical university outside of Baltimare, absorbing power from over a hundred unicorns in one horrific visit. It was a bold act and one that quickly put an enraged Celestia on his trail. The two of them had fought violently, Celestia flying ahead of the guard squadron to engage Tirek directly. By time the guards reached her, she’d been burned half-to-death and was somehow still standing. She only collapsed after Tirek had, in a heap of gnarled oak and cracked stone where a university had once been.

And now, the world had opened up once again and swallowed another soul. Fine Line had known they’d been living in hard times. She hadn’t known they’d been times dark enough to kill the Princess of the Sun herself. Her funeral had lasted days—each separate little cult of the Princess having their individual times to grieve, and Fine Line had done so alongside dozens of other courtiers and maids and castle staff and anypony else whose relationship with Princess Celestia had been framed by royal affiliation. Nobles who hadn’t a kind word to say to her during her Day Courts had been there with courtiers with decades of experience, all brought together for the common goal of saying farewell to the Princess who had given her life defending them.

Yet Equestria did not die with the Princess, it seemed. A rising of the Sun a week later confirmed what Fine Line had so desperately wanted to be untrue.

The Industry had been right about her. Flim and Flam’s claims of solar orbit, once slanderous and far-fetched, had been proven. Now that the Princess lay beneath six feet of cool November soil in some royal burial ground, how could the Sun possibly have ever carried a connection with her if it had returned again?

Only weeks after she’d been killed in battle, the Princess’s reputation had begun to backslide. Her legacy eroded into lies and her claims to the Sun and to Equestria exposed themselves as fraudulent. As Celestia decayed, so too did Equestria’s perception of her.

Fine Line had just been happy to still be needed, to some capacity. Celestia may have been dead and buried, but her nation hadn’t been. The government that had kept it running hadn’t been, either. They simply had new ponies to answer to.

Flim and Flam had claimed the reins of Equestria through charismatic and stirring speeches, touring across Equestria with them. Great, sweeping changes were promised, but internally small shifts and tweaks were instead being made. A congress had become a Board of Directors, and Day Court had been abandoned. Too time-consuming and unproductive, Flim and Flam had claimed. An empty show of compassion from Celestia, allowing her to reap the glory of worship simply by listening to her ponies instead of acting for them. Ponies like Fine Line, still of use as servants of the nation, were to be re-educated and kept around, instead of being discarded as relics of a bygone rule.

That, she had supposed at the time, had been a relief.

Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. Twelve years... what she could have done with herself in that time. If only she had known the truth... or, if only she hadn’t believed the lie that a sunrise without Princess Celestia had implied.

And that didn’t even touch upon the immense guilt Fine Line felt, knowing she’d served a government that had been torturing her ex-Princess right under her snout. Had she turned a blind eye on anything that could have led to the Princess being found sooner? She supposed she would always wonder that, even if the less emotional part of her knew that finding out about Celestia meant being silently disposed of by the Industry. It was a worry that didn’t matter, she supposed, as most worries of the past usually wound up being.

For here she was now, waiting in terrified anticipation, for the same nightmare to happen once again. Waiting to put on a black dress once more, and for the second time in her life say farewell to Princess Celestia. After a future had been teased in front of her, and after the idea of once again serving a proud nation--instead of acting as a tool to a corrupt one—and here she was once more in fear of winding up in the same place she’d been.

It had been a tempting thought--Princess Celestia meeting her off the Air Taxi in the morning, instead of the mare desperately pleading her case on the other side of the double wooden doors to Fine Line’s left.

Fine Line sighed and took a long draw from her cigarette. She didn’t normally smoke, but her husband did, and she’d found herself sneaking a pack into her own purse to quell her own nerves. The courtroom guards were both glancing at her, no doubt wondering what she was doing on the wrong side of the preceding that nearly half of New Canterlot had arrived to witness, or listen to themselves over the radio in the shelter of their own homes.

In a few minutes, she’d be called in to testify before them all, about what she herself had seen and done during her service to the State. Several of the other high-ranking members of Flim Flam Industry had preceded her, and several more would follow, too, as the Courts struggled to make sense of what had taken place in their nation—in both models of the SunTrotter, not simply the one that had recently been exposed.

It had been quick and a tad unorthodox to call for a hearing so close to the actual event--the SunTrotter Explosion had only occurred twelve days ago, after all--but Equestria’s fury had been unambiguous. Faced with threats of civil unrest, the Industry had little choice but to quickly call for Spoiled Rich and the SunTrotter crew’s statements to be entered into the public record through cross-examination and investigation.

Snuffing out her cigarette, Fine Line made her way back inside the courtroom once again, weaving her way back to her seat and keeping her head as low as possible.

“...crew of at least thirty over more than a decade...” A mare was in the midst of testifying. A unicorn, dressed in Royal Guard Captain’s armour, and standing at the witness booth and being cross-examined by Florina. “Amongst those thirty, we have identified perhaps half, and their confessions have already been entered into public record by my late superior, Captain Shining Armor. Who, I might add, is not here delivering this testimony as a direct result of Spoiled Rich’s and by extension the State of Equestria’s actions.”

The Judge stirred, looking as though he had been contemplating offering a remark to the Royal Guard Captain but ultimately deciding against it and instead of letting her carry on. Fine had been expecting Judge Lawful Rule—he had overseen the preliminary hearing with Princess Celestia a year ago, and Fine knew that he had his own personal affiliations with Spoiled Rich. The mare bought judges as frivolously as she did jewellery and airships, Fine thought disdainfully.

Standing some distance in front of the Royal Guard Captain was Florina Harshwhinny. Fine Line figured ponies loyal to the Industry were becoming fewer and fewer, and at the very least Florina had some manner of experience and some measure of success in contextualizing the worse of the Industry’s sins. Though, Fine Line figured even Florina’s involvement had about it a certain level of reluctance.

“Anyways...” The Royal Guard began again. “The ponies affiliated with the First SunTrotter Facility that we have identified are all employees who entered the facility long after it had been constructed. Their records don’t go back further than a few years, and then virtually no employment record from that point on. Meaning the ponies who worked there before have vanished, or any trace of them having worked there has. Or perhaps it’s both. Regardless, our investigation still contains one other unanswered question and it implies another group of ponies aware of the construction of the First SunTrotter Facility: what became of the ponies in charge of constructing it in the first place?”

“An answer I hope you have for us, Captain Aura Gleam?” Florina asked thoughtfully.

“Well, no. Not exactly. But we have learned that certain members of the Second SunTrotter Facility were actually disguised changelings. The Equestrian government has been bargaining citizenship in exchange for indentured servitude for the better part of a decade now, and while the timeline for the Changeling Reform Program doesn’t entirely line up with the construction of the First SunTrotter, it seems at least possible that they served some role in it all the same.”

“A bit of a far fetched theory, no?” Florina tilted her head. “No evidence besides speculative?”

“I don’t believe it is a far fetched theory at all. Changelings from twelve years ago wouldn’t have had Equestrian residency tags, yet. There would have been no record of their existence as citizens of Equestria, and there were still nearly three dozen changeling POWs being held in Canterlot at the time of Princess Celestia’s supposed suicide. And I have seen changeling caves with my own eyes during raids performed with the Royal Guard during those skirmishes twelve years ago. They are capable of burrowing accurately and quickly, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind they could have constructed the elevator shaft and underground chambers the Princess had been kept in. To assume that Flim and Flam bargained their freedom and anonymity in exchange for doing their dirty work is not a far fetched theory to me at all, considering we have continued to use changelings to this end for more than a decade. Additionally, I have interviewed the changelings involved with the Second SunTrotter in private, and they have echoed their own beliefs that my theory is correct.”

“And these changelings haven’t been called to testify... why?” The Judge asked, glancing between Aura Gleam and Florina.

“Because I felt that doing so would compromise their identity and thus put them in danger of persecution,” Florina piped up, glancing in the Judge’s direction for all but a moment before turning her attention back to Captain Aura Gleam. “But to clarify further, that is still speculative evidence, yes? Theories of the changelings you interviewed?”

“It is the best we can do with the information we have,” Aura Gleam replied. “The absolute truth died with Flim and Flam. While the SunTrotter was being constructed, they were the heads of their Industry. They would have been directly responsible for Celestia’s imprisonment as a result, though I have my suspicions they anticipated doing such a long-term solution.”

No?” Florina frowned. “Elaborate.”

“I wasn’t with the platoon that had fought Tirek with her, but I spoke with them at length after. They all said that while they were bringing her back to safety after the battle, she was... a danger. She had expelled so much magic, and Tirek himself had attempted to steal it from her so many times, that her horn was quite literally having trouble containing it. Strong, destructive bursts of energy meant that she had to be, well. Sealed away. And I believe this was the point in which Flim and Flam, or Flim and Flam’s Industry, stepped in. I believe, and such has been vaguely corroborated through additional testimony from ex-employees from the First SunTrotter Facility, that they likely did not anticipate her survival. What they had initially intended to be Celestia transferring her sun-raising powers before her death very quickly changed when Celestia returned to lucidity and managed to stabilize her condition herself.”

“These employees you mention... none of them had been employed since the facility’s construction twelve years ago?”

Aura Gleam shook her head. “No. But ponies talk, and if word doesn’t travel, general feelings of unease at least do.”

“Perhaps. But ‘general feelings of unease’ make for unconvincing points of evidence towards your theories.”

Aura Gleam narrowed her eyes. “When in Tartarus did I say they were supposed to be? I’m only sharing what I know and heard.”

“Captain Aura Gleam, there’s no reason to get defensive.” The Judge spoke up, frowning. “You’ve been called to present evidence, not theories.”

Aura Gleam sighed. “Then if you want evidence I implore you to listen to the interview tapes from our encounters with the former crew of the SunTrotter. They are unambiguous. The employees we spoke with were terrified. One of them was visited by members of the Industry Police prior to our intervention, who gave her reason to believe her life was in danger. She also stated in no unclear terms that problematic coworkers had vanished without a trace and they were told not to question it. If you expect there to be simple paper-trails leading to precisely which ponies are responsible when that was the norm for those ponies, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re living in a dream.”

The Judge frowned. “Captain Gleam. That is twice now that I’ve had to ask you to lower your tone.”

There it was. The judicial intervention Fine Line had been expecting for some time now.

Aura Gleam scoffed. “Then ask me more questions and I’ll answer them.”

“I do think that just about covers the questioning I had in mind for you regardless,” Florina spoke up, her voice calm and collected. “It wasn’t my intention to put you on the spot, Captain Gleam. Thank you for your time.”

Aura Gleam nodded, hiding the reproach from her expression as best as she could as she shuffled out of the booth and over to an empty seat someplace off to the side. The hearing soon dragged on for Fine, none of the ensuing testimonies seeming as spirited and as personal as Aura Gleam’s. A few officials from the State followed, who gave Florina non-specific declarations of the unknown that did little to answer any of the questions she presented them with. Fine Line shuffled in her seat the entire time, waiting for her turn to come in nervous anticipation. She felt herself on the verge of yet another panic attack as time crept on, but she knew she couldn’t exactly dismiss herself a second time. She’d just have to hold on and wait it out until--

“Miss Fine Line.”

She perked her ears and brought her snout up from the floor to see that everypony was staring at her.

“Ahem...” Florina spoke again. “I’d like to call forward Flim Flam Industry’s former Secretary of Finance, Fine Line, to the stand.”

She rose on shaky limbs, making her way over to the booth where she’d been watching the Guard Captain make her own little private stand. She probably looked considerably feeble by comparison, far from the proud stance and gleaming armour of a Royal Guard, and hardly the picture of the ‘star witness’ she knew she technically was.

She was sworn in over a copy of The Three Tribe’s Declaration and made the empty little vow that everything she’d say would be the truth. As if the truth had ever been a prerequisite of the State before.

“Can you state your name, age, and occupation for the record?” Florina asked, giving Fine a little greeting nod that felt distinctly personal.

“Fine Line. Thirty-seven. I’m currently working as a waitress.”

“Thank you, Miss Fine Line. I’ll try and be brief and to the point in my questioning,” Florina said, and Fine felt a tinge of gratefulness. She supposed it should have been expected; they’d been working together for years and there was little doubt in Fine’s mind that Florina knew about her panic attacks. She just hadn’t ever imagined that Florina had actually cared.

“Of course,” Fine said, nodding and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“We’ll start with the most recent and most obvious question. Why did you resign from Flim Flam Industries? You walked away from a rather large severance and voided your employment contract through doing so.”

“I did not feel morally comfortable continuing to work for them.”

“You did not feel morally comfortable,” Florina repeated verbatim. An underlying request for clarification.

“Yes. It did not sit right with me. What we were doing to Princess Celestia, to the forests and the thestral tribes within, to our factory workers and their families... I felt I was an accessory to something that I fundamentally disagreed with, and I wanted nothing to do with it any longer.”

“And this change of heart just coincided with added stress piled onto you from the worker strikes, right?” Florina tilted her head. “Just a coincidence between the two?”

Fine Line bit her lip. “Obviously not.”

“You were the mare in charge of overseeing the Industry’s overall internal and external economic growth, correct?”

“Yes.” Fine gave a single nod.

“So you would have had to have a rather complete understanding of the Industry’s total expenditures.”

“Of course, yes.”

“So, all of those apparently morally uncomfortable things you mentioned feeling responsible for, you’ve been aware of them for years. So, why would you pick now to step down, then?”

“I didn’t know the extent. I... was ignorant, whether willingly so or otherwise. I rarely left New Canterlot. I most certainly never ventured into the Hollow Shades or the factories, and only on rare occasions did I witness first-hoof the destruction of the Equestrian forests.” Fine Line’s ears sunk against her head as she spoke, realizing as the words left her mouth what sort of mare would feel justified in saying them as a defence. “After the Hollow Shades incident and the ensuing riots, the media’s coverage became much more dramatic. And as a direct result I... I became much more aware. It is... surprisingly easy to desensitize yourself, when you’re only looking at the numbers, over the ponies they affect. I decided that the longer I waited for things to change for me, the less time I would have to change them myself.”

“And so you resigned.” Florina gave her a smug smile. “Okay. Next question, then. Over the course of your tenure with Flim Flam Industry, did you notice any obvious signs of monetary corruption? Some sort of pattern that might come to mind?”

Fine Line nodded. “Yes. Something like a million bits, annually, had been disclosed as ‘Other Expenses’ without a lot of clarification therein.”

“Really.” Florina raised an eyebrow.

“Mhm. This is... not exactly uncommon. In any industrial sector, a certain percentage of annual expenses fit into some manner of ‘Other’ classification, because industry itself is not always predictable. Incidents or worker accidents or equipment malfunction or fuel spoilage... there are dozens of factors on every level of management that slip through the cracks upon classification.”

“But a million bits isn’t exactly a small sum.”

Fine Line nodded. “A million bits annually. The cost of running the facility keeping the Princess imprisoned, I imagine, now that I have a retrospective angle.”

“Nonetheless, you didn’t exactly report any discrepancies.”

“I did, actually.” Fine Line shook her head. “What happened to them in the filing room from that point on, I don’t know. I’d like the Court to keep in mind that Flim Flam Industry’s upper management has an unspoken totem pole of power, and bean-counters such as myself rest pretty close to the bottom. I can report discrepancies and request clarification all I want, but whether or not anypony bothers to hear those requests is entirely beyond my control.”

And besides, Fine thought... Spoiled Rich had made her own stance on that affair quite clear. To interfere would be to make enemies, and Fine Line hadn’t earned her position through cutthroat politics and confidence so much as quiet complacency and competency.

“What do you mean by that?” Florina tilted her head thoughtfully in a way that showed there was no way she didn’t already know it herself.

“I mean that if a majority votes within the Board of Directors that I am to be let go, then I am let go without question. If I start intentionally trying to interfere with their greedy business, it would be quite obvious what they would decide to do with me. I answered to Spoiled Rich, who—and I believe such testimonies have already been offered numerous times already—was quite... direct, in her dealings with me. If I threatened her with litigation, she would respond by assuring me that she could easily ‘tilt’ any such actions in her favour. I was owed a severance when I resigned and it was withheld from me without any given reason why. So, you asked me if I saw corruption during my time with Flim Flam Industry... Florina, we were corruption. It was so ingrained into us that it was normal. It took just about the entire working class rioting for us to realize it.”

Florina looked at her for a solid ten seconds, her expression as neutral as she could make it, but Fine Line had known her long enough to know otherwise.

“Thank you, Miss Fine Line. No further questions.”

Fine Line returned to her seat on shaking hooves, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the eyes of everypony on her. No doubt, they were internally passing their judgment on the mare who’d been complacent in the Industries sins for so long and had just admitted to being too damned stupid to have realized it. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic…

There was a brief recess not long after Fine Line’s testimony, to give Celestia’s representative some time to prepare her own line of questioning against the witnesses. A familiar-looking unicorn named Twilight Sparkle would be doing the questioning, which Fine Line figured made the most sense. There weren’t many other ponies who seemed to have as close a relationship with the Princess now like her, so it was hardly surprising she would have been the mare to speak out on Celestia’s behalf. Sparkle stayed at her table as a few ponies, the judge included, shuffled out the large oak double doors leading into the lobby and waiting area of the New Canterlot Courthouse. Fine stayed in her seat herself, watching as Florina trotted over first to Twilight. The two shared a brief conversation, Florina chuckled at something Twilight Sparkle had said, and then turned tail and trotted past Fine Line, giving the unicorn a brief nod of acknowledgment as she vanished out the doors with everypony else.

Fifteen minutes later, and everypony was back inside. Fine noted that Twilight Sparkle hadn’t bothered wearing a suit or dress, although her mane had at least been styled nicely for the occasion, and she was wearing a cracked old tiara atop it. She seemed fidgety and nervous to Fine Line, whereas Spoiled Rich exuded confidence as she strode up to the same witness booth that Fine Line had been occupying.

Spoiled Rich had been non-vocal during the recent chaos of Equestria’s Fourth Longest Night. Even as testimony after testimony had begun to trickle out about her actions, she hadn’t offered a reaction. A wise decision, Fine Line supposed, considering the current climate of fear and confusion across Equestria.

“Spoiled Rich,” she was saying, speaking into the microphone clearly and confidently. “Fifty-four. Chief Executive Officer of Flim Flam Industries.”

“Thank you, Miss Rich,” Twilight Sparkle said. “Now, there’s been a lot of conjecture offered forth by various parties. I was wondering if you wanted to respond to any of it before we got into things?”

“I would. Firstly, I would like to state that the changelings in service in the SunTrotter I oversaw were not members of ‘indentured servitude, as the Royal Guard Captain claimed. They were members of a Wonderbolt-funded military reserve, with handsome paycheques and full pensions. Secondly, the rest of her theories frankly reek of changelingphobia, and I do hope everypony else realizes such. And finally, Miss Fine Line’s claims that I blackmailed her into complacency are ridiculously unfounded. The mare is prone to panic attacks and I believe she suffers from some manner of anxiety disorder, so do take everything she says with a massive grain of salt.”

Fine Line felt a surge of fury killing away her shell-shocked nervousness. What she wouldn’t have given for a chance to respond! Anxiety disorder her flank--as if her experiences and opinions didn’t matter as a result!

Miraculously, though, Twilight Sparkle seemed to feel the same. “I don’t know, she seemed rather confident in her claims to me. I’ve suffered from an anxiety disorder my whole life and I’d certainly be upset if somepony told me my thoughts were untrustworthy as a result. But that’s for the jury to decide. My first question, then… you were the mare predominantly responsible for resurrecting the SunTrotter Project?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Why?”

Spoiled Rich frowned. “Why? Contingency, that’s why.”

“Contingency why? Hadn’t the State, at that point, proven the Sun’s orbit did not require intervention?”

Silence. Fine Line could have sworn she had heard a fly buzzing somewhere in the room, for all the breathlessness that had swept across it. After several seconds, Twilight Sparkle continued.

“In fact, for twelve years, such was the commonly held belief. So, why were you searching for contingency against a problem that didn’t exist?”

“The SunTrotter is only several months old, Miss Sparkle. Construction began shortly after news had spread that she had escaped.”

“Uh huh, sure. But the research didn’t, right? It’s years old. It most certainly predates Princess Celestia’s escape.” Twilight Sparkle had taken to pacing--so much of her demeanor seemed to Fine Line as though the mare had learned it from reading too many courtroom dramas. Or perhaps she was simply as nervous as Fine had been.

“Perhaps.” Spoiled Rich waved a hoof.

“And you revived it. You would’ve had to have been aware of it before. Ponies don’t just pull twelve-year-old research out of the blue like that.”

“They do if the fate of their nation relies on its success,” Spoiled Rich replied. “I do not know if you noticed or not, but Miss Celestia is hardly a spry and able-bodied mare. And she has made no plans on assisting Equestria in the event of her passing. She has tied our survival to hers. I was seeking to avert that.”

“She was recovering well until she interfered with your attempts to do so.” Twilight Sparkle stomped a hoof on the ground. Across the courtyard, the Judge struck his gavel once, narrowing his eyes at Twilight.

“Miss Sparkle, you are here to cross-examine on Celestia’s behalf, not to badger witnesses to your heart's content. Do keep your questioning limited to actual questions.”

“My apologies.” Twilight couldn’t have sounded less sorry if she was physically trying. “Questions, alright. Miss Spoiled Rich, why didn’t you ask Celestia for help with your SunTrotter? Why did you blackmail my brother into helping instead?”

“Firstly, I did not blackmail your brother into helping--”

“That’s not at all what Commander Lightning Dust and Miss Moon Dancer said in their testimonies.” Twilight Sparkle cut in, earning another gavel slam from the Judge.

“Last warning, Miss Sparkle. Do not blow this for yourself.”

Spoiled Rich rolled her eyes. “As I was saying. Secondly, I did ask for Celestia’s help. I offered her partnership with Flim Flam Industry, and she declined.”

“Did you tell her about the SunTrotter?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Rich, she never mentioned any of that to me. Only that you offered her a chair at the Board of Directors and she declined.”

“What she tells you and does not tell you is hardly my concern.”

“Uh huh. Why, in your opinion, would she withhold such information from me, then? Under what motive?”

“I have no idea.”

“Offer me a theory, then.”

Spoiled Rich’s eyes narrowed into a glare at Twilight, who herself had defaulted to a smug smirk.

“No,” Spoiled Rich said. “I don’t believe I have any obligation to do that.”

“Suit yourself.” Twilight shrugged, glancing first at the jury and then at Spoiled Rich again. “Moving on. The SunTrotter’s failure has been catastrophic to Equestria. Didn’t you anticipate this being a potential side effect?”

“I did not anticipate the scale and severity of its failure, no. That was a poor judgment call on my part, and I accept full responsibility for having done so. I was told that the risk of the chimneys combusting was minimal.”

“Really. With the fuel compound they used? Who told you that?”

“Oh, various individuals.” Spoiled Rich waved a hoof as if it sufficed as an answer. Fine Line felt the urge to buck the mare in the teeth once more rising to the surface in vicious intensity.

“That doesn’t exactly jive with what Moon Dancer and the crew of the SunTrotter have already testified towards… are you suggesting they lied in their testimony?”

“Not at all. But I don’t doubt that perhaps they were mistaken, or speaking of events that panic and shock might be clouding their judgment of.”

“Uh huh. Miss Moon Dancer has testified that she attempted to delay the test and you ordered otherwise. This is corroborated by a log kept by one of her scribes. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Again, I was under the impression that doing so would be safe.”

“And it was not. My question then is… why did you risk it? If Moon Dancer, a highly qualified and experienced professional, had already expressed her worries of failure and had already claimed that doing so ‘was not safe’, in her exact words, then why did you risk it? Why not just delay the test until conditions were normal?”

Spoiled Rich fell silent. The same deathly hush swept over the courtroom again, and Fine Line found herself glancing back at the gathered company, reading the expressions of curious and cautious looking ponies, who all seemed to be gazing at Twilight with some sort of admiring intrigue.

“Miss Rich,” Twilight said, her voice soft and patient. As Celestia’s might be, Fine thought. “You stated already that the SunTrotter’s purpose was a contingency, and yet you put the entirety of Equestria at risk by rushing the test instead of delaying until a safer time. For what reason did you do so?”

Even the Judge seemed intrigued enough not to object to Twilight Sparkle’s contextualizing entrapment. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Spoiled Rich had no choice but to reply.

“I worried that public support for the SunTrotter would dissolve if Celestia were allowed to return to power, which seemed a legitimate possibility as her political momentum grew. I worried that, if we were to delay, the contingency that I sought to free Equestria from the burden of alicorn reliance would be stamped out by Celestia herself. I don’t deny that it was an act of fear that motivated my actions, but I would like the jury to please consider the source of that fear.”

Twilight Sparkle’s reply was non-verbal. She lit her horn instead, and Fine Line felt her blood go cold.

For, through a skylight at the roof of the courtroom, an impossible sight was occurring in the void of black night suspended there in the elevated glass. The Moon had been eased into place there, guided slowly into position as Twilight Sparkle’s horn cast blue and purple light across the courtroom. The crown atop her head had begun to glow, too, dimmer than Twilight’s horn but noticeable all the same.

Amidst gasps of awe and amazement, Twilight extinguished her horn and cleared her throat, lifting the crown off of her head and holding it up in her telekinesis.

“I’m not an alicorn. And I might not be able to raise the Sun, either. But Celestia has been training me to, for the exact same purpose as you claim the SunTrotter to be. Contingency. It’s a slower process, to be certain, and it requires the usage of age-old magic to develop, but so far… well, you can see the result.”

“That is not possible…” Spoiled Rich breathed out. Even the Judge was staring with an incredulous look, at the unicorn mare who had just risen the Moon.

“You say Celestia hasn’t shared contingencies with Equestria, but what you’re really saying is that she hasn’t shared them with you. And why should she? Would you, after all you did to her? You really expect the mare you tortured and imprisoned to involve you in her own contingency plans?” Twilight Sparkle shook her head. “You could’ve learned it yourself, though! If your Industry hadn’t destroyed every other library in Canterlot. If you hadn’t been so busy trying to turn mine into a shopping mall instead of reading the books inside of it, maybe you could have learned about the contingency Celestia was planning. It’s there, after all! There’s a record of it, much unlike the records of anything Flim Flam Industry have done not even twelve years ago. And sure, it’s a solution that would have taken time, perhaps, and effort. But it wouldn’t have done that to our skies and soil, either.”

Twilight pointed a hoof out the windows at nothing in particular. Not that she had to. As she spoke, she lit her horn again and calmly returned the Moon back down to its original position, looking a little winded from the gesture. Nonetheless, she recovered herself enough to glance over first to the courtroom audience--Fine could have sworn their eyes had locked for a brief moment--and then to the judge and finally the jury.

“I… don’t know,” Twilight said, a sad, longing tone to her voice. In three words, Fine Line thought she was the spitting image of Celestia’s world-weary wisdom. It was no wonder Celestia had flung her fate behind this mare. “Maybe I’m wrong. Old Arcane Traditionalist that I am. I just think maybe learning from the past and the present for our contingencies instead of bulldozing our way forwards is a bit of a comfier thought. That’s all.”

Silence, for all but a moment, before murmuring quickly flooded through the packed courtroom, crescendoing in intensity with alarming speed. Eventually, the Judge had no choice but to slam his gavel, the gesture failing to silence the room but his ensuing voice fulfilling such.

“Quiet! Miss Sparkle, do you mind explaining what the blazes that was?”

“Right, not a question. Sorry.” The unicorn gave a sheepish little laugh. “I, ah… I did have more, though? Questions, I mean. Just a few.”

Across the room, Spoiled Rich let out an audible sigh. “Oh gods, there’s more?”

To Fine Line’s incredible surprise, the Judge sighed and nodded. “It seems you have the court’s intrigue, Miss Sparkle. I suppose we’ll hear you out.”

“Okay. I’ll be quick, I promise,” Twilight said, trotting back to her desk for a moment to hurriedly glance through her papers, as though she hadn’t expected to get this far. “O-okay. Ahem. Miss Rich, are you afraid of Princess Celestia?”

Spoiled Rich bit her lip. “In a broad sense, I am unsettled by the idea of her, yes.”

“The ‘idea of her’?” Twilight tilted her head, expression growing more confident by the second. “But not by anything specific that she’s done?”

“No. I do not doubt and have indeed seen myself that she is a generally pleasant mare. Nonetheless, it is her power and the arbitrary nature of it that does indeed unsettle me.”

“So you are more afraid of the potential to do harm over any specific harm she has actually done.”

“I suppose that is one way of seeing it,” Spoiled Rich said quizzically.

“Okay. Two more questions. They are, admittedly, a tad unrelated to the recent accusations levelled against Spoiled Rich, though…” Twilight Sparkle glanced over at the Judge. “Is that okay?”

Spoiled Rich looked to the Judge, too. Fine Line hadn’t usually seen fear in the older mare’s eyes, but she saw it in the nearly-begging look Spoiled Rich had given the judge.

“I’ll allow them,” he said. “But only two, Miss Sparkle. Don’t make me regret allowing this.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Twilight breathed out a sigh of relief. “I just figure I should give Miss Rich a chance to answer them before something comes along to prove them anyways. Miss Rich, how long have you known of Princess Celestia’s imprisonment?”

Spoiled Rich looked as though the question had physically struck her. It took several seconds for her answer to come, and when it did Fine Line had to tilt an ear just to hear it as it was near-incoherently whispered into the microphone.

“Eight years.”

The fury and vitriol returned to the courtroom in a moment. Fine Line had known it for only eight months herself, and yet hearing it spoken by the mare herself sent a fresh jolt of energy into the realization. The alarmed murmuring from earlier had given way to audible jeers, and it took several more slams from the Judge’s gavel for them to dim.

Or, perhaps, it was Twilight speaking up again that did that. Fine Line supposed it could have been both, for they happened nearly simultaneously.

“Thank you, Miss Rich. Last question. Was it your fear of Celestia that contributed to you keeping her imprisoned, as well?”

In a voice that could have come from a corpse, for all the life it contained, Spoiled Rich murmured out a single, “Yes.”

“Alright.” Twilight Sparkle said, trotting back to her desk and taking a seat, as though nothing had happened at all. “No further questions from me.”

Twilight felt marooned.

She wasn’t different from anypony else, anymore--they were all residents of an Equestria drifting off course. They were all fearfully listening to the same radio broadcasts and reading the same headlines, and though Twilight herself had been contributing in no small part towards said headlines herself, it felt like a small gesture compared to the cosmic helplessness that had overtaken Equestria.

After her shocking appearance at the SunTrotter hearing, she’d found it hard to leave Fluttershy’s apartment. She didn’t want to venture out into the public streets and answer the public’s questions, even if they were ones of curiosity instead of scrutiny, now. She’d said her part, and there was nothing left to do now but wait.

The fires of the SunTrotter had been put out, after all, but that was a reactionary measure taken against a cataclysm that stretched much further. According to the crew of the SunTrotter--whose testimonies could be heard frequently on the radio through clipped excerpts of the ongoing trial of Spoiled Rich, continuing to verify Twilight’s own statements and expose Spoiled Rich’s own lies--their concerns extended far past the pollution rampant in their skies.

The Sun’s orbit with Equestria had followed a specific and ancient orbital pattern. Every morning and evening, Princess Celestia had tweaked and corrected its orbit relative to Equestria, ensuring the two great celestial bodies moved in tandem with each other. Repetition and experience on Celestia’s part had ensured the drift between the two bodies had been minimal. Now, though, without anypony present to continuously grasp the thin, invisible tow-line between Equestria and the Sun, it would continue to drift further from them.

Every sunless week pushed them further down a path that, given enough time, there would be no returning from.

The SunTrotter Project itself had been presented as a solution, but Twilight knew it wasn’t a particularly popular one. Equestrians were not exactly eager to fling support and optimism behind the thing that had brought about the same crisis in the first place. Certainly, it would be a hard sell and an even harder construction project with nearly all of the nation’s industrial sectors ground to a halt following the intensified striking and worker walkouts.

Twilight knew that if it ever passed the hypothetical stage, she’d be the mare the Industry would have turned to for help in doing what they had forced her brother to do. What other gifted arcane traditionalists were out there to help, besides herself?

And so, Twilight felt marooned. There was nowhere she could go within Ponyville that offered much reprieve from the overbearing darkness overhead, and nothing the Industry had said had been much comfort to anypony. Everypony wanted Celestia back, and nopony felt placated by any of the empty words the Industry had to say about how dreadfully sorry they were for everything they did to her.

Fluttershy and Tree Hugger and their friends had done far more than Twilight could ever have asked at making her feel welcome, but there were things even their friendship couldn’t entirely help her with. As much as she had detested her life in Old Canterlot, Ponyville was no more her home.

Most of all, Twilight missed Nightmare Moon. She wouldn’t have thought the black alicorn’s snide remarks and cynical attitude would have been something she had been pining after, but there had been a certain side to Nightmare Moon that Twilight knew had been taken from her just as she was beginning to appreciate it most. She hadn’t been afforded anything resembling closure--Nightmare Moon hadn’t even had time to share the final transfer of power that she had been implying.

Twilight was getting tired of lying awake all night or all morning or whatever she could call her days now. She was tired of hoping Nightmare Moon would find her, only to wake disappointed by another dreamless night. The dreamroot that Fluttershy and Tree Hugger had been given to care for hadn’t withered and died, yet, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the same potent flowering affair Twilight had encountered in the Hollow Shades.

She doubted her Old Canterlot attempts were doing any better, but she knew she had to check. She owed that much to Nightmare Moon, to the thestrals, to anypony who’d given a damn to remember and repeat Luna’s name over the past thousand years. For if Equestria truly was dying, Luna at least deserved to be there for it.

And so, eventually Twilight had decided she had enough.

“You’re going where?” Fluttershy had looked incredulous when Twilight had told her, in private, while Tree Hugger had been out.

“I know it’s off-limits. But there’s some stuff I need to get there and I’m not just going to wait around for things to keep getting worse before I do. How much more eternal night are we going to put up with? The Industry obviously isn’t doing anything, so I’m going to.

“That’s… good. It is. B-but alone? What if you get caught? Trespassing to get soil samples is one thing, but you know they’re just looking for an excuse to arrest you, now. After all that stuff you said about Spoiled…”

“I don’t care, Fluttershy. I’m going. So if… if you don’t hear back from me, I want you to call a mare named Raven Inkwell and tell her everything.”

“No, no. You don’t understand. I want to help you.” Fluttershy shook her head. “I’m just telling you it’s, ah. Dangerous. But if you need help, I’d be happy to offer it.”

Twilight blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Give me until the end of the week? I’d like to talk to my friend Applejack about things. She’d probably be able to help you sneak in. She works in the factories there.”

Twilight gave a single nod, “Alright. Thank you, Fluttershy.”

As it turned out, Applejack herself was a truly fascinating mare.

A disgruntled employee from the Industry, she had taken to some of the more vocal members of the striking ponies after the Hollow Shades incident. Fluttershy herself had been dragged into the tempest through association with Twilight Sparkle’s papers, and it seemed as though the trajectory had eventually driven Fluttershy and Applejack along the same path.

She had shown up less than a day after Twilight had conversed with Fluttershy.

Indeed, she had arrived before Twilight had even left to visit Celestia, rapping firmly on Fluttershy and Tree Hugger’s apartment door. Fluttershy had already been up, preparing tea and breakfast for as many ponies and creatures as possible within their immediate vicinity, and Twilight had been easily jostled into consciousness by their ensuing conversation.

She’d felt a little sheepish, greeting a room of already-awake ponies from a heap of blankets in a corner of the room, her mane all manners of unkempt.

“Mornin’, Twilight.” A bright orange-coated earth pony, with a battered Stetson hat atop her head, had greeted Twilight as she stumbled to her hooves. “Pleased to meet ya. Fluttershy here says you gotta get into Old Canterlot?”

Twilight nodded, levitating her comb over from her little corner of the living room and doing her best to make some sense of her mane. “Yeah. I didn’t think it would become a big, uh. Production. I was just going to walk there…”

Applejack frowned. “They’ve got the roads up the mountain fenced off, and I wouldn’t be goin’ there on hoof right now even if they didn’t. What with the forests the way they are right now and all. If you stick to the railway, you might be alright, but there’s some long tunnels along the way that I wouldn’t risk trotting up in the dead of night, myself.”

“Then is there a train I can hop? I can teleport up to the mountain if I can get close enough, uh… horizontally. If that makes sense...”

“Think so.” Applejack nodded. “And there is. Work train, leaves every weekday at seven. I should know, I’ve been taking it for just about eight years, now. They inspect the boxcars before driving off, but if you stay close, I can probably get you aboard. Provided we find some way to keep your horn covered.”

Twilight blinked. “My… my horn covered?”

“Uh huh. Mostly earth ponies who work in the factories. Unicorns get put under more scrutiny goin’ in.”Applejack affixed Twilight’s horn with a smug smirk. She lifted the cowboy hat off her head and shoved it down firmly on Twilight’s, making sure the brim was angled down to hide her protruding horn.“‘specially ones with a vested interest in overthrowin’ the State.”

Twilight instinctively straightened the hat in her magic, not removing it and doing her best not to think of how ridiculous she must have looked in it. “Fair enough, I guess. But aren’t they going to realize I don’t work for the Industry once I get on the train?”

Applejack shook her head. “I know the mare who’ll be greetin’ us at the Ponyville station. She trusts me. The train itself’ll bring you as far as the Industrial District outside New Canterlot. Still a distance away from the top of Canterlot Mountain, I reckon, but at least a bit closer than here.”

“Enough for me to teleport.” Twilight nodded. “Just, uh. Leaves my getting out of Old Canterlot, then.”

“If you do your business quickly and get what you’ve gotta get before noon, you can probably hit the same passenger car ‘fore the train even leaves the station on the way back to Ponyville. I can even stay on for the ride back to make sure ya make it.”

Twilight blinked. “You’d do that? You don’t even know me.”

Applejack laughed. “‘Spose I don’t. Met the Princess, though. She seems worth trustin’. And Fluttershy here says you’re goin’ back there to look for a way to help her.”

Fluttershy blushed. “I, ah. May have blabbed more than you asked me to, Twilight. S-sorry.”

“No, thank you. Both of you.”

“We’re happy to help, Twilight.” Applejack replied. “If you’re ready now, we can catch the train up this mornin’. Can have you back here before supper.”

“Give me a moment…” Fluttershy said, trotting over to her and Tree Hugger’s bedroom and returning a few seconds later with a deep blue raincoat held in her wing. “I doubt Tree Hugger will mind my lending this. It’s about your size, and it’ll cover up your coat and cutiemark.”

Every part of the scheme seemed brazen and impulsive to Twilight, but she supposed anything was better than her own plan of trekking to Old Canterlot on hoof. Into the moonlit morning they headed out, Twilight trailing behind Applejack as she led the way towards the Ponyville Train Station.

“Right, so… recently they’ve been lookin’ for anypony willin’ to work the coal factories—ponies need power mor’n ever now, and they haven’t really been asking much questions ‘bout who’s doin’ the work.” Applejack spoke without slowing and without turning around, and Twilight had to double her pace a little just to keep up with her. “Only thing is… you’re a familiar face. So, keep the hat on and your mane and horn tucked under it, and let me do the talkin’. If anypony does ask ya anythin’, it’s your first day on the job and I’m showin’ ya around. Got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Twilight lit her horn, adjusting the hat so that her defining unicorn feature was safely concealed beneath the shadow of the Stetson hat’s prominent brim. “What if they ask my name or ask to see some ID or something?”

Applejack laughed. “Y’really think them Industry goons give a damn what any of our names are?”

Twilight sighed. “Point taken. Alright.”

“Once we’re on the train, we find a private compartment and we ride it as far as you need to. Easy as zap apple jam.”

“As what?”

“Never mind.” Applejack shook her head, looking a little sheepish. They were at the station now anyways, the lumbering grey-and-red form of the Ponyville Express waiting for them on its perth of rail shining in the moonlight. There were guards on the platform, but not many, and Applejack gave the one closest to the open passenger car a single nod and brief greeting, which was lazily reciprocated by the uniformed mare. Once they were aboard, Applejack led on past another guard who seemed to be scrutinizing Twilight, but apparently not finding anything worth wasting his time questioning.

The rest of the train was largely empty. They passed through two passenger cars without seeing a soul, Applejack leading the way and Twilight trailing nervously behind.

“Where is everyone?” Twilight murmured. “I’d... think they’d need the factories running now more than ever, right? Like you said?”

Applejack gave a little nod at all of the empty passenger compartments. “Uh huh. But try’n motivate folks to do that, during this whole Endless Night business. Hardly able to keep ‘em motivated before, ever since your Princess friend got ‘em picketing.”

“What about you? Why are you going in?”

Applejack laughed. “’Cause end of the world or not, I still got rent to pay and I ain’t lettin’ them kick me and my little sis out to the curb.” Shaking her head, Applejack pointed towards a passenger compartment at random and opened the door for Twilight, before shuffling in herself and taking a seat. The train had already started to rumble to life by the time they did, and in a few minutes, the decaying paint of the Ponyville Train Station had begun to move away from them as the train picked up speed.

“Still...” Applejack said thoughtfully, peering out the window at the trees beginning to blur. “Your Princess has got some changes in mind, hasn’t she? She seems a mare of her word, but I figure I’d ask you, as well.”

“Yes. She wants to put an end to mandatory factory work entirely. Reform the whole thing so that it’s safe and fair and necessary.”

“Nice daydream.” Applejack’s smile was worn and weary, but hardly dishonest. “Hope she pulls through long enough to make it come true, then.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if she doesn’t. Seems to me like we’d be good as dead.”

“Yeah?” Applejack tilted her head, her smile turning to a thoughtful frown. “Y’think?”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. I think it’d be harder. I think more folks would die, and we’d have less time overall to enjoy our little slice of home we call Equestria. But I also don’t think what you and her have set in motion would just up’n stop outta the blue, neither. Ponies ain’t stupid. They know there’s a better way to live than hunkerin’ down in fear, and eventually, ah reckon they’d put themselves on a course that the Princess woulda liked to see ‘em on. Even if it won’t last long.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m... I’m just a reporter. I’m responsible for what happened, not what happens.”

Applejack chuckled. “Can’t exactly have one without the other, though, now can ya? That’s how we got into this here mess in the first place. Thinkin’ we’re above history, and all that nonsense. Thinkin’ the best way forward is to ignore our traditions and such on the grounds that they’re old ‘n irrelevant. What a load of hooey that turned out to be, eh?”

Twilight pursed her lips, searching for a response and failing to find one. When she had met Applejack, in Fluttershy’s apartment back in Ponyville, the last thing she would have expected from the gruff, steely-eyed workmare would have been articulate words of wisdom, and she found herself a little at a loss on how to properly reply to them.

So, she settled on a question, instead. Something optimistic, to drive a dagger in the oppressive worry she couldn’t stop feeling.

“If it does work out... if Celestia wakes back up and ponies don’t just turn their heads to her again... what then?”

“For Equestria?” Applejack tilted her head.

“No, no. For you.”

“And, assumin’ them Corporate bastards get what’s comin’ to em and I don’t gotta go fightin’ for that first?”

Twilight couldn’t help but chuckle. Where had these ponies been all her life? “Y-yeah. Assuming that, too.”

“Shucks, I don’t know. I’d like to... I’d like to work in an orchard again. Been... somethin’ like a decade since I’ve so much as walked through one, much less had a hoof in the goin’-ons of one. It ain’t easier work than the factories, but it’s... better work, I guess. I guess it’s nostalgia or whatever—some fillyhood memory up and gone all rotten and sour--but I find myself missin’ when you could breathe in the air without a bunch of crap muddying it up. I know the soil ain’t what it used to be an’ all that, but I’m sure that ain’t a problem we can’t do somethin’ about.”

Twilight smiled. “Is... that how you know Fluttershy?”

Applejack returned the smile herself. “’ Dirt scientist’ sounded like an interestin’ mare to make friends with. Ah got you to thank for that, y’know, Twilight Sparkle. Somethin’ to think about, next time somepony starts goin’ on ‘bout how your articles don’t mean nothin’.”

Twilight’s focus drifted a little on her, once again. She looked at her hooves, and realized her eyes were watering. “I wish I’d met her a long time ago.”

“I think a lot of ponies wish things had gone different ‘a long time ago’, Twi.” Applejack mused thoughtfully, a contented smile on her snout as she pondered the landscape speeding out the train window. “We’re comin’ up on the Industry Way station soon. If you’re going to teleport, I think now’d be as good a time as ever.”

Twilight rose to her hooves, levitating off the cowpony hat and offering it back to Applejack, who donned it gratefully. “See you soon?”

“Sure. Go get your magic drug, Twi. I’ll be here.”

Zap.

The momentum from the teleport caught her off guard for a moment, and she had to plant a hoof for balance. The train she’d come from was a dozen miles away now, blocked by the stacks and the old buildings of the Equestrian capital, but she could hear its whistle in absence of any other sound in the silent city.

Her library was directly in front of her. She’d had a pretty vivid mental image of her destination before she had let loose with the spell, and it seemed the decreased distance had indeed paid off quite well.

Old Canterlot was eerily quiet. It hadn’t been the most visually appealing city in Canterlot, but it at least still had the general ebb and flow of one. Now, though, there was little else but the distant rustlings of various bits of life hastily scurrying about through the eternal night.

A raccoon or a crow here or there. No equine voices that Twilight could hear.

She lit her horn, the way Moondancer had told her to. Pushing the smog away from her. Twilight had brought a respirator as an extra measure, and she donned it quickly as she trotted up to the main entrance of her home.

There were magic streams from many ponies in the interior that her still active enchantments showed her, but she couldn’t see too many signs of looting otherwise. She supposed there wasn’t much incentive for anypony to break into a library without a rather particular reason to, and she hadn’t left anything too valuable for anypony to find.

Shaking her head, Twilight sped her cautious walk into a trot. It had only been about two weeks, but she had missed the library dearly. The take-out containers from her and Celestia’s last meal were still lying on one of the long reading tables, along with a few law and history books that Twilight had been reading, lying in wait. Dust pirouetted through the beams of light cast by Twilight’s horn, little other natural light besides with the entire sky above them filthy smog.

Twilight trotted into her study, first, and pulled out a long cylindrical tube from beneath her bed. The telescope. Gripping it in her telekinesis, Twilight carried it with her as she cantered up the two flights of stairs leading to the roof of the library. She eased the door open and winced as a cool night wind caught her off guard. From the roof, she could see a darkened, lonely Equestria where the roof gave way to abrupt cliff that descended down and down to the rivers and roads weaving in and out of the lights of New Canterlot.

The greenhouse was lying in wait. Twilight cantered to it quickly, already shoving the door open in her telekinesis before she had even reached it. Immediately, Twilight saw that Celestia’s cooking herbs were all a dead and withered mess, and she felt a flurry of fear in her chest as she trotted inside.

Yet... the worry eased as she trotted in proper. Her dreamroot had been given its own corner of the greenhouse, where it might catch the most sun and moonlight, and Twilight could see the tell-tale shapes of flowers as she approached the magical plant.

It shouldn’t have been possible. With all the smog above, it surely must have only been getting a few hours of moonlight every day. Then again, she supposed, it couldn’t possibly have had any better luck in the Hollow Shades, with so much oppressive foliage greedily stealing any chance it might have had to thrive. Perhaps the dreamroot itself was used to growing in non-ideal light conditions.

Perhaps Twilight was simply that lucky.

She levitated the flowerpot, adding it to the same aura the telescope was contained in. The surviving dreamroot still wasn’t a lot—she’d be lucky if she could get three dreamwalking sessions out of it, but that was alright. She only needed two. One for Celestia, and one for Nightmare Moon.

It was foolish to hope, she supposed, but perhaps there still might be a way out of this Endless Night after all.

Exiting from the greenhouse again, Twilight trotted towards the cliff-side edge of the room. Levitating the telescope closer to her eyes, she pointed it to the lights of Ponyville, tracing down the streets she’d been helplessly meandering for two weeks. Then, she brought it down to the foot of Canterlot Mountain instead, where the plume of smoke signaled the train she had come in on, lying in wait at the Industry Way train station. Biting her lip, and glancing at the dreamroot still levitating in her telekinesis, Twilight decided she’d have a bit of time before she had to worry about teleporting back onto it.

And so, she trotted down to the kitchen area of her library, leaning the telescope down against a wall and yanking out a pot from one of her cupboards. Her water had been cut off, but enough had been collected in her rain-water barrels that she was able to quickly get a pot boiling.

While it heated, she plucked a few leaves off the dreamroot she was still carrying, setting the plant down after and the leaves down onto the counter. Exactly as the old thestral had shown her, Twilight quickly took to kneading them in her hooves, working the wispy leaves down into a mushed and broken mess.

In all her magical studies, alchemy was the one she’d practiced the least. That would surely have to change, if she were to pick the craft up where Luna had left it. Still, she had the vague sense that she was doing something right, as she daintily dropped the crushed leaves into the gradually heating pot of water. As it heated, it slowly produced the same strong, earthy scent that the old thestral’s own example had produced. If anything, it felt stronger this time to Twilight—perhaps her concentration of dreamroot was too intense? Surely it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she brewed a slightly more potent batch, right?

She recollected her affairs, this time added the pot of boiling water to a separate aura of telekinesis and continuing to boil the water and steep the dreamroot tea. Before she left, she grabbed one last thing: a travel mug formerly used for her morning coffees, and by the time she reached the roof of the library for a second time she was pouring the steeped dreamroot tea into it and carefully sealing the lid.

The Ponyville Express was belching more smoke now that she could see from so high up, and she heard it call out a few warning whistles. She flared her horn, deposited the empty pot with a clatter, and said a temporary farewell to her home before teleporting back down to the train in wait below.

Applejack jumped in surprise when she reappeared, and even Twilight was a little taken aback by the sheer precision of her teleport.

“Sorry...” Twilight said immediately as Applejack readjusted her hat, which had gone a little crooked from her startled jump.

Applejack replied with a little laugh. “Got what ya needed?”

“Yeah, I did. I can’t thank you enough for getting me over here.”

Applejack waved a hoof. “Friend of Fluttershy’s is a friend of mine. I’m just happy to help.” She rose an eyebrow curiously at the telescope, flowerpot, and coffee mug all shimmering in Twilight’s magic. “So... what exactly didja need in there so badly, anyways? I just kinda assumed Flutters was pullin’ my leg ‘bout a ‘magic plant’.”

“No, actually, she wasn’t. It’s... it helps me with... with learning dreamwalking.”

Applejack’s eyebrow rose higher. “That right?”

Twilight nodded. “Y-yeah. I know it’s probably a stupid theory, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe I can get through to Celestia through her coma that way. Because she’s... she’s still responding to stimuli. She’s still there.”

“Y’know, it sounds a little crazy and a little out of my hooves, but that don’t make it ‘stupid’. Least you’re tryin’ somethin’,” Applejack said with a shrug. “Plant was there, though? You got it okay?”

“Yeah.” Twilight waved the travel mug. “Already brewed a bit of it into a tea, too. Hope it works. Wanna try some?”

Applejack laughed. “Think I’ll leave the magical plants to you for now, Twi. Maybe another time. But if you wanna give it a whirl yerself, by my guest. Got a good couple hours or so ‘fore we’re back in Ponyville. Train takes the long loop around from here. Ah can keep a lookout for ya, wake you up if I need to.”

“R-really?” Twilight blinked. Dreamroot meant lucid dreams. And every one of those Twilight had carried out had the added benefit of Nightmare Moon’s presence. The idea of visiting with her teacher in the dreamworld while her waking world was spent travelling felt like a rather productive usage of time indeed.

“Sure. Just don’t go snorin’ too loud.”

She unscrewed the lid off of her travel mug and took a long swig of the earthy tasting tea within. The thestral had called it an ‘acquired taste’, and it had seemed ridiculous to Twilight, but she could sort of see it more and more, even in the hoof-full of chances she’d been afforded to try it.

She hadn’t had to drink more than a third of the tea before she could already feel its effects hitting her like a tidal wave. A potent brew indeed, already the lines that made up the passenger compartment were beginning to blur together, and her eyes felt weighted by lead. After several moments, so, too, did the rest of her body. Keeping her head up felt difficult, so she laid down across the compartment bench instead, having just enough lucidity to screw the cap back onto her dreamroot tea before darkness swept over her like a blanket. She could see it begin from the mountains far away, out the window of the train, and then it crept closer to her rapidly, consuming the landscape, then the rails, then the train car, and stopping only upon reaching Twilight’s own form, now alone in a featureless black void.

“Twilight!”

Twilight whipped around, but before she could speak a skeletal black wing had wrapped around her. The rest of her dreamworld hadn’t even had a chance to form, yet, before Twilight was assaulted by the quick embrace of Nightmare Moon herself.

Nightmare Moon broke the embrace just as quickly as it had begun, clearing her throat and swiftly folding her wing back against her side. As she spoke, the rest of the dreamworld began to trickle into being—the roof of her library, once more. Still fresh on her mind, she supposed, because it seemed to be what her subconscious was intent on quickly weaving together. The landscape beyond the roof was still lost to void, and her greenhouse was gone. Much of the disarray and neglect that had formed its being for twelve years had returned; this was her library as Twilight had seen it the most, not what it was now.

“Twilight Sparkle, you certainly know how to keep a mare waiting.”

“That, coming from you?” Twilight replied sharply. “Where in Tartarus have you been? For months you don’t ever shut up, and then when I need you the most, you’re nowhere to be found!”

“Yes, it is very inconvenient, I agree. But I told you, last time we spoke; the magic binding me to this world is fading. Every spell fades, and magic is never eternal. Now, more than ever, I know this.”

“What do I do, Nightmare?” Twilight kicked the rumbling dirt floor. “I need to know what to do, please…”

“You already know what to do, if you’ve managed to reach me.” Nightmare Moon extended a hoof to Twilight’s chin, gently raising it up to look into her eyes. “You went back for the dreamroot, yes?”

“Yes, and my books and my journals and…”

“This…” Nightmare Moon’s horn lit, and she withdrew the metallic cylinder of the telescope from Twilight’s saddlebags. “An essential, I’m sure.”

“I just… I need something important of hers close to me. I just feel… I don’t know…”

“Alone. Hopelessly alone. Like the world is moving on without you.”

Twilight gave a little nod, sitting down on the ground. “Yes.”

“Well, you should not. You have made friends across an Equestria more divided than I have ever in my days seen. You have spread hope to a pony who thought hope itself was impossible for her to experience.” Nightmare Moon pushed the telescope into Twilight’s hooves. “I think you are ready, Twilight.”

Twilight gripped the cold metal of the telescope, tilting her head as she looked at Nightmare Moon questioningly. “Ready? For what? I can’t even raise the Sun.”

“And why is it you feel you must?” Nightmare Moon tilted her head. She extended a hoof, pointing to Twilight’s cutie mark. “If you need to bring the Sun back, why is there a star emblazoned on your flank, mare? I do not recall seeing many stars out at night.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “It’s just my cutie mark. I got it writing an essay. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Nightmare Moon shook her head, laughing. “Twilight, you need to bring Celestia back. But before you do that, you need to start trusting in your abilities. You don’t need to rest the Sun on your shoulders just yet. It’s right there in your namesake. Be the bridge between night and day first. Worry about what comes next when it comes.”

“It’s just... I thought I was learning. I thought I’d be able to do something to help bring the Sun back, but...”

“Twilight, do you know how long it took Celestia to master raising the Sun? Have you any idea?”

Twilight bit her lip and nervously shook her head. “N-no.”

“Years. A war began, was fought, and ended, before she’d even come close to mastering it. The fact that you can even make contact with it at all is impressive enough. Why in Tartarus are you selling yourself short on an achievement only rivaled by alicorns and draconequus?”

“I don’t... I don’t know, Nightmare.” Twilight admit.

“It takes time, Twilight Sparkle. And patience. And practice. And when you awaken Celestia, and an Equestria no longer spinning into darkness, you will be afforded both. And you will be able to develop your Sun-raising skills the right way. Not the fast way. Do you understand?”

“I was supposed to be her contingency.”

“I do believe Celestia thought she had more time to prepare you. I don’t believe she imagined the mortals would have jumped the gun on her and attempted something so stupid. But... regardless of what she intended, what happened has happened, yes?” Nightmare Moon trotted closer, once again pulling Twilight into a warmer, and less impulsive embrace. She tucked the telescope back into Twilight’s pack with her magic, and withdrew the Sunstone, instead. Gently, Nightmare Moon levitated it atop the glowing gemstone atop Twilight’s head, parting her mane so that it fit just right.

“It’s funny. I should be pleased by this. Eternal night, despite everypony’s best efforts. I won, and I didn’t even do anything. The ponies who turned away from me turned away from Celly, too, and I won.” Nightmare Moon sighed deeply. “I suppose that the roads we chose in this life make fools of us all. I never would have thought I would be grateful to have been made one, myself. I never would have met you, otherwise.”

Shaking her head, Nightmare Moon rose to her hooves again, rustling her wings.

“I shouldn’t stay long. Do you recall the place we met last? Before we were awoken?”

Twilight gave a shaky nod. “The... the Everfree Castle, right? You said there was something for me there, but then vanished before you had a chance to show me.”

“Indeed. We will meet back there, then, in the waking world. My magic might be limited, but I suspect enough of Luna’s palimpsest remains there to allow me one last walk through the mortal plain. Until that happens, though, I should conserve my magic while I still have some to expend. Goodbye for now, Twilight Sparkle.”

iii

The last time Twilight had been in the Everfree Forest had been with Celestia.

Had that seriously been less than a year ago? It felt like a whole generation had come and gone since that night when she and Celestia had broken into the Everfree Castle Museum and recovered the Sunstone. It was strange to think of a time so recent, and yet still before Celestia had announced her return and sent Equestria into a whirlwind.

When she had traveled into the Everfree to meet Celestia, the Sun had been going down. And, when she had made her way back towards Ponyville with the Sunstone safely stashed in her saddlebags, the Sun had been inching its way into the rumbling, rainy morning sky. Rain on the horizon had helped mask the smell of rotten wood that made up so much of the Everfree, but now Twilight had no such luxury. She was travelling in almost pitch-dark, the electric lamps lighting the way towards the Everfree Castle now extinguished and the Moon hidden by the obtrusive forest canopy.

Her horn sufficed, though, and she crept her way through the partially tamed Everfree Forest. Every snapping twig in the forest around her was a fresh jolt of terror down her spine, every night-owl call an alarm of impending doom. At one point, she’d sworn she had heard a pack of timberwolves rustling from someplace far off the path, and at another she thought she’d seen lights like stars shining through the dense foliage. Her panicking brain had no trouble reminding her of the desperation of the Everfree’s native residents, forced to struggle for every scrap of food within their decaying ecosystem. But, to canter was to make even more noise, and so she made her way towards the Everfree Castle at a brisk trot instead, taking care to never once leave the path.

Finally, the clearing of the old castle came into view. Slivers of moonlight split by a thousand branches, bringing her nervous trot back to something resembling intent and focus. When last Twilight had been here, the castle had been exposed vividly by bright electric light, but now it lay undisturbed within its little grotto, a cool black silhouette within a yawning quarry of rock.

Down below, standing in one of the castle’s side courtyards and peering back up to her, was a familiar alicorn. She would have looked a little unsettling, standing tall and alone within the empty grotto of darkened shadows, if Twilight hadn’t been so excited to see her once more.

A flare of teleportation magic and Twilight was right beside her, greeting Nightmare Moon in the non-corporeal-flesh with a little nuzzle. Her regalia had been discarded, and her starry mane was hanging limp, as Princess Celestia’s did, now.

“Nightmare.”

“My faithful Twilight.” Nightmare returned, giving her a small smile and nod. “It is good to see you.”

Looking around, Twilight could see that she had teleported into some sort of garden. There did not seem to be any other practical usage for the courtyard besides, it simply snaked its way out of and then back into the castle again in a gradual U-shape. Already, Nightmare Moon had begun to trot her way towards the interior of the castle, and Twilight quickly fell into line behind her, the sound of her hooves the only sound even as Nightmare Moon led on ahead of her.

Piece by piece, it seemed the alicorn’s physicality was vanishing. It had never really been there at all, Twilight reasoned, but now it seemed even her own perception of Nightmare Moon’s spirit was failing her. Nightmare Moon phased through the door into the Castle, and Twilight had to settle on burning the anachronistic padlock off of it and pushing it open herself, joining her waiting mentor on the other side.

“It seems as though the mortals have been busy restoring this place if what you have told me of the passage of time is true.”

“It’s, uh. A museum, now,” Twilight said, frowning.

“My sister and my greatest failures. A museum.” Nightmare Moon sighed, her head sinking low. “I suppose that makes sense. Well, no matter. It isn’t much further, Twilight.”

Twilight had done her fair share of reading on the Everfree Castle--not enough to memorize any floor plans to a tee, of course, but she had at the very least visited it before. If only to decry the slanderous claims of the curators showing her around, but that was no matter now. She knew before Nightmare Moon had started her way up the stairwell what would be waiting for them at the top.

The chamber they emerged into was enormous and lined on both sides by spectacular glass windows that seemed to catch the moonlight and cast it in shining slivers across the room. The only thing of note within the room itself was the large stone pedestal directly in the center, vaguely resembling a fountain and resolving into a glass orb at the top, with five other smaller orbs orbiting around it on their own attached pedestals. Like the windows, they caught the moonlight and glowed in warm and bright colours, the glass itself stained to send beams of coloured light around the rest of the chamber.

“It isn’t them,” Twilight said, shaking her head sadly. “The Elements of Harmony. It’s not them. Celestia says she had to sacrifice them to the Tree of Harmony.”

“That is obvious,” Nightmare Moon replied, giving the faux-Elements a scrutinizing gaze. “The pedestal moves. There’s a spiral stairwell below, and the ruins of the castle itself have been designed to serve as a conduit towards the Tree of Harmony. Its roots travel far below the Everfree. We didn’t just store the Elements of Harmony here because they were fashionable.”

Nightmare Moon shook her head, scoffing at the bright and colourful display of lights before them now.

“Wait, wait. The Tree of Harmony is still alive?”

Nightmare Moon scowled. “How in Tartarus should I know? I’m not even alive myself. But if it is, you would do well to, well... acquaint yourself with it.”

“With… with a tree. Acquaint myself with a tree.”

“Oh, don’t be so close-minded, my faithful student.” Nightmare Moon chuckled--a restrained and friendlier-sounding version of her all-too-familiar cackle. “It would be a rather somber state of affairs indeed if the Tree of Harmony itself was dying, though I’m sure it’s strong enough to endure the strain of the past twelve years.”

Nodding in vague understanding, Twilight got to work on scanning the area around the Elements pedestal with her telekinesis. If there was indeed some manner of trap staircase as Nightmare Moon had implied, then she should surely feel some sort of mechanism. Telekinesis wasn’t exactly the best method of finding one… Twilight would have much preferred to have an earth pony’s well-trained hooves for that task, but with enough care, she should be able to find some way to progress all the same.

The Element pedestal was sturdy and well-built, and surely weighed far more than Twilight could possibly hope to move on her own. Finding no indicators of a hidden lever or switch, Twilight settled on trying anyway, pushing her weight against the pedestal and gaining an amused snort from Nightmare Moon.

“You flatter your own strength, Sparkle. No offense.”

Twilight sighed, turning back to face Nightmare Moon. “I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

“What did you do to find the catacombs with Celestia?”

“She used a… a gemstone. It located foreign magic, and we followed it.”

“Foreign magic, hrm? Magic of who’s source, I wonder.” Nightmare Moon shot her a mocking, quizzical grin, as though the answer was so horribly obvious that even a filly could have guessed it by now. It took Twilight another few seconds before the dawning realization hit her.

“Luna’s. We followed Luna’s magic. Old enchantments put up ages ago.” Already, Twilight was levitating the Sunstone off of her head. The gemstone in the middle of the tiara had already begun to glow, albeit as faint as a vague hope in the midst of a bloody battle. Keeping the Sunstone in front of her, Twilight began to trot forwards, her eyes never leaving the gem even to blink. Her heart began to thump in her chest as her theory proved itself, the gem slowly but surely beginning to shimmer with more light the further Twilight’s hooves carried her across the Elements of Harmony’s chamber.

The gradually brightening Sunstone led her as far as a seemingly mundane portion of the chamber floor. Nightmare Moon had been gradually meandering behind her with a look somewhere between curiosity and pride. There was no difference at all that Twilight could tell from the spot where the Sunstone’s glow was the brightest; they weren’t in the center of the room, but instead off to one side beneath a stained-glass depiction of Celestia and Luna raising the Sun and Moon in unison.

Already, her mind was replaying flashbacks of her last encounter with Luna’s strange and puzzling methods of enchantment—the last time they were down in the catacombs, and she’d sacrificed the Sunstone itself in order to best them. Peering up at the stained glass, Twilight placed the Sunstone back atop her head and began to cast her magic, searching for the Moon and finding it with ease a few degrees beneath the western horizon.

“This one’s for you, Luna...” Twilight whispered to herself, as she gripped the Moon and began to carry it across the sky. Equestria would surely be afforded a strange and confusing sight, she thought, as the Moon arched quickly back across the sky. She supposed they’d known the source of it now, if anypony had been paying attention to the Moon’s strange patterns in the past year. She carefully and meticulously eased it into place, so that the Moon’s light was shining through its stained glass sister.

Behind her, Nightmare Moon let out a satisfied exhale. The moonlight through the stained glass cast the entire chamber in a beautiful blue light, and in the center of the room, the Element Pedestal had begun to shudder as some arcane mechanism awakened after a millennium of neglect. Twilight was cantering over instantly, and by the time she reached the pedestal, it had already begun to laboriously shift to the side, a pitch-black staircase revealing itself beneath the ancient stone.

The spiral staircase crept down into darkness, and Twilight could hear the faint sound of water gently babbling from some point far below. Her blood suddenly curdled, as she realized she’d seen this place before.

Nightmare Moon had been showing it to her. A different location, but the same staircase. They’d been interrupted by the SunTrotter Explosion before they could have ventured further, but the staircase itself and the lapping water below were as familiar as the morning sun. This time in the realm of the waking, instead of the realm of the dreams.

Nightmare Moon had promised her power. Whatever that meant. She should have known she had been referring to the Tree of Harmony!

Twilight started down, and when she turned, she was alone. Without ceremony or announcement, Nightmare Moon had vanished, and now the Elements Pedestal was already shifting back into place before Twilight.

She continued down the steps. The sound of the water below grew louder and louder with each step, her own hoofsteps growing quieter as her steps became warier. For what felt like hours—but could surely only have been minutes, Twilight reminded herself, she was just out of shape--she descended, her horn the only light and her nervous breathing the only evidence of equine presence.

Eventual, though, even that shifted. Light exposed itself from some point further down and grew brighter as the sound of babbling water grew stronger. And then, Twilight’s breath caught as she finally turned one last spiral into an enormous natural cavern.

Her hooves trod into still water, icy to the touch and sending a shiver down her spine. Before her was the most mystical sight she had ever seen—a tree of pure white light, growing out of the subterranean pond. Its roots stretched down and up, snaking their way upwards through the soil above them, and downwards into the still water… deeper and deeper until the light they were made from vanished into darkness.

The Tree of Harmony. Again and again, relegated to fairy tale and fantasy, and yet here it was before her in all its mystical glory.

Water was trickling down through a few cracks in the cavern ceiling, the torn and shifted forest rivers above bleeding down into the great cavern. It fell into the pond murky and unclean, but it seemed the Tree of Harmony worked instantaneously to purge them down to something clear as glass.

She hesitated before stepping any deeper into the water, wondering what the glowing Tree would do to her if it was capable of such purifying magic.

Besides the Tree of Harmony, Twilight quickly realized that there was another light in the cavern. The Sunstone, glowing on her head, brighter than ever now, and white as the tree in front of her. As though the two were reacting to each other.

“H-hello? Nightmare?” Twilight called out warily, her voice echoing across the subterranean walls. She’d been expecting a response, and still, she nearly jumped out of her hide when she received one.

It wasn’t the familiar voice of her alicorn mentor, though. It was younger. Like a filly’s.

“Hello, Twilight Sparkle.”

It echoed all around her, coming from someplace within the cavern Twilight could not see. Against her better judgment, she put the Sunstone back atop her head and started to make her way closer to the Tree of Harmony. The pond of the flooded cavern seemed to grow a little deeper, and she quickly found it easier to swim the closer she got to the Tree of Harmony. “Who are you?”

“You’ve brought something strange to this place, Twilight Sparkle.” The filly voice, again. If Twilight didn’t know any better, she could have sworn it was coming from the Tree itself. “A fragment of an alicorn’s soul is not something commonly held by mortal hooves. And certainly not worn around their manes as jewelry.”

The still water around her rippled, as though a great weight had been dropped into it, though Twilight hadn’t heard a splash. She looked downwards in terror, expecting to see some black shadow rippling down in between the light cast from the Tree’s roots. She stopped swimming, treading water directly in front of the towering form of the Tree of Harmony.

From the light, a figure resolved itself. An alicorn, her coat blue, and her mane blue as well. She was young---younger than Twilight had ever thought an alicorn was capable of being. She couldn’t have been older than an adolescent… her eyes were alight with youth and when she spoke, it was the filly’s voice again.

“You have beared our Moon.”

She flapped down, her hooves resting down on the water as if it were a solid surface. She looked down at Twilight—she wasn’t any taller than her, though Twilight still felt pitifully small treading water before this youthful alicorn standing proud above her.

“I’ve been learning,” Twilight said, unsure of what exactly to say. “Using… this.”

She hadn’t even had the chance to levitate the Sunstone off of her head, before the blue alicorn took it from her. “Using me. I have been watching.”

“W-what?” Twilight managed. Her hooves were starting to get tired. She suddenly realized how much she wanted to start back towards the shallow corners of the sea, but she couldn’t turn away from the looming alicorn before her. “You’re… the Sunstone?!”

The alicorn laughed. “We are Luna. Or, what little of her soul that still remains. What little she felt would be required to power the… ‘Sunstone’, as you call it. We have been given form by the Tree you see behind us.”

Suddenly, Twilight remembered. Celestia had told her, and some part of her had remembered, even if a larger part had discarded the knowledge in favour of seeing the Sunstone as a tool and little else.

The dark magic tore Luna to pieces. But she was smart. She split her soul and drove it into the Sunstone...

Celestia herself had said it. Hadn’t she been listening?

“We have been watching you, Twilight Sparkle. From within our prison of stone. Watching how you wield us, how you have learned and heralded our magic as though it were your own. The Moon is so often ignored, we wonder why you have felt this to be necessary. Indeed, we wonder what brings you here.”

“I want to save my friend,” Twilight replied. “She’s… she’s sick. She’s trapped in her own dreams, and I can’t get her out. Nopony can.”

“So you desire power.”

“N-no. Not exactly. I mean, well… I don’t...” Twilight trailed off, realizing just how horribly she had handled what had surely been a trick question.

But the vision of Luna smiled, instead. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in searching for strength, Twilight Sparkle. Shame lies in the misuse of power, not through the mere act of searching it. Surely you know that by now?”

Twilight couldn’t answer. Her hooves were growing tired from treading water. Her head had begun to dip further beneath the still water, and the shoreline seemed so far away, now.

“We do not know with precision what has been done to this world. What has been done to… us, for the Sunstone to have regained its necessity. We only know what we have seen of how you wield it, and for what purpose. And we are impressed. This… ‘friend’ of yours. Our sister. The power she wields... you trust she deserves it without a doubt. And yet you do not trust the power that has brought you here. Even as we stand before you and preach of our own existence, you do not seem to trust that you deserve it. You cannot even say to us with confidence that you desire it.”

The ambient sound of the Tree of Harmony’s cavern had begun to fragment itself with the dull drone of the underwater world as Twilight’s ears continued to dip beneath the water. It felt thicker, somehow, and panic began to wrap around her hooves and cause them to start beating more frantically. She was sinking in liquid too thick to be water, as though some force were dragging her down. Suddenly, she realized how badly she wanted to scream, for she was going to drown here. She fought as hard as she could to keep herself afloat, but it was becoming too difficult to even think. The Sunstone was cast off of her head by her struggling, and she watched helplessly as the glowing gemstone light sunk down into the waters and vanished.

Something grabbed onto her hindleg. It coiled around it, gripping her tight, and she let out another scream. Glancing down, she watched in terror as the Tree of Harmony’s roots began to coil around her, starting at her legs and soon wrapping themselves around her entire form, stealing away movement and touch and sound and breath and leaving her with little else but the hazy sight of the glowing roots all around and beneath her.

Luna continued to watch her struggle quizzically, an uncaring look on the young alicorn’s face, as though she couldn’t be bothered by the sight of the drowning unicorn before her. It was the last sight Twilight was afforded of the above world, before she was dragged beneath the waves one final time, that Tree of Harmony’s roots dragging her deeper, deeper, more of the long white-light roots of the Tree of Harmony creeping past her as she followed them down into the depths, struggling to hold onto her breath for as long as possible…

Then, a shimmer of movement. A glowing light of telekinesis and Luna was there, staring at her with that same passively curious expression. She wasn’t swimming, simply floating as though weightlessly unaffected by the world around them.

“You’re wrong, though, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said, her voice in Twilight’s head instead of in her ears “Nightmare Moon tells me that you’ve done much and come far to deserve this gift of hers. Of ours. It isn’t with jubilation that we give you the remnants of our power, but rather with necessity. Nonetheless, it is a torch we trust you to bear.”

Luna’s horn grew bright. Her wings spread out, and the roots of the Tree of Harmony pulsed their white light across the neverending void beneath the waking world. The ones that had coiled around Twilight felt warm to the touch--it shouldn’t have been possible, but the feeling was unmistakable. Twilight felt the crushing pressure of an entire ocean around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding light of magic overtaking her every sense…

And then, she was flung into the Element’s chamber once more, gasping and sputtering for breath. Every stained glass window within the chamber had shattered, and the cool night air on her soaked fur and mane jolted her into lucidity. Beneath her feet lay the Sunstone, shattered into a thousand pieces, its light fading away to nothingness, until it was indistinguishable from the glass coating the Element's chamber.

Twilight's sides were aching. She glanced behind her, and gawked at the sight of her cutiemark, pulsing with a fading glow. Dark purple splotches had formed around her familiar six-pointed star, snaking down her flank and her lower leg.

Her cutiemark had changed. She hadn’t heard of such a thing happening in all of her days, but her eyes couldn’t exactly lie to her. The sight was as clear as could be. The familiar markings of the Moon’s former mistress were upon her now, and the Sunstone was nowhere to be seen.

The glowing mark faded back to normal gradually, as though it had always been the same. Yet the pain on her barrel did not subside… it wasn’t excruciating, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either. It was a pain like a tooth growing into place as a filly.

It wasn’t important. Not yet, anyway. Celestia was waiting for her, and with her waited a new dawn for Equestria.

Celestia’s own dreamworld was horrifically plain.

Twilight winced the moment she entered, after having drained the rest of her dreamroot and pouring a small bit into Celestia’s mouth, too, when she was certain the nurse wasn’t looking.

The dreamscape was nearly all pitch-black, with the only notable thing in the room being a long tube of plastic descending from the ceiling above them. Celestia herself was curled in a corner, her sides rising and falling and her back turned to Twilight.

“Celestia...” Twilight spoke out firmly and gently into the barren room. Celestia didn’t stir, even as Twilight started towards her and spoke again, a bit louder this time. “Celestia, it’s Twilight.”

No response. Laboriously, with the precision of a practiced surgeon, Twilight brought a hoof to Celestia’s back, resting it gently down. At best, Celestia perked up as though a cool draft had swept through the room, her ears twitching around as they searched for a source before settling back down, disappointed.

The dreamscape of a pony reflected their mental state. Nightmare Moon had taught it to her--an anxious pony would have a cluttered, disorganized dreamscape. Like Twilight’s. A frightened pony’s dreamscape would be a hive of distant whispers and shadowed figures snaking in and out of one’s peripheral…

What did it mean, then, that Celestia’s dreamscape was nothing at all?

Nothing except for the SunTrotter. A single purpose, and nothing more.

Twilight nestled herself down next to Celestia, for all the nothing it did. She was back where she’d been in the waking world--a guest to a pony who didn’t seem to know she was there. She’d come here expecting to find some simple solution, and yet here she was back where she had started again.

She felt like weeping, for all of a second, before her horn lit and she got to work. This was the dreamscape, after all. It might be plain now, but it was malleable. She’d watched Nightmare Moon weave stars and galaxies into empty, barren sky, and she’d helped.

Twilight started slow. She gripped the concrete ceiling above them, and cast it further and further back, stretching it thinner and thinner until it wasn’t there at all. Then, the black void above them wasn’t darkness, it was sky. Empty still, but she could work with that. A shimmering star here and there. She didn’t have the exact layout of Luna’s Constellations memorized, but that was alright. She would just have to start small and work out from there, even if it took her all night. It took effort, but eventually she was able to discard the worries of the outside world from herself. Flim Flam Industry, the SunTrotter, the horrible skies of smog and waste… they were waiting for them, yes, but they could continue to wait for now.

Piece by piece, she built upon the night sky. She populated it with interlinking stars, and she gradually eased moonlight into the sky--taking care not to make it too bright so as to overpower the starwheel above them.

The cool concrete below them had turned to dirt. Twilight hadn’t been focusing her energy there, but a sideways glance at Celestia and she realized she didn’t have to. Celestia was looking up now at the stars, a curious frown on the beautiful alicorn’s face. Celestia’s mind had taken over without her even fully comprehending it, and suddenly her lying form didn’t feel quite so cold and lifeless to Twilight.

Satisfied with the sky for now, Twilight reached out around them. The light of her horn cast against the trunks of trees gradually pushing themselves into being, stretching up out of nothingness all around them. Rising higher, and relegating the starry night Twilight had just been weaving to nervous peeks through a canopy of leaves and branches above them. Not the fragmented, half-alive forest canopies Twilight had been so used to seeing lining her nation, but a proud forest of an Equestria satisfied with it’s being. Grass formed from the dirt, and suddenly the earth wasn’t cracked and dry and cold. A forest in bloom, and not in decay.

Beside her, Celestia was cradling something in her hooves. Twilight hadn’t noticed it before, or perhaps it simply hadn’t been there. A long, cylindrical tube of metal, polished and reflecting in the newly formed starlight. The telescope.

Twilight extended her hoof, touching Celestia’s and the telescope at the same time. Celestia met Twilight’s eyes, and she stared into them for a long time, as though trying to properly focus on the mare inches away from her.

“Twilight…” she whispered, and gripped Twilight’s hoof with both of her own forehooves.

“I’m here, Celestia.” Twilight nuzzled her snout against Celestia’s neck. “I’m here.”

“I don’t… where are…”

“We’re asleep in Ponyville, Celestia. And Equestria is out there. They’re waiting for their princess.”

Celestia pursed her lips. She stroked the telescope for a moment, feeling it’s cool metal against her hooves. She looked up to the moonlight, and then around them at the forest of shimmering trees, phasing in and out of being as Twilight’s magic wavered to keep them alive.

“It’s time to wake up, Celestia. Dawn’s coming soon, and everypony is waiting.”

Celestia smiled. She nodded her head once, and shakily rose to her hooves. Around them, the dreamworld forest had already begun to dissolve, along with the sky above them. The stars had begun to blur into each other, casting long streaking lines of white across the sky, like fresh paint dripping down a canvass. The sky cascaded down into the trees, which cascaded down into dirt.

Twilight nearly gasped out in surprise as Celestia wrapped her wing tightly around her, pulling the smaller mare close and kissing her passionately, as around them the dreamworld collapsed for good.

Celestia awoke.

Moonlight was dancing through the open blinds of a hospital window. A silent street lay outside, lit by electric street lamps and revealing the humble town of Ponyville. Celestia could have recognized the town’s signature architecture anywhere.

The telescope she had gifted Twilight was resting on her lap. Twilight herself was stirring into consciousness from a chair in one corner of the room, yawning and blinking sleep out of her eyes as she focused on the room around her, only to freeze and lock eyes with Celestia instead.

“Good morning, Twilight Sparkle.”

The moment the words left her lips, Celestia had to clear her throat. Her voice sounded raspy from inactivity, and the hospital room felt dreadfully dry.

“You’re awake! Oh goddesses above, you’re awake!” Twilight tore across the hospital room instantly, gripping Celestia with both of her forehooves and nearly hugging the air out of her.

“I’m awake.” Celestia confirmed, chuckling sheepishly and hugging Twilight back. “Though that is due to your intervention, I imagine.”

“It’s been two weeks, Celestia,” Twilight said, evidently too excited to bother with an answer to Celestia’s query. “They've felt like decades. Gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

Already, Celestia was trying to rise to her hooves. Twilight was scrambling out of her hug instantly and helping her rise instead, a nervous little frown on her face. Already, Celestia felt completely out of breath even from the tiny bit of movement, though she did her best not to telegraph such to Twilight.

“W-want your glasses?” Twilight levitated them in front of Celestia, who accepted them gratefully.

“Oh, thank you, Twi...” Celestia began, and then paused as soon as they were on her face and she could see the room in newfound clarity. And, more importantly to Celestia, Twilight Sparkle in all her beautiful details.

And yet, she was different. Celestia blinked, wondering if her glasses were smudged, but no. Twilight’s coat seemed… darker, as though it began at a normal hue but shifted along an incredibly subtle gradient along her barrel, only to collide with a splotchy patch of deep purple around her flank and cutie mark.

“It seems as though I missed quite a lot,” Celestia said, her voice a low whisper as she reached a hoof over to rest it upon Twilight’s mark. “And yet… I have a suspicion I know exactly what I missed.”

“I, uh. Visited the Tree of Harmony. I don’t… I’m… still trying to understand what…”

Celestia ran her hoof along Twilight’s newly hybridized cutiemark as the unicorn trailed off. “I’m sorry, Twilight Sparkle. I know how much she meant to you.”

“Nightmare?”

Celestia nodded. “I suspect she merged her magic with you. The magic that my sister split and hid away in the Sunstone… I suspect that lives within your horn, now, too, thanks to the Tree of Harmony. And… I’m sorry. If that suspicion is true, I am very, very sorry.”

Twilight looked back at her cutie mark, her ears sinking down against her head. “...why?”

“Because it is very unlikely that Nightmare Moon exists, anymore. And if the Sunstone has vanished, then it is impossible that Luna does. Their legacies are yours to carry now. I suspect Nightmare Moon knew that.”

“She… she did talk to me with a… sort of finality…” Twilight sighed. “Damned mare didn’t… didn’t even let me say goodbye…”

“I’m sorry,” Celestia said again, as Twilight’s eyes began to water. “She… must have known her time was fading.”

“She said it was. I just thought…” Twilight rubbed at her eyes, letting out a long breath from her snout and looking at her hooves. “I don’t know what I thought. That I could save her, maybe. I don’t know.”

“I believe she would have said you have already done that.” Celestia replied without hesitation.

“...Gods...I’ve missed you so much, Celestia.” Twilight whispered, nuzzling her snout into Celestia’s barrel.

“Two weeks, hrm?”

Indeed, looking outside the window, Celestia could see it. Even as little as fourteen days hadn’t been kind to the hints of organic life visible outside. The hedges and trees and bushes she could see had all begun to wither, wispy branches exposing themselves where healthy leaves should have been. The chill of winter compounded with the lack of sunlight made for a rather dramatic shift in their liveliness.

“Two weeks.” Twilight nodded, wiping her snout and eyes and attempting a smile, though it was pained and tired. “Equestria’s been… been better. But… there’s good news, too; Spoiled Rich is currently on trial for gross criminal misconduct. They even asked me to question her, on your behalf. Tons of ponies are coming clean about her, and about the Industry. I… I don’t think they’re going to be surviving this one.”

Celestia managed a small smile. “I suppose a brave deed does count for something, doesn’t it?”

“Brave?” Twilight gawked. “You’re lucky to be alive, Celestia. The doctor’s say you’ve got lung disease from that damned smoke you breathed in, running in there without a plan!”

Celestia waved a hoof. “They are hardly qualified to make a diagnosis on--” she broke off into a quick, hacking cough. “...On immortal beings.”

Twilight pawed at the floor, saying nothing.

“It’s funny, Twilight… when I felt myself falling back there, at the SunTrotter… I was certain that the first pony I saw would be you. When I flew there, I was placing my entire trust on you arriving in time to save me. Perhaps that was irresponsible of me to take that gamble…”

“I guess you weren’t the one who asked to take it.” Twilight shook her head. “They forced you to. You did the right thing, Celestia. They say those ponies would have been dead if you hadn’t arrived when you did. And if they died, nopony would have known how to quell the SunTrotter’s flames. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. I wish I could have been there to help.”

“The woes of both of us not being able to fly, hrm?” Celestia said, smiling coyly. She eyed Twilight’s newly changed cutiemark, internally replaying Twilight’s own testimony in her head. A merging of an alicorn’s magic with a unicorn’s, and carried out by the Tree of Harmony, no less? It was a curious turn of events, to be certain.

She would have to wait and see. If it was a path that Twilight was destined to take, then she would take it. Filly’s flights, as her physician would have said.

A clock on the hospital room wall told her it was five forty-seven A.M. If she were to raise the Sun now, it would be an early one, but that was alright. She didn’t imagine Equestria would mind.

She had to lean on Twilight for help only once as she made her way out into the hospital corridor. Even early in the morning, a few nurses were milling about in the main corridor happening, but they both immediately turned their attention to Celestia and Twilight as they laboriously exited Celestia’s room. The nurse at the reception dropped the magazine she’d been reading in an instant, and both let out audible gasps as Celestia stumbled out into the light of the corridor.

Even from the short distance she’d travelled, Celestia knew it was a mistake. Her head was thumping and her side rose and fell with increased urgency, her body trying and failing to fill her weary lungs. She almost stumbled again, but Twilight was there beside her. Helping her first to stand, and then to walk.

Keep going. You’re almost there.

Her thoughts were a disorganized flurry as she made her way further into the hospital. Down the hall, past the reception… the nurses and doctors were saying something to her, but she ignored them as she forced herself forwards.

One purpose. Sunrise Scroll her flank. You look terrible, Celestia. Damn you, Flim and Flam. I did so to save my country. Voice like a song. Hello again, Sister. Worthless harpy. Sun Princess. Tell it to the court. It just keeps getting colder and colder, auntie. Sun, sun, sun! I’m sorry, Luna. She begged you to save her. Call it optimism, if you like. Always there, the inadequacy. I don’t wish to go, no matter what.

She exited out into the Ponyville streets, Twilight at her side. It was early, but the frenzy she’d stirred within the hospital itself had already earned her a small entourage emerging from the old brick building. The few ponies setting up their stalls in the marketplace all dropped what they were doing instantly, gravitating towards Princess Celestia as though she were casting some universal magnetic field.

Her horn lit. The Sun had drifted far from her… she could barely feel it at all, but it was undoubtedly still there. Her link with it remained, but it was so far, their connection stretched so thin so as to be meaningless. Perhaps it would never be as strong as it once was.

It was a worry for another time. Everypony was watching, and waiting, and just this once, Celestia couldn’t let them down.

The sky was unbroken by clouds, and by the fury of the stacks.

One purpose. She gripped the faint and fading Sun, and pulled it close. Her first and her oldest friend, as weary and as proud as she was. She closed her eyes as she focused, her world becoming blackness, and the sounds of hushed and excited pony voices gradually filling the plaza around her within the fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes she spent gradually reforming and refining her connection with the Sun.

She reached a wing to Twilight, and spoke to her softly. “It is quite far, even for me. Would you mind helping an old mare out, Twilight?”

Without hesitation, Twilight lit her own horn. Celestia felt Twilight’s magic intersect with hers immediately, and it gave her strength. She had direction, but she lacked power. She could find the Sun, but she didn’t feel strong enough to raise it on her own. Not dissimilar to the function of the SunTrotter, she supposed. What a humorous irony.

“On my word, Twilight. I will need you to lend your strength to mine. I will cast the magic, and you will refine it.”

“Of course, Celestia.”

She kept her eyes closed the whole while, a small and patient smile on her face as she worked. She didn’t speak, though the din of an occupied town plaza continued to rise in intensity as the morning crept ever closer. She couldn’t make out their specific words, but the tone was all the same.

Eager anticipation. Celestia could certainly empathize.

There was no sense waiting any longer. She had the Sun’s tug in her magic. All that was left was to give it a tug back into orbit.

“Now, Twilight.”

And together, they carried the Sun into the morning sky. Celestia’s legs were shaking, and her maw twisted into a snarl from the effort. It was far, but not out of reach. Not for the two of them. It’s heat and light came gradually, slowly, but inch by inch they peeled away the endless curtain of night and filled it with the muted warmth of a late autumn morning in Equestria.

She opened her eyes as the Sun rose over the distant eastern horizon.

Beside her, Twilight Sparkle was bowing, light flickering out of her horn. Deep, and low, and with her eyes closed in respect. Celestia felt her heart shudder as the gesture trickled it’s way through the gathered ponies in the plaza… instantly from some, a little coyly or hesitantly from others, but the gesture was collective all the same. A hundred bowed heads in her direction. Still a far-cry from the glory she’d once held, a cynical part of her chirped up, but she knew better. Sleep and hopelessness surely must still have its claws around the hearts of the rest of the silent town. Soon enough, they would wake to see the calm beams of sunlight dancing their way through the suspended motes of snow and dust.

It was just another morning in Equestria, after all.

She finished casting the Sun along its path across her sky. She had no doubt she would have to correct its course soon, but for now it ventured along the old and well-trodden celestial path it had always taken. The moment she finished, she felt exhausted, yet her heart felt full.

Beside her, Twilight was still in her bow. Celestia managed a small smirk at the sight, and gently extended a wing to the unicorn’s chin, guiding her head back up to meet her eyes.

“It’s not customary for peers to bow so formally to each other, Crown Minister Twilight.”

Twilight blushed, and then hid the blush with a hoof. “Bit pre-emptive for that, though…”

Celestia nodded her head to the bowing ponies within the plaza. “Is it?”

Twilight turned, and looked a little surprised at the sight. Celestia stifled an amused chuckle--in her haste to show her own respect, it seemed Twilight had completely missed the wider effect of her actions.

A typical side-effect of Twilight Sparkle, Celestia thought. So wise, so brave… and so dreadfully ignorant to the impact of her own wisdom and bravery.

“They’re bowing for you, too, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia told her, softly and patiently, running her telekinesis down Twilight’s bedraggled and messy mane. She’d have to get Twilight a new crown, she told herself idly. The Element of Magic fused with the Sunstone had been a natural look for her during these days of rebirth for Equestria, but she felt they were finally passing that slow and laborious return.

Perhaps something new was in order.

“Perhaps some don’t even know why they bow to you, yet. Then again, for some time now they haven’t known who has truly been moving the Moon about either, have they?”

Twilight’s blush intensified, and she looked to her hooves, speechless.

“From here on out, we stand together, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said, reaching over to grip her forehoof in her own. “For as long as we can.”

“What do we do now?” Twilight whispered, deliberately turning her gaze away from all of the ponies looking intently at the two of them, no doubt wondering the same thing.

“I do believe that right now, the surviving members of Flim Flam Industry’s directorial board will be making haste in their attempts to contact the two of us,” Celestia replied. “Publicly or not, I don’t care, because I am only accepting one stipulation now.”

“Complete and unconditional surrender?”

Celestia shot Twilight a coy smile. “As politely as one can word such a demand.”

“That’ll be a… fun conversation,” Twilight growled out, gritting her teeth.

“You know…” Celestia pursed her lips, tilting her head thoughtfully. “As much as comeuppance and revenge and harshly delivered ‘told ya so’s’ are not my strongest preference… part of me fears it will be.”

At first, Celestia had been surprised at how quickly the Industry had collapsed.

Then, she had realized her mistake in such a belief. It hadn’t been collapsing swiftly at all. For the better part of a year, it had been eroding slowly. Ever since the Hollow Shades, ponies had been fleeing it urgently, as though the Industry itself were a black hole and everypony within its influence were horrified at the prospect of growing any closer to it.

The death of the Industry’s founders hadn’t really helped matters, either. Moreso, when ponies realized that it had happened nearly a decade ago, and they’d simply been spared the details so that the Industry themselves could continue parading the very thing that had killed them. Indeed, the rot that had slowly been consuming Equestria had turned on itself, now, and anypony foalish enough to stay was risked being caught within its decay.

She had respected the Brothers. In the strange, bitter sense that one could respect the ponies who exposed one’s own flaws. They’d been arrogant, and irritating, and she knew they hadn’t ever had the best wishes of her ponies at the forefront of their considerations, but their intelligence and creativity had been useful.

She could extend no such respect to the Industry that had grown from their successes and their inventions, nor the majority of the ponies who had aligned themselves as the Industry’s chief leaders. Of course, there were plenty of respectable ponies within the Industry, but the developing majority of them had all followed Fine Line’s hoofsteps in crossing their moral chasms using the bridge Celestia had extended them.

Celestia did her best to remind herself of all this as she glared at the suited ponies in front of her, one of her hooves tapping impatiently against the table. Still had to think of the ponies. Had to consider their welfare, too.

She felt like scoffing. To Tartarus with that. They’d almost killed her Sun. They didn’t deserve a godsdamned moment of her mercy, anymore.

She was sitting at a polished glass table with half-a-dozen or so well-dressed ponies who’s names Celestia couldn’t be bothered to recall. Cohorts of Spoiled Rich, who had no doubt thrown her directly beneath the streetcar the moment word of her secretly funded SunTrotter Project had gotten out.

They had at least been prompt in their requests to meet with Celestia, following the end of the Fourth Longest Night. They’d offered to come meet her in Ponyville--she was still weak and recovering, after all!--but Celestia would not be patronized. It took more effort than it did during her younger years, but she still stood proud and held her head high as she scanned the faces of the ponies sitting at the table with her.

Nervousness and uncertainty were the predominant emotion. She was sitting with a group of about half-a-dozen ponies who, the last time Celestia had seen them all together, had viewed her as little else but a prisoner. That very thought was a little unsettling to consider, but she supposed it framed the entire morality of these ponies into staggering focus for her. She didn’t know half of them, and the other half she knew only through the some indescribable half-remembered context. Nobles, or mayors, or capitalists of note from across Equestria. Anypony who had been blinded enough by greed to know about her imprisonment without caring about doing much about it.

Celestia figured she would do her best to remember her own little morals about mercy. She doubted Twilight would care so much, though, and she did not imagine she would interfere too much with her Crown Minister’s judgment.

Celestia was the first to speak, and she preceded it with a short little laugh. “Did anypony here seriously imagine this conversation taking place a year ago? Goodness, wouldn’t things have been so much simpler if I’d just written that damned scroll, hrm?”

A few of the gathered ponies looked away, and nopony spoke up. Some nostalgic part of Celestia’s brain filled the void with some response long forgotten, snarled to her by Spoiled Rich in not dissimilar circumstances, while she stood at the same place on the table with an inhibitor strapped to her horn.

“But, well. It seems things did not play out quite so simply,” Celestia continued on in absence of a response. “And that’s why we’re here with so many empty seats, figuring out where to go now. Now, as far as I can see things, there’s two real options on the table. We call an emergency vote for the Equestrian people to decide who will be taking immediate control of the Industry following Spoiled Rich’s resignation, or, we simply streamline the process and I take over that role by default of apparently being the only pony anyone with a brain is capable of trusting, right now.”

Her callous, snarky tone garnered a few glares, but no real objections from the gathered company of ponies who Celestia doubted had ever had to make legitimate decisions in their lives. One suited stallion did speak up, thank goodness, and even precluded his comment with a respectful nod towards her.

“Most of the factories have already refused to go back to work without the stipulation that you will be chiefly in charge of them henceforth.”

“Thank you, dear.” Celestia smiled. “I will be completely honest, I have already made this decision in my head the moment you ponies thrust Equestria into eternal night without their consent. The only real ambiguous path forwards for me, personally, is how I should go about treating you ponies. I have plenty of ideas for reforming the factories and gradually easing back their output to a manageable and economically responsible point. What I am uncertain about is what particular usage I have for ponies who’s primary justification for being in the position to be speaking to me here is predominantly the limitless nature of their own greed.”

Beside her, Twilight was trying her hardest to keep her expression neutral. Celestia could see the hints of a smirk lining her frown, threatening to give away her attempt at professional demeanor. Truthfully, a mischievous part of Celestia didn’t mind at all. Twilight Sparkle had been starved for something resembling a victory over these ponies for her entire life, and now here it was playing out in front of her. Could she seriously fault the mare for feeling a little bit pleased?

Another pony--a mare, this time, spoke up. Her voice quiet and restrained, but she was another face Celestia recalled seeing at the table, during her imprisonment. “Miss Celestia…”

Celestia tilted her head. “Try that again, dear.”

“Sorry, sorry. Princess Celestia…” She swiftly corrected herself. Celestia smiled. “But, to be clear… you’re implying severance, yes?”

Beside her, Twilight couldn’t seem to contain herself any further. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Yes indeed.” Celestia nodded. “A suspension from politics effective immediately is chiefly my main initial demand.”

And then, she could worry about impeachment trials and redistribution of their personal assets, the more she learned about how much of such had been ill-gotten. But she wasn’t fool enough to mention that at the table.

“I have already been in contact with many defectors from your corporation interested in returning as my Cabinet, so. I truthfully don’t have any need for more, ahem… assistance, from any of you ponies. Now, truth be told, I believe the wise decision for the majority of you ponies would be to accept this offer to stay out of my mane for the time being. I’m not the only one discontent with your presence, after all.”

“Approval rating dropped from fourty-eight percent prior to the SunTrotter, to uh...” Twilight Sparkle consulted her notes tucked away into a messenger bag in a semi-organized manner. She let out a little snorting laugh at the figure she saw. “Fifteen percent after. Ouch. Never rains but it pours, eh?”

“Yes, well.” A bit of indignance from the side of the table across from Twilight and Celestia. “That is why we’re here discussing what we’re to do next.”

“Well, what you are to do next is stop saying we in reference to my plans for this nation,” Celestia replied shortly. “I’ll go over the terms of your severance at some point after official announcement that I am retaking the throne.”

“Which is to occur?”

Celestia shared a glance with Twilight. “Well, Crown Minister to-be?”

“I can be ready in as little as tomorrow. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

“Wonderful. Then it is to occur as swiftly as it takes for you ponies to haul that old throne and wonderful oak desk of mine out of storage.” Celestia rose to her hooves, somehow feeling stronger in that moment than after any of the life-endangering stunts that had framed her legacy. “Oh. And my golden crown, too. I do quite miss that old regalia.”

A cool autumn evening sprawled out from beyond a frost-fringed window.

A radio microphone on the table before her, alongside her golden crown. Recovered and returned to her possession by the Royal Guard, though she’d had to temporarily part with it in order to fit the pair of headphones atop her head. She did so calmly, immediately taking a long sip of her second cup of tea and closing her eyes to enjoy both the taste and the soothing classical number drizzling into her ears from the blinking radio panel before her.

A lovely blend of peppermint and lavender. A friend of Twilight’s had given it to her, promising that the ‘all-natural remedies and jazz’ would help clear her throat and stave back some of the worst of her coughing. She wasn’t necessarily worried about such, but it would absolutely be an inconvenience. As would her newfound shortness of breath. Truthfully, she found herself simply enjoying the taste of the tea itself, and treating its alleged benefits as a nice little bonus.

She finished her tea just as the classical number ended (The second-to-last movement of Bayhooven’s String Quartet No. 13 in B flat, if Celestia’s memory served her right), setting her tea down on the desk before her and breathing out a long exhale to steady her nerves.

Just another speech, she reminded herself, waiting for the all-clear from the radio technician on the other side of the glass. The ponies here were familiar with her at this point, a strange relationship bordering on friendship and colleagues. As much a member of Celestia’s blooming sphere of influence as the ponies who’d served her Cabinet officially in years passed.

Her speech was there, written in hazed bullet-points instead of any concrete stream of dialogue. She’d been doing this for long enough that she’d found herself more comfortable simply speaking as herself, than as any over-considered reflection of her thoughts. Part of her knew ‘winging it’ wasn’t a necessarily wise approach for something quite so severe, but another part of her felt that the spontaneous power of unconsidered words to be at least as effective and genuine.

The technician smiled at her, and gave her a single nod as the last of the cellos and violas serenaded them into silence. Clearing her throat, Celestia levitated the microphone closer and began.

“Ponies of Equestria, good evening. My name is Celestia. I am speaking to you candidly across all available radio networks, not as a leader or as an alicorn or as a ‘Sun Princess’ or whatever term endears you the most… but as a mare who is tired. Tired of all of the lies spewed to us by a fractured, rotting government. Tired of watching the sand in the proverbial hourglass of this old world’s resources tumble down every passing day. Most importantly, I am tired of standing by on the sidelines and praying that things will get better.

“When I left the throne, twelve years ago, I could not possibly have left it in a worse place. I still relive the horrors of the Crystal War, the changeling attacks, and Tirek’s rampage often. I have grown to understand that some wounds are not of a physical nature, and that they can affect an entire nation at once. I… I truly wish I had been there to have helped rebuild our frightened nation, when my help could surely have been of use. I wish I could have been there for the Crystal Ponies, as they faced persecution simply through implicit association with a former tyrant's hatred and wrath. Or the thestrals, as they watched their homelands stolen away, reduced to dust before them. Or any of the unfortunate thousands of ponies who carried these scars--physical, or emotional--with them long after these conflicts ceased.

“I could not, however. I could not, because I was not permitted to. For twelve years, the government of this nation had seen fit to keep me away from you, because my very existence presented to them a glaring contradiction. A lie, which formed the bedrock of all the beliefs that stemmed from this dark age in Equestrian history. Lies, compounded upon fears, and sold to you as your own beliefs.

“For about that long, my political peer and my dearest friend Twilight Sparkle has been addressing these lies. I know that her efforts may sometimes seem misguided, but she has within her the most magical, most compassionate heart. Her fight to share the truth of Equestria with you did not come from some self-righteous desire to contradict the norm. It came from an unshakable belief that perhaps things could be better for the ponies that the government in place had been telling you to ignore and forget.

“I don’t need to tell you any of this, truthfully, for I have watched it echoed back at me in the week or so following my gradual recovery. Truth be told, there is often little to do while waiting for doctors and nurses than listening to the radio, and I have been doing plenty of that and learning plenty of what has come from the past little while. If I’m allowed to be candidly metaphorical… I once believed that the truth of our nation would present itself slowly, as a river gently babbles on to some greater body of water further on. Now, though, I see that the result was more like one of a dam bursting. The SunTrotter’s explosion was the catalyst, and the ensuing fallout has been impossible for the Industry to deny any longer.

“I have talked at lengths now, largely about things most listeners are aware of. I have done so because I wish to contextualize our current place in time. It is… eerily reminiscent of one twelve years ago. A long, hopeless eternal night, and a dramatic environmental catastrophe that has left many frightened, displaced, alone, and in danger. This time, however, I am not imprisoned unjustly. I am here, and I am alive, and I don’t wish to stand by and let Flim Flam Industry continue to reap upon your fears and worries any longer.

“I am choosing to step in and take immediate control of the Equestrian Government effective the moment this broadcast concludes. I am doing so in the interest of guiding Equestria back towards a position of stable normalcy. Because for every inch of our cities that expand, our once beautiful land shrinks. For every pony that dies in the factories in service of a greedy industry lies a grieving family in wait. The equine cost of Flim Flam Industry’s greed is one I am no longer prepared to abide by.

“For those who are nervous about the stability of this transfer of power… it is an agreement that has already been struck. I have been sitting upon my throne for the better part of the morning--dusty though it was upon my finding it. The ponies of Flim Flam Industry have largely been accommodating towards this transfer, for I believe they wish for a return to a place of normalcy at least as much as I do. After all, the greater majority of them were not entirely aware of the sins of their highest governing bodies. A greater majority of them did not know about the alicorn the Industry had been keeping chained up within their basement. To those individuals, caught in a web of lies that has changed what the past twelve years of their lives may have meant, I offer my sympathies.

“To the others, who have used fear as a weapon--who have reaped it to turn ponies against each other, against myself, against themselves, I apologize. I apologize for my strength, or for my weakness, or for my indecision. For whatever may inspire that fear in you. I can only hope that what I do will be what frames me, not what I am. This is in part why I am proposing the construction of a third, and final SunTrotter Facility, as a hypothetical plan for ensuring the Sun’s survival in the event of future tragedy. One who’s construction I intend to oversee, and assist with, and which will be built with safety as our initial priority. This is not a replacement for my own Sun-raising duties, but merely a back-up plan. One placed in mortal hooves, in the event that mine become unable to carry on my duty.

“Concerns with this shift in power are understandable. The concerns of my subjects have always been the backbone of my views for our nation’s future, and how we handle ourselves moving forwards. I used to listen to them in my Day Court, and I found myself enraptured, daily, by the stories and issues my subjects brough me. Alas, no such Day Court exists anymore, at least to the capacity I had twelve years ago. I will be doing my best to reimplement it and provide a public platform where my citizens might once again voice their discontent or their ideas. I am speaking to you across the nation all at once; we have technologies which might bridge the gaps between us more easily than ever before, and I promise that nopony will ever be left without a voice again. Expect to hear me via this medium again, and likewise expect to be able to reach and speak to me via it, as well.

“Thank you for listening to an old mare share her thoughts, Equestria. Please, be with each other during these times. Lend a hoof to ponies who need help, and share a smile with ponies who need happiness. I know we live in frightening times, but we are bigger as Equestrians and as ponies than any one of us will ever be by ourselves. Yours in Royal Servitude, Princess Celestia, saying goodnight.”

Celestia clicked off her microphone and removed the headphones from atop her mane, replacing them with her golden crown once again. She gave the radio tech a grateful nod as he went back to work, and he returned it with a wordless smile of his own. Shuffling out into the reception area of the New Canterlot Public Radio building, Celestia nodded to the secretaries who responded to her exit with respectful bows.

More ponies were waiting outside the station itself for her. Rumours of her return had been trickling through Equestria for the better part of a day, and the verification of such gave way to instantaneous excitement. A few cameras flashed, and a great many reporters had already begun swarming close to her, every single one of them barking over each other in feeble attempts to have their voices heard. Giving the crowd a patient smile and raising a hoof to politely request silence, Celestia spoke.

“I will be more than happy to talk with reporters as soon as I’m properly situated back in the Canterlot Palace. My secretaries Raven Inkwell and Fine Line will be more than content finding a timeslot for all of you. For now, I have a friend I am somewhat worried about, and I would like to go check on her.”

Spreading her wings without anything further to say, Celestia carried herself over the city streets. Snow was falling gently down from the mid-November sky, drizzling her braided mane and tail with little specks of fading white. A few more cameras flashed behind her, and Celestia felt a small tinge of guilt to be leaving them with so many questions.

And yet, they weren’t questions being demanded of her, anymore, she supposed. Questions from subjects, delivered to the mare who they thought might be able to help them. A far-cry from the first time she had left the New Canterlot Public Radio Station, amidst jeers and harshly screamed demands that she return to her retirement…

She cleared the tallest of the buildings ascending into the sky, her horn aglow--first to check on her Sun, and then to cast a thin little filter of fresh air a few feet out from her.

She could not find the Sun at first, but it was there somewhere. A little off-track, as it had been as of late. Yet that was plenty remediable, so long as somepony cared enough to do so. An old friend, in need of a little help and guidance that she was more than happy to provide. She flapped her weary wings once, twice, a dozen times, every one feeling stronger than the last, guiding herself forwards into the hazy evening skies.

There was much to be done, and much more that she could do now that she knew she wasn’t alone in doing it.

Celestia smiled as she flew on. There it was! The Sun! For a few moments, it was all that would matter to her. She watched as it was brought slowly down, easing below the horizon as the wondrous expanse of inky black overtook the plain of light above her. Cool, beautiful moonlight soon filled what her Sun had abandoned, lighting the night sky over Equestria and doing its best to ease the worries of all the fearfully sleeping little ponies below.

And onwards, Celestia flew into the blooming night around her.

Author's Note

The Drift

Celestia found Twilight exactly where she’d expected to find her.

Her crown had been placed atop the gleaming stone of Shining Armor’s grave, and she was resting on the snow with her legs folded and her eyes closed. Her breathing rose in pluming vapours into the darkling autumn sky, and she perked an ear as Celestia’s hooves crunching through the snow signalled her arrival.

“Hello, dear.” Celestia greeted Twilight with a nuzzle, settling down onto the snow next to her and taking her in a wing.

"It... it doesn't get easier, does it?" Twilight opened her eyes, not to look at Celestia but instead to stare directly ahead at the fresh engravings on her brother’s tombstone.

Celestia exhaled. "For myself? It... comes and goes, I find. There are nightmares, still, but... well, a wise and kind and loving mare has seen to those quite well." Celestia smiled at Twilight, but she didn’t seem to reciprocate it, instead still starting ahead. Sombrely, Celestia continued. "Other times, there are days when... when I think of my sister, and the memory feels... empty. As though I'm looking into a riverbed that I know should be flowing with life, but it just... isn't. I cannot even say that there's nothing there, because the absence of something is itself all that remains."

"And other days?"

Celestia managed a weary smile. "Other days, I think of a night with her, spent flying under the stars. I think of two young mares still fresh in their crowns, giggling and laughing at the silliness of a budding Grand Galloping Gala. I think of the decades of love between the two of us, and how much it shaped me into the mare I’ve become. So many ponies see me as this... this wise figurehead. This… statue, by whom so many other leaders should be measured. What they don't know is... I'm... I'm as much myself as I am an amalgamation of all the best memories of the ponies who have come and gone from my life."

"That... that must be hard."

"Sometimes it is. Oftentimes, though... it gives me peace. It tells me that... if those ponies were to meet me again, as I am now, after so many years... they might still like me for the mare I am. We might still rekindle the same love that so much time has failed to steal away. And that is humbling. It makes me feel... mortal.”

“I just... I keep thinking of all the times my brother... tried to call me. All the times I refused to answer, or refused his offers to meet, or swore at him... Celestia, it doesn't feel like I'll ever stop feeling that…”

“Regret is... early. It strikes hard and fast, and it often does so without reason. It invents or distorts situations in order to manifest itself as efficiently as possible. It is simply... the way it is, for ponies like us. Victims of our own self-doubt, you and me both. But Twilight, what I say next is the important part... Regret, hatred, anger, fear… those strike early, but they don’t always crystallize the way the other emotions do. Love... I’ve found that that crystallizes with ease.”

‘“Let's not be strangers anymore…’” Twilight breathed out. "It's... it's the last thing I can remember saying to him. I’ll never get the chance to follow up on that. Not because I didn’t want to, or because he didn’t. The chance was just… stolen from us. How is that fair, Celestia?”

“It is not. And you are right to be angered by it.”

“And then, they almost stole you from me. It would’ve been over for me if they would have. I would have had no one. I would’ve been no one.”

“Now that just isn’t true at all.” Celestia shook her head. “You would be the unicorn who would bring the Sun back to Equestria.”

Twilight scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“You would have, Twilight. It might take you years. Decades. But you would have.”

Twilight levitated her crown off of the tombstone, turning it over and over in her magic. Running her aura over the meticulous engravings and the carefully polished gemstones. “That’s really kind of you to say, Celestia, but I’m afraid I just don’t believe you.”

“That is because you sometimes neglect to include yourself in your own kindness, Twilight Sparkle.” Celestia nodded her head to Shining Armor’s grave. “Your brother used to say that about you, you know.”

“Did he?”

“He did. I mean, granted, he was talking about a magically gifted little filly who ponies just couldn’t seem to stop from pulling all-nighters hidden beneath her covers reading, but I do believe the effect is the same.”

Despite everything, Twilight managed a little chuckle. “Yeah. He caught me a few times. Never ratted me out to mom, though, so I guess I have that to thank him for.”

“He would be so proud of the mare you’ve grown into, Twilight.”

“Yeah, well. He won’t be anymore.” Twilight looked away again, her ears sinking back down against her head. “Not ever again. I waited long enough to guarantee that.”

“Twilight…”

“No, Celestia. I need to carry some of this. Because it’s on me. Maybe not… maybe not losing him. But never finding him before, when I had the chance. Refusing to be the sister he needed? That’s on me.”

“Dear, please. I know you think it’s what’s fair to him, but...”

“I know how much Luna’s scars hurt you, Celestia.” Twilight cut in before Celestia could finish. “I know how you carry that weight. This is mine, and I deserve to carry it. Don't you dare deny me that. I can do my damnedest to make sure the ponies responsible pay--and believe me, I will--but even that will never wipe away the truth that I deserve to share that guilt myself."

“Twilight, trust me when I say that doing so is not the penance you think it is. Your brother loved you. Your brother would have given anything to protect you. And he certainly would be the first to chide you for thinking that you deserve to drag yourself down over what was done to him.”

“Then what? I just forget? I just clean my hooves of what I could’ve done to help him? Like, ‘Oh well, I tried!’” A bitter edge had crept into Twilight’s voice--it didn’t feel as though it was directed at Celestia, though. More directed at the icy graveyard around them instead.

“No…” Celestia shook her head slowly. “But… well, you already know the answer to that problem yourself. I’ve seen you do it yourself, for me. When I slip into my nightmares of Luna, or Cadance. When the demons of my guilt start to claw at me, and you swoop in to help. To save the day. You do not do so by simply purging those demons in wondrous flashes of light. You do so by reminding me that they do not have to be alone. For every vivid reminder of my failings, you’ve shown me a dozen of my strengths. For every bitter trauma reminding me of my sister, you’ve reminded me that at one point, we’d had a bond that was unshakable, with which we accomplished great things and helped many ponies."

Twilight sighed. “I guess. I don't know."

“My point, Twilight, is this; When things get too much for you, don’t retreat backwards in your own guilt. Don’t make that mistake as I did, because we all deserve happiness and nopony should have to intentionally withhold it from themselves. The ponies responsible for your brothers death will be brought to justice. And until that happens, and for as long as you need after, you have ponies who are here for you, and who care for you, no matter what.”

“Maybe.” Twilight shrugged, running a hoof across the snow. “I mean. I only have a hoof-full of friends.”

“And you trust them all with quite a lot, from what I gather. Friendship isn’t a numbers game, Twilight. There’s no ‘winning’ friendship, and certainly not something you’d hope to do so by amounting as many as possible. You’re loved, Twilight, and you’re not alone. And sometimes, remembering that is all you will need.”

“And other times?”

Celestia smiled wearily. “As I said. It comes and goes. Losing somepony is a long and winding journey. But, so long as you hold the love you felt for your brother close to you, and as long as you have fond memories of him in your heart, you will always find the path.”

“I’ll… I’ll try,” Twilight said, and as Celestia looked into her eyes, she knew that she meant it. “I’m sorry, Celestia.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“For ditching you in New Canterlot. Supposed to be there for you. Supposed to be your second in command.”

Celestia laughed. “Don’t be silly, Twilight. I can handle a simple little return speech on my lonesome.”

“That’s obvious. I more meant for the emotional end of things.”

“Ah, yes. Well, your emotions matter to me as much as mine do to you. Join me when you feel ready to, and not a moment sooner.” Celestia outstretched a wing towards Twilight’s side--not to touch it, but merely to point it out. “How’s the barrel? Still hurting?”

Twilight shrugged. “A bit, yeah. Might get it looked at if it continues.”

“Yes, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant process for me, either.”

“W-what wasn’t?”

Celestia gave Twilight a coy look, folding her wings back against her side for emphasis. Twilight seemed to understand the gesture, and forced a nervous little chuckle herself.

“Okay then, Celestia.” Twilight swished her tail, rising to her hooves only to shake off the snow that had been gathering there, before sitting back down once again. "How did I do with the Sun?"

"Wonderfully, Twilight. I had meant to say; the sunset was particularly gorgeous on the flight in."

Twilight smiled. "Still a little bummed I can only lower it."

"Please, don't be so critical of yourself. You will build a connection with it in the months to follow. At the rate you are learning, I would not be surprised to see you raising it in a year's time, Sunstone or not."

Twilight looked away, a sheepish little blush on her face. “I guess we'll see."

Silence fell between them again. Somewhere in the cemetery, a pair of crows were bickering, and the wind blew softly through the wispy tree branches now naked of their leaves.

"How about you?" Twilight glanced over to Celestia. "How are you faring?”

Celestia waved a hoof. “I… think things are going okay.”

“You think?” Twilight rose an eyebrow. “But…?”

“I don’t know.” Celestia shrugged. “It’s a silly worry, and only an occasional one.”

“Trust me, I know how those feel.” Twilight smiled. “Go on, Celestia. I’m listening.”

“It just… feels like the world went… wrong, somewhere. Like we somehow got shunted off course, and no matter how much we try to correct our path, what’s done has already been done. Maybe we had time to change where we’re going, but part of me worries… part of me worries that it’s still too late, even with myself in power once again. I worry that no matter what, the happy ending I want is… is a dream of mine I’m telling myself is true to keep the pain of the end from stinging too much.”

Twilight bit her lip. “I know what you mean. Where do you... think that point was? Where we got off course?”

“I do not know for certain. I’ve had plenty of time to think of it, though, and in that time I’ve had a few theories. Tirek seems a turning point, certainly, but I think it all went wrong before. Before Nightmare Moon’s return, even.”

“Well. I can tell you where my life went wrong. The bloody entrance exam. Everything up to that point… my future was just so bright. And everything since… it’s like nothing has turned out the way I wanted it to. Everything keeps breaking apart, and I do my best to put it back together again, and every time I do, I lose another piece. I’m terrified that one day, there’ll be nothing left to put back together anymore.”

Celestia gave a single nod. “Well. For what it’s worth, Twilight… I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Everything that makes you up, all these things you claim to be failures or cracks or imperfections… to me, they are each part of an ever-growing list of things that make you the most perfect mare I’ve known in all my days.”

Twilight glanced at Celestia with a doubtful look, though her skepticism slowly vanished as she met Celestia’s eyes. Celestia had been wary of so many things in her life, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt or exaggeration in anything she could possibly say about Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight herself did not answer, and the two fell silent. Celestia hacked out a single cough which might as well have been a grenade going off beside them, for all the response it earned from Twilight.

A sideways look, as sadness and sympathy replaced her skepticism.

“I still want this to last, Celestia. This… this thing we have. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more short-lived than it deserves to be.”

“It’s just a cough, Twilight. I’ll get better.”

Twilight looked away.

“Why is it so hard to believe you?” she whispered. "Why do I know that you're only telling me what I want to hear?”

“Perhaps it is because you are right, and I don’t want to admit it. But… perhaps it is simply because you still don’t believe that you deserve a happy ending.”

“As if you believe you deserve one?” Twilight managed a chuckle, but it was strained and sad instead of lively and breezy. “You hypocrite.”

“Yes, well. We’re both learning, aren’t we? We’re both helping each other.”

She received no response from Twilight. She continued staring straight ahead at her brother’s tombstone.

“Twilight,” Celestia said. “I promised you I wouldn’t give up. I promised you I would fight forever to stay a part of this world. Now, I’m not trying to be rude, but I see little else before you but a choice. You can trust me in that regard and do your best to help me achieve that goal, or you can continue assuming the worst will happen and letting it drag you down into yourself. But I meant what I promised you. I will fight forever.”

Twilight was silent again, for nearly a minute.

Finally, she spoke again, her voice a tiny little whisper.

“Okay.”

Twilight rested her head on Celestia, and Celestia in turn took Twilight beneath her wing. The cemetery was desolate, and sombre, and the night grew colder and darker by the moment, but Celestia would have been content if it was the last moment she was ever afforded.

Author's Note

Click here for a brief afterword.

And here we are at the end. Thank you all so much for reading, after all these words and all these years it's taken me to finally get to this point. This story developed into more of a passion project than I ever would have imagined, and it hasn't always been easy to bring it forwards.

Regardless, thank you all for reading and for commenting and for being an infinite source of support while I've been working on this story. It means more than I could ever say.

Only Two Bits A Bottle

Celestia awoke.

She blinked as she adapted to the dim light, the last traces of some dream or nightmare lingering only for a minute on her confused mind, as the rest of her terrible reality came into focus like a distorted sunset dancing off rippling ocean waves.

She hated this time of day, this period of momentary confusion, because after the confusion always came the same thing. Realization. Realization that the only thing her eyes were awaking to was sharp electric light and four plain brick walls.

The confusion passed. The realization set in. Quick on its tails were dread, and fear and…

“Hmm…” Celestia pursed her lips, casting her blanket aside as she rose from her bed.

An angry, fang-filled grin. A flare of blue magic, and another flare of yellow cutting it short. A terrible, mirthless cackle. A weeping white alicorn, covered in blood that she wished desperately could have been her own.

Realization. Dread. Fear.

Guilt.

Celestia smiled with bitter familiarity. There it was. It had taken a little longer than normal, but it had come all the same. Sweet, terrible guilt. It clawed at her mind, it begged her to finally stop, and it also drove her forwards through each day.

That wasn’t to say her days entailed a whole lot now, though.

She groaned in pain as her hooves touched ground. Ten years. Ten bloody years, and still it was there. If anything, the otherworldly pain had only grown in intensity. As she stumbled up, her muscles singing out their protest, she carried out her familiar ritual. Some ponies rose and greeted a loved one, some sent thankful words to a deity above for another glorious sunrise....

As Celestia rose, she had a ritual, too, as familiar names echoed through her mind and off her wayward lips in synchronization with her throbbing pain.

“Damn you, Discord. Damn you, Sombra. Damn you, Chrysalis. Damn you especially, Tirek…”

A crippled, throbbing wing shot memories of the changeling queen almost rending it off with sharp fangs. A splotch of mismatched, perpetually burnt flesh reminded her of the blast of chaos magic that Discord had managed to discharge at her despite being no more than a stone statue. A twisted horn filled with holes from when Tirek had attempted to steal her magic. When she coughed, it felt as though something inside her had been jarred loose, but she knew better; the unicorns might’ve been able to remove the crystal spear that one of Sombra’s soldiers had impaled her with, but they could not reverse the damage its enchanted head had done to her. It felt as though her own insides were trying to devour themselves, but fortunately her alicorn magic had prevented the sensation from escalating any further. Still, she had never truly healed completely, and in her present situation she truly couldn’t.

As she looked at the frowning mare in the mirror (one of the few interesting things in the plain room she called home), she greeted her with a pained, forced smile that looked terrible on this strange mare's face as she imitated it in synchronization.

As her one eye focused on the revolting patch of red flesh that was the other, another name entered her mind, joining the perpetual chant of childish insult.

“Damn you, Lu—”

Celestia stopped.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a few motionless seconds.

She rose a hoof and wiped the tears streaking from her one good eye.

Sadly, she offered a correction. “I’m sorry, Luna. I love you.”

Celestia turned from the mirror. She hated the mirror. She should have smashed it long ago, but in her sleep she imagined it would be replaced once again, out of punishment or out of kindness she truly did not know.

Opposite the mirror, at the foot of her plain and featureless bed, was an old grandfather clock that she regarded with passing curiosity. A relic of a time that seemed so much better. One of the few relics she had left, her own self aside.

5:38. She smiled at the time, and noted that it was the first time in three months that she had risen on her own accord. No blaring alarm, no aggressive shoves, no harsh jolts of electricity or cackling laughter. Simply a shudder of fluttering eyelids—eyelid—and a new day.

That, at least, was nice.

In another corner of the brick-wall room was a bookshelf. Celestia grabbed a novel at random and took to staring at the blurred words on the page. Her glasses were somewhere… heavens knew she needed them now, but even if the words were legible, Celestia’s mind was elsewhere.

Ten bloody years. Perhaps eleven, in several months.

Eleven years without feeling the warmth of her own sun. Eleven years, a prisoner at the mercy of her own subjects.

If only they could have been different. If only she could have been a better sister, then perhaps she could have been a better friend, and a better aunt. And… a better teacher.

Now, she was left alone, and with nopony else to blame but herself, no matter how many names she cursed upon waking.

In exactly one hour and twenty two minutes, the alarm did sound, but she was already awake. Surely they should have seen. The moment she heard it blare, she rose from her bed, giving the ponies on the other side of the sweeping surveillance camera’s eye a small smile as she grabbed a glowing metal ring from her nightstand and brought it around her cracked and broken horn.

It sent uncomfortable tingles down her body, but she was used to it, and they were only temporary anyways. The magic inhibitor pulsed twice, and then Celestia felt its magic flow enter into her own, negating its effects.

To a limited extent. If Celestia truly wished, she could melt the damn thing into ash. But she knew it would do nothing but waste her own time.

Wake up. Leave her room. Do her job. Return to her room. Repeat. Might as well keep to the schedule.

The moment her inhibitor was on, a section of the brick wall slid open. Celestia squinted at the sudden unwelcome electric light, a synthetic solar eclipse nearly blinding her untrained eye.

As her vision recovered from the familiar assault, a young mare stepped forwards. Her features were blurred, but when Celestia reached for her eyeglasses on her nightstand, she saw that the mare was greeting her with sympathetic eyes and a small smile. She was also holding a platter containing the princess's breakfast, which she placed on Celestia’s vanity as she trotted in.

“Good morning, Your Majesty!”

“Same to yourself, Raven,” Celestia nodded. In one universe, long ago, this young mare (hardly young anymore, Celestia corrected herself) was her assistant and friend. Then again, that truly had not changed too drastically.

“A 7 AM sunrise?” Celestia questioned. “What month is it again?”

“September, Your Majesty. September 24th.”

“Hm. I seem to have lost track.”

“I can have another calendar brought to you, Princess,” Raven suggested.

“I could do without the reminder,” Celestia shook her head. “But I suppose it is my duty. The only one I have, now.”

Raven said nothing. It was a topic she did not like speaking about, and Celestia doubted the powers that be liked her talking about it either. It was already against their will that Raven was allowed to be her assistant, but when Celestia had threatened not to raise the sun, they had hardly been presented a choice.

Back in those days, they had been willing to succumb to her whims out of fear of the threats she made. But time had passed and they had evidently become much more confident. Celestia doubted she could have done the same today; they would have called her bluff and laughed at her wild claim.

“How is the surface, Raven?” Celestia asked, trotting into the next room, the one with the blinding white light. “Same old?”

“Mostly, yes,” Raven replied, trotting after her former Princess.

“Have they started selling bottled sterilized air, yet?” Celestia asked, the remark somewhere on the threshold between somber and joking.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s only a matter of time,” Raven laughed, all the while casting nervous glances at the security camera looming in the second room, also.

Celestia caught the glance and frowned.

“Have you passed on my request?” she questioned.

“Yeah. They’re still saying no.”

“Did you make sure to say ‘please?’” Celestia said sarcastically, rolling her one good eye. “Just an hour is all I ask. One hour of sunlight.”

Celestia came to a full halt, turning to meet Raven’s eyes. The mare looked at the ground in guilt and fear, refusing to meet Celestia’s begging expression.

“One hour.”

Raven was silent. She glanced again at the surveillance camera. The minutes ticked by… 7:03… a later sunrise than scheduled, but Celestia didn’t care if she displeased anypony with her harmless delay.

“I’m dying, Raven,” Celestia said solemnly, abruptly. Best get her point through swiftly. Not that it was something that came to Raven as news.

“I know,” the mare said softly.

“I need the sunlight. My injuries won’t heal until I feel it.”

“I know,” Raven said again. “They do, too. They’re trying to… find a solution.”

Find a solution. Celestia snorted. They'd been trying to find a solution for four years, and they had been presenting poor Raven with "no comment" every time Celestia posed her request.

“Their solution doesn’t involve me,” Celestia vocalized Raven's implied premises. She had in her mind an image of ponies in lab-coats, ponies with elaborate contraptions, ponies with equipment pointed at the sun. “It cannot be done. They can do a lot with their machinery and inventions, sure. But the sun needs my magic to be risen.”

More silence. The clock ticked on. 7:06. A late sunrise indeed.

“I’ll ask again,” Raven gave up her fruitless, duty-obligated protests. “For you, Princess.”

“Can I speak with them?”

“I’ll ask,” Raven repeated, firmly this time. “The sun, Princess…”

“Yes, you are quite right,” Celestia nodded. She turned and trotted into the room proper. It was considerably more plain and featureless than Celestia’s room—if that could be believed—and yet as if by some cruel joke it was considerably brighter, allowing every corner to be coated in harsh white light.

The only thing of note besides another surveillance camera and an overhanging lighting fixture was a long tube like device, that soared upwards through the ceiling. When Celestia had first seen it, she had mistaken it for a telescope, but that hadn’t made sense. She did not quite know where she was, but she knew it was underground. Far underground.

That was the purpose of the telescope—or, Sun Trotter 2000, as its colourful paint job boasted—to allow her magic to bridge through the layers of rock dividing her from the surface. Complicated dials and cables ran across every inch of the device, and on the surface, Celestia knew there was some strange electric dish pointed directly at her sun that actually helped her magic get to the sun much easier. In her growing weakness, Celestia was at least relieved for that.

Despite its complexity, using the device was a simple affair of flipping a switch and bringing her horn into a hole of precise dimensions that fit around it like a set of comfortable slippers. She turned the machine on and brought her hoof into its midst, and as she did she felt the magic inhibitor around her horn temporarily shut off as her magic was allowed to flow into the machine and nowhere else.

Celestia found the sun’s tug after having to sift through a thick layer of overhanging smoke and smog. Every dawn, there was a little more. Eventually she found the sun’s link, and with a small smile she welcomed it like an old friend. If it could be called such; it was perhaps her last one left.

It was also more or less the only reason she was still alive.

She had always disliked Flim and Flam, but her dislike hardly justified action or activity. They were pompous and irritating, but more or less harmless. Between changeling invasions, large-scale war, and magic-devouring demons, Celestia had had bigger priorities.

She never would have imagined Flim and Flam were such villains themselves. But when she had defeated Tirek—trotting too close to the gates of death herself—she had swiftly found out. Her mana pools empty, her link to the sun shattered until they refilled… the period had become known as the Third Longest Night. Yet, where most ponies looked with fear and confusion, Flim and Flam, ever the optimists, saw opportunity in the weakened princess.

A murderer, they had called her from their soap box. A killer of kin, a slayer of the changeling race, and a crazy old mare who would one day bring a fiery destruction for all. A tyrant and a liar who claimed to have control over the sun and moon which in reality orbited the planet by themselves. Equestria would be better without her, they claimed.

It had taken two fast talking, universally loved business ponies to turn the will of the majority of Celestia’s subjects around. And she had hardly been in any state to fight them off with her body still bearing the injuries of too many battles, not that she could ever bring herself to turn her magic towards marginally innocent ponies.

Celestia guided the sun into the sky, hoping for the ponies she could not see that the smog was not thick enough to obscure its presence. Then, she removed her horn from the Sun Trotter 2000, felt the tingle of the magic inhibitor resume, and turned from the room to return to her own. She traveled the distance like a ghost, brushing past Raven as if she were not there.

“See you tomorrow, Your Majesty!” the aging mare called after her. “I’ll pass on your request to the bigwigs up top!”

Celestia muttered a distant ‘thank you’, creeping into her room where the stone wall once again closed behind her, leaving the Princess of the Sun alone to preside over her kingdom.

As much as she despised them, Celestia was forced to admit to herself that the Flim Flam Brothers had perhaps been greatly beneficial to saving Equestria from the depths of despair it had been flung into.

Dark battlefields and bloodied ponies had greatly filled Celestia’s memories of the wars against Sombra, but the truth was those battlefields hardly represented Equestria during those times. They had held the Crystal Empire back well enough, and Equestria’s innocents had remained out of the fray of violence.

Of course, they still dwelled in the depths of despair. War time efforts became the priority. Up North, the fields were blood soaked and the skies were filled with the smoke of mortar blasts. Down South, the fields were stripped clear of harvest and the skies were filled with the smoke of industrial smokestacks. As terrible as the war against Sombra had been, it had helped lift Equestria’s economy from the dumps The Second Long Night had flung them into.

Flim Flam Industry hadn’t been born in that war, but it might as well have been. From a tiny little entrepreneurship, it grew to a massive corporation. The two stallions had what Equestria needed in those times: cleverness and creativity. And, at the cost of a few forests and a trace amount of unsullied skies, Equestria was given hope and progress.

Celestia did her best to remind herself of all this as she glared at the suited stallion in front of her, a hoof tapping impatiently against the table. Had to think of the ponies. Had to consider their welfare. Had to dismiss her own freedom for their happiness. She’d been doing it for ten years, although those years hadn’t been without her escape attempts. Now, she lived like a prisoner because of those attempts.

She was sitting at a polished glass table—still underground, but a short elevator ride up—being stared down by at least a dozen other well-dressed ponies and well-armed guards, with her old friend the magic inhibitor in place on her horn. Celestia almost had to remind herself that these ponies had once been her loyal subjects.

“No?” Celestia repeated the suited stallion’s minced words, saying it as if it were a challenge. “Forgive me, can I simply ask why?”

“It’s in the interest of Equestrian security, you understand,” he said. Celestia didn’t know his name and didn’t care, although she hardly felt comfortable despising a pony she didn’t know the name of.

“An hour in the sun to heal some of my wounds is threatening to Equestrian security?” she asked acidly. “We’ve been here for two hours, and I’ve only asked that one question, and you’ve yet to give me a frank and understandable answer. I don’t know how you think I perceive time, but even I think ten years without seeing the sun is cruel and unfair.”

The same stallion moved to protest, but Celestia cut him off with a sharp look. An empty threat thanks to the horn inhibitor, but it worked nonetheless.

“I don’t know who any of you are,” Celestia proceeded. “I wished to simply speak to Flim and Flam, not their flying monkeys, but if you had in you a shred of sense I could have forgiven you. The fact of the matter is that you’re too gutless to say the truth of why you won’t let me go to the surface.”

More silence. Stunned looks. Terrified ponies.

“You want me to die. Because you think you’re on the brink of some solution that finally negates my purpose, and snuffs me out of the equation. I know how you brainwashed corporate slaves operate, you know!” Celestia’s voice had risen to a sharp, near-shout, and she herself had risen from her seat. “This whole institution is a liability to you. And the less liability, the better. I’m the political equivalent of a stubborn old mare living on land you want to build a supermarket upon.”

“Well. Haven’t you got us all figured out.” The smug mare finally composed herself to pretend she hadn’t been terrified a moment ago, and made an attempt to dispel Celestia’s fury with a sarcastic remark. “Princess, can you please sit down?”

“No. Shut up. I was talking,” Celestia replied sharply. “After all I’ve had to do to ponies much closer to me than you, do you really think I have restrictions about what I have to say?”

The mare glared daggers at her, but waved a hoof for her to proceed, knowing she could not silence the princess's voice except by hearing it spoken out to its conclusion. It was amazing how they treated her like another competitor, instead of a glorified prisoner.

“I have no doubt you’ve got your snouts shoved into some hole in the sand you call science, but you can’t use science to raise the sun.”

“Your Majesty, you don’t know the components of our business and research infrastructure—”

“Speaking in tongues doesn’t make your words any more significant to me,” Celestia cut this new stallion off before he could get another meaningless word in. All of these fools were sweeping upon her like stallions to a drunk mare at a bar. “I’m telling you it isn’t possible. I’m going to perish, then the sun is going to fall, and your science and your technology won’t be able to save you.”

Silence fell. Celestia sat back down, her piece said. The gathered ponies looked at each other helplessly, as if discussing matters through some corporate hive-mind. Eventually, the first stallion, the one directly across from Celestia who she presumed was the highest authority, spoke.

“Your request has been considered, Princess, but our stance remains.”

“Then allow me a counter-proposal,” Celestia did not miss a beat to anger or disappointment. “I will write a spell that will allow several unicorns to raise the sun. Consider it the same as what you are doing, but done by an actually competent mare.”

That one swiftly spoken proposal, as it turned out, had been the straw to break the camel’s back. Celestia grinned and drove the dagger in further.

“Think of the exceptional synergy! The elimination of market research liabilities!” Celestia continued into uncharted silence with sarcastic humor. “Of course, I will only help provided you allow me my short time in the sun. I will need to directly bridge the link between the scroll and the sun anyways.”

Celestia leaned back, smiling smugly. “So. There’s my counter proposal.”

The stunned silence had been so intense that they had ordered a twenty minute recess. Celestia imagined letters being furiously scrawled and sent to Flim and Flam through dragon fire (or whatever their technological equivalent was).

“A scroll, written by yourself, to raise the sun.” They had been all business the moment they had convened. No minced words. The meaning had to be clear. She was smiling from the first sentence. “Are you confident this can be done?”

“Indeed,” she nodded. “I’m more than willing to do so to guarantee my ponies safety. Plus, it would mean you could finally get this stubborn old mare out of the picture. So, I take it the godly brothers of Smoke and Smog smiled upon my request?”

“Your counter proposal has been accepted,” the suited stallion replied instead. “What do you need for your scroll?”

Celestia blinked in confusion, and then chuckled lightly when she realized the request was indeed serious, and not some joke she was missing.

“A quill. Ink. Parchment. It’s a scroll.”

“They will be provided.”

“Marvelous! Glad after ten years you’ve decided that thinking is beneficial to your cause.”

iii

Celestia had added another item to her initial request, and with her trusty quill and parchment placed atop her brand new oak desk, she had set out writing. Wood was scarce, she was told, and she was quite grateful for it.

It had been centuries since she had written a proper magic scroll, and it had taken her some time to work back into the proper routine of doing so.

Back when she had been a Princess, she had taught magic to her subjects out of textbooks, but this reflected a fairly narrow amount of potential magic. Skilled unicorns did not only flip through pages of dusty spell-books and regurgitate spells created by old, long dead unicorns, they also devoted much of their life to creating spells of their own. In many ways, they were quite like Flim and Flam; always innovating, always inventing.

Celestia considered herself an innovator, too. Yet even as she crafted a spell for her subject’s future, it was difficult to smile and maintain hope as she wrote what was more or less her own elegy.

Quickly, she caught the emotion and chastised her selfishness. Had to think of the ponies. Had to consider their welfare. Had to dismiss her own life for their freedom.

Celestia worked hard on the sunrise scroll, as the pages on her new calendar flipped onwards through the year. September, October, time had no intention of waiting on her.

She knew, as she put her head to her pillow on Nightmare’s Night, what would happen. It had been the same for thirteen years, since it had happened. And yet when her mind entered the realm of dreams, it came as a horrible surprise all the same.

The Everfree Castle.

Loud, distant cackling. The sound of stone rending stone.

The sky dark with an unmovable moon.

She flew onwards, with a confident purpose and a heavy heart.

No.

There she was. Celestia. Dreaming Celestia. Imprisoned Celestia. Pathetic Celestia. Begging her to turn back, for this Celestia knew what would come. She had lived it, and now she was living it again through her nightmares.

Turn back! Please! Let her be!

The other, younger Celestia shook her head. No. The same word, with the same meaning, spoken in the same voice, and yet it was so different.

Her dreaming mind skipped past the battle. It wasn’t important. The ending was all she needed to see.

A bested beast wearing the twisted, parodied face of her sister, scowling with satisfaction even as Celestia stood triumphant above her. An angry, fang-filled grin. A flare of blue magic, and another flare of yellow cutting it short. A terrible, mirthless cackle. A weeping white alicorn, covered in blood that she wished desperately could have been her own…

In a torrent of emotions, Celestia was jerked into wakefulness with her throat pained from her sobs.

Nightmare Night had quickly become her most hated holiday.

Celestia celebrated Hearth’s Warming Eve by using a coat-rack and old clothing to create a tree in her room, only to decide it was a truly depressing affair and take it down again.

The day after Hearth’s Warming Eve, she had her first visitor in four and a half years. She’d been expecting more, all things considered, but then again, most of Equestria thought her to be dead. Flim and Flam had said so, and what reason did they have to lie?

With loneliness making up the entirety of her life (her brief moments with Raven in the morning and evening excepted) any guest was a welcome one in her opinion. Even ones bringing nothing but judgement and hate.

A knock came on the stone wall. It was still her home, after all. If she didn’t want to be disturbed, then she wouldn’t be—unless it was to raise the sun, which she had on occasion refused to do. But, again, any guest was a welcome guest to the lonely princess.

“Come in!” she trilled happily, lifting her golden crown atop her head. Like her trusty quill, the crown was almost like a friend to her by that point, even if it signified nothing but her own stubborn pride.

The wall slid open. Captain Shining Armor strode in. Celestia’s resolve broke for a moment—a brief, untraceable moment—and she recovered enough to smile and greet him.

“Happy Hearth’s Warming, Captain Shining Armor,” she said.

“Hello, Celestia,” he said. It would seem he did not believe she deserved her full title. So much for loyalty-to-the-grave. “I suppose you know why I’m here?”

“I do,” Celestia nodded, although internally her mind was reeling with sudden realization. Of course. She’d even labelled it on the damn calendar! How could she have forgotten her own niece's birthday?!

“Forty years...” he said.

Celestia nodded again. “...To this day. I still remember it like it was yesterday, you know. Her sweet little voice… even as a crying newborn she had a voice like a song. I remember the first time I held sweet little Cadence—”

“Don’t use her name!” Shining snapped.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Celestia nodded. “I forgot. Do you accept my apology, Captain?”

He grumbled something that sounded like “yes.”

“Things could have been better for us,” Celestia said. “I wish they had been.”

“You wish,” he said, gritting his teeth. Apparently it was a sentiment that needed repetition. “You wish.”

“I wish,” she said again, the word spoken for a fourth time, but still a million times less than Cadence deserved. “I’m sorry, Captain Shining Armor. For you. For her. For Twilight. For Equestria.”

“You failed her,” he said simply, bluntly, emotionlessly. “She begged you to save her. You didn’t.”

She couldn’t. Celestia considered telling Shining that, but she did not. He wanted to place blame where no blame could be placed. Cadence had died a hero against Chrysalis, and though the changeling had bested her, the distraction had been enough for Celestia to break free. Cadence had saved her, and Cadence had saved Equestria.

But Celestia stayed her tongue. She offered no justification, because she did not deserve one. Shining Armor wanted to place his emotions on her, and she was more than happy to bear them.

“Well?” the stallion snapped, his voice cracking as his emotions swelled. It seemed even he had expected her to speak, and her silence had somehow been worse.

“I have nothing to say to defend myself,” Celestia said simply.

That seemed to satiate Shining Armor, and he turned his attention instead to her desk. Celestia tensed the moment he leaned over her scroll, but thankfully he did not seem to be reading it.

“So this is it? The sunset scroll?”

“Yes. My own personal eulogy. You can be the first to use it, if you wish.”

Shining Armor said nothing. He prodded the scroll, shrugged, and turned back to face Celestia, who was fiddling with a kettle atop a hotplate on her vanity. She poured two cups of tea, took one herself and offered another to the Captain. He narrowed his eyes at the cup, as if it were some poisoned and revolting substance, and shook his head in disgust.

“Unfortunate birthday,” Celestia mused passively, stirring her own tea. “The day after Hearth’s Warming. I always used to tease her about that.”

Celestia saw Shining tense at her words and instantly regretted even speaking at all. She suspected that to Shining Armor, any mention of Cadence—even innocent reminiscing—would be seen as an insult to her memory. Celestia felt a strange hollowness at the very thought. She had practically raised Cadence from birth like a mother, and she had loved her as much as a mother ever would. Now, she could not even speak her niece's name.

“Captain Shining Armor, why did you come down here, truly?” Celestia asked, doing her best not to show her sorrow. “You do not have to answer, but forgive me if my ensuing assumption is incorrect.”

Shining indeed did not answer.

“You came down here to feel satisfaction, and closure. To reassert to yourself that the mare you hated for failing you a decade ago is still the same mare. I am. I haven’t changed. I truly hope that coming down here has given you your satisfaction.”

“You’re despicable,” he seethed. “You don’t even care."

"I don't care?" Celestia repeated. "Captain Shining Armor. You don't truly believe that."

"Well, you certainly don't sound very emotional about it. Then again, I guess us mortals mean nothing to you."

Celestia grimaced. She'd forgotten she had used that word during those eternal months after Cadence had passed. Directly to Shining Armor, no less.

"I didn't mean offense with what I said," Celestia offered meekly. Perhaps, if it had simply been Cadence's death, all would have been fine. But to have a mare so close to her—her child, practically—torn away so violently...

She had responded to Shining Armor's emotions with the most volatile thing: more emotion. She had done a poor job caring for Cadence, but she had done an even worse job caring for those suffering from her loss.

Celestia took a single step closer to Shining Armor, and he looked away in response, only to turn back and face his former princess. She imagined it must have been difficult for him to reconcile her present self with the majestic mare he must have remembered. Even she was shocked by the discourse; her body covered in wounds that could not heal, her one tired eye looking out from behind worn eyeglasses. A smile that was not a smile.

Clearly, she must have looked deader in her survival than Cadence ever had in her sacrifice.

Wordlessly, Shining Armor turned away from Celestia again. He gave the stone wall a firm tap, the whole while refusing to let his gaze stray back to the unmoving princess, like a preying arachnid in a web. In an instant, the wall opened once more, and Shining Armor prepared to leave Celestia to her infinite lonesome.

He paused before leaving. He did not turn to face Celestia as he spoke.

"Oh. They want me to remind you that, upon completion of your sunset scroll, you will be provided with the proper documents to sign confirming your compliance with your immediate... liquidation, following your 'hour of sunlight."'

"Very bureaucratic," Celestia sniffed.

"Please don't sign them." Shining said, abruptly and firmly. He spoke with no emotion, as though his words were indisputable facts. "Cadence wouldn't want it... and I don't either."

Celestia couldn't help but grin, and with nowhere else to look she directed her grin at the surveillance camera undoubtedly documenting their whole conversation. As if simply not signing their papers would really make a difference if they decided her purpose was unnecessary. She was willing to trade a tedious, lonely existence for one last glimpse at Equestria.

"I'm sorry. It seems that even in death, I must let you two down," Celestia replied. "I want to see my sun, Shining Armor."

"Then—goodbye, Auntie Celestia," the weary stallion said, with evident effort, and still without turning. "For what it's worth; I forgive you. That's what I came down here to tell you."

Celestia nodded, although Shining would not have seen her do so. He forgave her, but he would not forget what she had done. His forgiveness was less an emotional one, and more a blunt acknowledgment that she herself truly felt sorry, and that even despite her failure, she had loved Cadence.

Before the wall closed, Celestia called out one last thing;

“Shining… if you don’t mind… can you please tell Twilight I wished her a Happy Hearth’s Warming?”

Captain Shining Armor did not reply as the stone wall closed behind him.

Celestia had been slowly and reluctantly picking away at her scroll, somewhat wary of completing it because of what happened next. Her fate now hinged on its success or failure, but moreover Equestria’s fate did, too. If it failed when she reached the surface, she would never be allowed outside again. Of that, there was a guarantee.

But after Shining Armor's visit, Celestia had felt a sudden guilty composure to finally finish the infernal scroll. She pushed through the last of the preliminary enchantments in under a week, and on the first day of the new year, it was finally completed.

The whole thing was written in ancient runes that Celestia doubted anypony else without magical training could read. That was good—it meant she would have very few questions to answer when she traveled for her last hour on the surface to complete the last enchantment.

The next day, after she had risen the sun, she stopped to speak with Raven instead of sulking into her room.

“I finished my sunrise scroll yesterday, Raven,” she said abruptly, stopping in the threshold between her room and the brightly lit one with the Sun Trotter, looking behind her shoulder at Raven without turning.

“Oh?” Raven asked, evident foreboding seeping into the one word. Celestia knew that Raven was no fool, and she must have known that it was hardly good news she was presenting. Simply an hour in the sun followed by a slow death in perpetual loneliness now that even her one sole purpose had vanished.

“Yes. I suppose this is the last time I raise the sun,” Celestia nodded. “Then I’m going into retirement.”

“Then… then this is likely it,” Raven replied. “This is goodbye. Princess, you should’ve mentioned you were almost done! This is too sudden to be goodbye!”

“Goodbyes are better sudden,” Celestia replied. “Trust me, I know. So with that said…”

Celestia bent down, grimacing a little from the effort. She felt her glasses droop off her muzzle from the movement, revealing a growing cloudy cataract on the one eye that had life to it at all. Raven met them, and Celestia traced the mare's eyes as she turned to look first at the age-lines on Celestia’s face, and then at the once beautiful multi-chromatic mane now greying with age. Celestia recognized the look as the same one she gave her reflection every morning upon waking. Eleven years without the sun had done terrible things.

“Goodbye, Raven,” the weary alicorn said. “You’ve been my only friend for eleven years. Thank you.”

“What’s been done to you, Your Majesty… it’s so cruel. I’m so sorry. I should have helped you escape! Somepony should have done something! This whole damn corporation that rules your world is evil!”

“Raven,” Celestia said, a smile betraying her firm tone. She pointed at the sweeping surveillance camera. “Don’t compromise yourself for no reason. Remember that Equestria was in poverty, and ponies were starting to starve. Flim and Flam’s industry helped them where I couldn’t. They gave ponies jobs, and they gave ponies food. What happened to me was only what I deserved for being unable to do the same.”

“That’s a lie,” Raven spat. “You would have provided for them the same. Except your solution wouldn’t have poisoned the skies.”

“Thank you,” Celestia said simply. “But I think you should stop. For your own safety. Goodbye, Raven.”

When she was back in her room, Celestia immediately crept to the mirror, but was disgusted by the sight she saw. Damn the glasses on her nose, damn the scars on her face, damn the mass of distorted bone that was her left wing, damn the hideous hole-filled horn on her forehead. Damn the fake, plastered smile on her pathetic face.

She looked away, but the rest of the room did not fare much better under her scrutinous gaze. Every book had been read a dozen times, every speck of dust floating in the air Celestia had probably sneezed from at one point.

The only place safe from angry thought was her desk, with the scroll still atop it. She smiled at the scroll. It was hope objectified. Every rune meticulously calligraphed by practiced horn-writing, every line of magic code considered with painstaking care. Every possible outcome considered and calculated. Celestia did not like to boast, but truly it was a perfect scroll. She was rather proud of it.

Celestia pushed the scroll aside and opened the old drawer beside the desk to examine the contents inside. A murder mystery she had written out of boredom. A diary with a dozen entries about her past started but never finished, many pages with the pen-lines streaked and distorted. A sequel to her first murder mystery. A series of belligerent letters to Flim and Flam that they had refused to send for her. A prequel to her murder mystery. A spin-off to her murder mystery, this time starring the hardboiled detective mare’s foolish yet good-natured older sister, who did not quite see eye to eye with her younger sister but still loved her unconditionally.

She found unopened letters to Captain Shining Armor, asking if his little sister (Twilight Sparkle; she had remembered that name without quite knowing why) had ever become the great unicorn she had desired to, despite her university rejection. A decade’s time had been cruel to these letters, Celestia noted sadly, and whatever Twilight had become, Celestia realized the time had long since passed to change it. Twilight would have been… seven? Eight?—when she applied to her school of magic, but that had been ten years before Luna and about twenty to the day. Twilight would already have been creeping upon her thirties.

She tore open the letter, frowned at her familiar hoof-writing, and crumbled it up swiftly. More memories she did not need.

At noon, they came for her. She signed all their paperwork, and then she presented the sunrise scroll that negated her one sole role. The heavily armored guards took it from her with no measure of grace for the princess they should have been serving. Celestia moved to place the magic inhibitor on her horn, but one of the guards stepped forward and presented a larger, much stronger looking one. Celestia shrugged and placed it on her horn without delay. Already her hooves were itching for movement. She was going outside! She felt like a dog about to be taken on a walk, and she did not even feel a little guilty for her immature self-image.

Eleven years! Forget them all! What did those lonely, isolated years matter, compared to any brief length of time in the sun?

She traveled up too many floors by elevator, she was led down bright corridors, but that had all passed in a blur despite her near-insane excitement. Sun, sun, sun! She had become like a parody of her own essence, and she laughed with genuine joy at the very thought!

Yet in an impossibly brief moment, her laughter and joy ceased as the last door swung open, and she stepped out into the light of Equestria. It was not blinding. She had known blinding and the light that greeted her was nothing of the sort. The sun’s tug was there, and it was strong, but as Celestia stepped out onto the raised balcony overlooking Equestria, she could not feel its warmth. A terrible sense of anticlimactic disappointment swept over her.

There was no sun, and worse, the sky was dark red clouds as far as she could see. On the horizon loomed towering smokestacks, spewing their pollution into the air mercilessly. The few trees she could see were hideous and straggly. As far as her good eye could see were factories, smokestacks, and other industrial structures. And on every single one, those two infernal twins, with their smiling, patronizing faces…

Her hour in the sun had lost all its appeal. Eleven years she had been looking forward to it, and in less than eleven seconds it was gone.

“The scroll,” Celestia sighed, reaching a hoof behind her. “I want to get this over with.”

It was passed into her accepting hoof. She unfurled the scroll completely, the culmination of months of work now finally at its end.

In the corner of her eye, Celestia could see many guards. Some had rifles pointed at her, some were unicorns with their magic at the ready. It seemed they had taken every precaution.

Celestia smiled again as she turned her attention back to the scroll. So had she.

With a subtle vibration, the horn inhibitor shifted frequency, and Celestia felt her own magic creep back to her, although it was still greatly limited; teleportation and offensive spells were made impossible, but her link to the sun was still intact.

She looked to the scroll, behind her at the bright causeway she had come from, and then at the smoggy skies. Then, she lit her horn, brought it to the scroll, and braced herself for what came next.

The scroll lit, sparked, then exploded. Multicolored light flared in every direction, an orb of magic surrounding the Princess of the Sun. The magic inhibitor on her horn sizzled and died. Bullets and unicorns panicked attempts to subdue the princess bounced harmlessly off the orb that had surrounded her. She had anticipated such a course of action, after all.

It was all in the scroll.

The orb surrounding Celestia pulsed once, twice, three times with its great, meticulously inscribed power, then it imploded inwards with great swiftness. Celestia felt her scroll’s magic painfully start coursing through her veins, then she was cast far upwards in one final, powerful teleportation blast, quickly becoming lost to the ponies below in the field of smog.

Sunrise Scroll her flank. She wasn’t giving up that easily.

Sirens split the skies. Celestia had been expecting that, too. Pegasi had been dispatched in an attempt to find her; she could hear their shouted orders over the blaring alarms, but she had already disappeared into the thick smog.

They had given her her time in the sun, under the false pretense of a purpose. And she had written their scroll, under the false pretense of selflessness. She mused for a moment how impossible such a move would have been in a greater Equestria not helmed by mindless bureaucratic slaves; a time when the runes she had written had meant more to ponies than archaic gibberish with a purpose, the specific means be damned. It was difficult to believe that eleven years had already made such a time obsolete.

Celestia’s wings quaked. Her muscles tore themselves apart. Her breathing was pained and labored. She had escaped not as a triumphant hero, but as a weak, old mare

She could not find the sun through the smog, but it was there somewhere. Perhaps she would keep it in the sky for an extra day longer, just to drive home to all of Equestria just how unnatural that day had been. A long night had preceded her imprisonment; let a long dawn accompany her return!

Celestia flapped her weary wings once, twice, a dozen times, every one feeling like her last, guiding herself forwards into the somber noonday skies, being assaulted by the industry below her. There was much to be done, and much more that she could do now that she was free from the confines of two rooms and one purpose.

One purpose…

Celestia supposed that, technically, remained unchanged. Hadn’t her one purpose always been the same thing? Save Equestria. Save it from beasts, from invasions, from wars, save it from ‘mission statements’ and ‘operationalized strategies.’

Celestia smiled as she broke the last of the thick cover of smog. There it was! The sun! For a few moments, it was all that would matter to her. She couldn’t imagine how the Equestrians had been getting by without feeling its wondrous heat—or the cool beauty of the moon, for that matter—but she knew one thing for certain. She would be bringing them back before long.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading.

Wilting Whitecaps of Warbling Wavelengths (VI)

Twilight Sparkle was writing.

It had been a little difficult working back into the groove of doing so—Celestia suddenly inserting herself into her life, followed by arcane adventures into the depths of the Catacombs beneath the Everfree were hardly her normal speed. She hadn’t put a pen to her notebook for over a week, and her last notes were the ones she’d written when Celestia had first appeared.

But after a while, simply watching the trees passing out the train window grew dull, and Twilight needed to occupy her mind with something else. And the mare she was sharing the compartment with seemed quite engrossed in a thick paperback thriller novel. Not that Twilight would have started a conversation anyways.

So she wrote, instead.

She wrote about Celestia, mainly. Her contingency plans—the plans she had put in place to potentially prevent some tyrannical future self. The plans that were at odds with Flim and Flam’s claims detailing Celestia’s despotic and selfish nature. Twilight was careful not to mention the Sunstone by name, and she was hardly going to even think of publishing anything without asking Celestia if she was comfortable with it first.

Twilight found herself smiling as her pen scratched against her notebook, happy to once more be doing what she loved. Making Equestria a little better in her own pathetic way.

As if reading her mind, the other mare in the compartment suddenly spoke. She had lowered her book for the first time during the long train ride, only just now taking notice of Twilight.

“Hey… sorry… uh, are you by chance Twilight Sparkle?”

Resisting the urge to groan in frustration, Twilight looked up from her notes to greet the voice.

“Yeah. Hi.”

“I’m a big fan of your writing,” the mare said excitedly. “You’re… heh… a bit of a personal hero to me.”

“Oh?” Twilight blinked. This was new.

“Yeah! Your article about equalizing the educational system really struck a chord with me.”

It took Twilight a moment to remember what exact article the mare was referring to.

Equalizing the…

Then she remembered. She’d just learnt about the newest testing system that categorized ponies under the same spectrum of intelligence, regardless of learning styles and personality traits. Her article had been a furious and only semi-coherent rant about how their attempts for equality were only making the system less equal. It wasn’t an article she was particularly fond of in retrospect—there were many points she certainly would have revised and reconsidered in order to make herself less hypocritically biased.

But this mare seemed to like it. Then again, Twilight had learned that screaming “equality!” into a crowd usually produced at least a little praise regardless.

“Well, thank you,” Twilight replied. “Not often I just get a straight compliment like that.”

The mare cocked her head questioningly.

“Normally it’s laced with some sarcastic retort,” Twilight elaborated. “You’re hilarious! You’re soooo researched! Do you still believe in segregating earth ponies, too?”

The other mare let out an annoyed huff. “Ponies are like that. Thinking about themselves instead of the common good goes hand in hand with stupidity.”

Twilight said nothing, scratching an ear and looking back outside. The mare’s boldly stated remark was hardly relevant to what they’d been talking about, but she was hardly about to say that to her.

“So, what are you working on now?” she asked, seeing Twilight’s awkward stance.

“A historical analysis of Princess Celestia’s rule.”

“Ah,” the mare nodded. “Interesting. Not really fond of her whole ‘abilities-equal-greatness’ psychology, myself, but she seemed to have things in a lot better control than the powers that be. She was a good leader, at least. Bit of tragedy, really.”

“No arguments here.” Twilight nodded in agreement, internally wishing to blurt that Celestia’s tragedy was only a temporary one, or tear open her saddlebag to reveal the glimmering Sunstone.

“Do you think she really did kick the bucket herself?”

“Uh…” Twilight shuffled in her seat. “N… no.”

“Hm, not sure I do, either,” the mare said. “I was in Canterlot when the sun first rose after the Third Longest Night, actually.”

“Wait… what?” Twilight blinked.

“Yeah. I live in a bit of an isolated town, so when the sun didn’t rise I decided to travel and get answers for everypony else. I’ve got a friend who was part of Celestia’s elite arcane researchers or something. ”

“Huh.” Twilight rose an eyebrow. “Neat.”

“Thanks. Really, ex-friend is probably a better term though. I didn’t really keep tabs out of fillyhood. Anyways, I talked with him while the sun was still down, and he said there was no magical link between the sun and planet Equus.”

“Right. Cause Princess Celestia was dying.”

“Yeah. According to guards, she was in self-imposed exile, though. Violent towards anypony trying to help her… y’know, not die. Apparently when they finally worked up the courage to confront her, she was toast. Overloaded her magic and burned up her brains.”

“Huh.” Twilight didn’t know what else to say, so she just repeated the same interjection once again. The details of Celestia’s suicide had always been barren and sparse–particularly because they would’ve been fictional anyways. Interestingly, the thought of a magical overdose-induced-suicide was disturbingly possible—a unicorn could theoretically cast more magic than they could handle as a means of ending their life.

The mare frowned and continued. “The clincher, of course, is that the Sun rose a few days later. So my friend the arcane researcher is trying to find out what the hell’s happening; how the sun can rise if Celestia is dead. He says the link between Equus and the Sun was back again… and he said it was Celestia’s magic stream, but with something artificial laced with it.”

Twilight nodded. What had Celestia called it? The SunSpotter 3000? Whatever it was, it matched exactly with what this mare was saying.

“Sorry, do you mind if I write that down?” Twilight reached for her notepad. “That’s like… concrete evidence that Flim Flam Industry might be liars.”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded. “If you want to meet with my friend in Canterlot, by the way, I can give you his address. He’s a reclusive fellow, but I imagine he’d make an exception for you.”

Twilight said she would indeed, and she passed the mare her notebook. She wrote quickly and passed the notepad back to Twilight with a sheepish grin.

It did not take long after for their conversation to lapse into awkward silence, but thankfully it was a silent void that the squealing of the train’s brakes filled before long. One glance out the window, and Twilight saw that they were approaching the towering heights of New Canterlot, with its great skyscrapers ascending into the sky.

“Well… this is my stop,” the mare said, rising from her seat and stuffing her book into her saddlebag. “I’d better go get my bags from the boxcar. Fragile stuff, y’know? Don’t want them shattering it.”

“Right.” Twilight was unsure how to reply.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “I look forward to reading your Celestia article.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The mare smiled, and toting her saddlebag, slid the door to the train compartment open and took a step into the hall.

“Hey, wait! I don’t think I got your name…” Twilight’s voice stopped her as she exited the compartment.

“Right!” The mare nodded, turning around and offering a hoof which Twilight stared at blankly for several seconds before shaking.

“Heh, sorry. Guess I should’ve said my name sooner,” the mare withdrew her hoof and smiled. “It’s Starlight Glimmer.”

“Nice name,” Twilight complimented distantly, jotting it down in her notebook. “Pleased to meet you, Starlight.”

Twilight could feel the familiar pulse of Celestia’s magic amongst her enchantments the moment she finally set weary hooves into her library. The earliest train out of Ponyville had left in the middle of the day, and by the time it arrived the sun was already beginning its descent. As a result, Twilight found herself functioning on several hours of sleep and a dozen cups of coffee, and even so the weariness of the past several days was enough that any semblance of lucidity had long since passed and she instead walked on disobedient hooves.

She’d made one quick stop to grab some take-out food, knowing that she was probably already out at home, and by the time she entered she felt like she’d just walked from the gates of Tartarus.

Apparently, Celestia felt her enter, too, for her playful voice echoed from the librarian’s office-turned-study that Twilight had made her own—although for the past few weeks the ragged couch within had allowed it to double as Celestia’s sleeping area.

“Hello, Twilight! I’m in here!” she trilled.

Celestia was lounging on her couch, frowning at a composition notebook with a fountain pen in her magic, but she turned as Twilight entered.

For a moment, Twilight simply stared.

Celestia’s status had been tossed unceremoniously in the corner—a lump of glimmering regalia. She had attempted to arrange her mane into a braid, but it still stretched down long past the length of her neck, as though she had given up halfway through. Nonetheless, the straggly bits of greying hair were less prominent—for once, her appearance seemed one of maturity instead of injury.

Her tail was arranged similarly, braided together so that it was significantly shorter.

“How do I look?” Celestia asked warmly, catching her glance.

“You look beauti—”

Twilight stopped, blushing in an instant.

“Nice. You look nice, Princess Celestia.”

Celestia chuckled. “Thank you. But it’s just Celestia, remember?” She sniffed curiously and questioningly, pointing a hoof at the plastic bag still hovering in Twilight’s magic.

“I—I got take-out,” Twilight stuttered awkwardly, tossing the bag onto her desk.

“Oh, thank you,” Celestia said cheerily. “How was your train ride?”

“Uneventful, mostly, although I met a mare who told me about… uh…” Twilight shook her head and withdrew her notepad instead, passing it to Princess Celestia.

“Ah yes, Sunburst.” Celestia seemed to recognize the stallion in question simply from his house address. “A very skilled unicorn. She was his friend?”

Twilight nodded, and quickly repeated what Starlight had told her.

“Very nice.” Celestia smiled. “It is comforting to know I still have a bit of support out there. It sounds to me like you made a friend today, Twilight.”

With her magic, Celestia lifted the plastic bag of take-out food closer. She plucked out a box of rice and began rubbing together a pair of chopsticks, and then drove the bamboo utensils into the box with playful vigorousness.

She was quick to turn her attention back to her composition notebook, munching idly at her rice, although she shuffled a little to make way for Twilight on the couch.

“Uh… what are you writing?” Twilight asked.

“I’m just reviewing my… ah… ‘Return to Equestria’ speech,” Celestia hid the book slightly, wearing an embarrassed smile. “You look tired from your trip, and I wouldn’t want to bore you with it…”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to read it!” Twilight said. She finally sat down on the couch, although she cradled the opposite arm as though Celestia’s side were submerged in lava.

Celestia looked embarrassed, too, but she passed the notebook anyways for Twilight to read.

Her speech was short, and a pony with less attentiveness would have called it jaded. Twilight, however, saw it for what it truly was—prompt. A quick deliverance of many points, in little time. For too long, Equestria had been swimming in lies. To Twilight, it felt wonderful to read the truth so eloquently stated, by a mare who had been writing speeches when there were different stars in the sky.

“Well?” Celestia asked, dragging the word out like a cooing dove. “Is it good? Feel free to tear it to shreds… you’re the writer, not me.”

“Princess Celestia, it’s fantastic.” Twilight assured, setting the notebook back down beside the sheepish alicorn. “We still have the issue of getting you a public platform to read it from, right?”

“Actually, about that…” Celestia pursed her lips, fiddling with her chopsticks. “I was thinking of… ah, ceasing subtlety tomorrow.”

Twilight cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, literally walking through the streets of New Canterlot to the nearest radio station and asking politely for a moment of their time to say a few words.”

Twilight stared.

“I… I don’t think that’s how it works, Princess Celestia. I think you need to have a broadcasting license or something.”

“Well, surely they would be willing to make an exception?”

“I… I guess.” Twilight sunk her head. Princess Celestia seemed to have no clue that the radio was as much a business as a restaurant or a chariot dealership. She instead seemed to see it as some public platform any pony could use, like Letters to the Editor in a newspaper.

Suddenly, realization struck her, and she brought her hoof to her face with so much force that she winced a little.

Was it the fault of her tired mind… or was she really that dense?

Business? Of course the radio was a business.

And why, exactly, would a statement from the infamous Princess Celestia ever be turned down on the basis of business?

License to broadcast? It wouldn’t matter. They’d get their airtime, and it wouldn’t cost them a penny—they’d already be paying the station’s liabilities for a month.

“Alright.” Twilight nodded. Celestia’s eyes had widened a little at her outburst, but she did not speak. “Tomorrow, we’ll do it.”

Then, Twilight let out an enormous yawn. Celestia chuckled politely.

“Tomorrow, we’ll do it,” she repeated. “But now, you should sleep, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight was hardly in any position to argue.

iii

For a long while after dawn, Twilight simply lay awake.

Normally, she would have risen early—she had never really seen much merit in lying around in bed and not doing anything. Especially considering her 'bedroom' was in reality the library’s book sorting room. She had put very little effort into changing it into anything more, beyond simply dragging a rusted bedframe and mattress into the cluttered room. An elaborate little chute and pulley contraption dominated the majority of the room, in another life its purpose had been to transport heavy carts of books to the other two floors, but it had grown rusted with years of abandonment. The library had been ancient a hundred years ago, after all, and now, in its state of loneliness, time seemed to be taking its toll even swifter.

Nonetheless, for a rare moment in her life, her desire to postpone the inevitable day was stronger than her natural disdain towards inactivity. Outside, birds were chirping through the early morning darkness, and Twilight could hear Celestia’s heavy hooves clacking against the metal stairwell. Presumably, she had just finished raising the sun from what had become her favourite place to do so: the library’s roof.

Twilight had awoken with a strange sense of fear, fear that the sound of Celestia’s hooves hardly did wonders to quell. She could not even truly trace the source of her fear… the events of the coming day perhaps, or the inevitable persecution she would receive from the majority of the nation’s populace. After all, she could not know how they would be receiving Celestia, and such reception would directly affect how they responded to her actions in turn. It was possible that they would see her as supporting a monstrous, tyrannical dictator who had freakishly escaped death itself.

A sudden flare of what sounded like radio static exploded from the main reading room, followed by Celestia’s surprised yelp. The static was promptly silenced.

Twilight grinned despite herself. Before she had gone to sleep, she had shown her radio to Princess Celestia, who had been considerably fascinated by the various voices and music bursting out from the small box. Celestia had greeted the device with an almost filly-like curiosity.

The sudden noise of static had been enough to get Twilight on her hooves and out of bed. As usual, her mane was a disaster upon waking, so she hastily stuffed an elastic around it and formed a lacklustre pony-tail, before venturing out into the reading room.

Celestia was still fiddling with the radio, but she looked up sheepishly as the sorting room door squeaked open.

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, as Twilight stretched and yawned. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I cannot for the life of me figure out this thing.”

“You didn’t wake me,” Twilight assured, still fiddling with her hair elastic. “I was already up. And you’re turning the volume knob, not the tuning one.”

Celestia blinked, glanced at the radio, and then sunk her head sheepishly. “What a foolish thing to do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight said. “So… today, huh?”

“Today.” Celestia nodded. “The ride is going to be a turbulent one from here on out.”

“Yeah…” Twilight scratched an ear. “Y’know, I’m kind of excited. And nervous.”

“Nervous is good,” Celestia said. “Being aware of the consequences of failure is important. So long as you do not let that awareness escalate to fear. You should always approach a problem with the mindset that you will succeed, but never dismiss failure, either. That is how mistakes get made.”

“What… what exactly are the consequences of failure, Celestia?”

“For you? Or for me?”

“For us.”

Celestia smiled. “Twilight… I think it would be best if you stayed here in the library. Where you are safe. Remember, by the end of the day I can be found guilty of… I don’t know, war crimes. And then you will be guilty of harbouring a dangerous fugitive. That’s not a position I want you to be in.”

Twilight frowned. “But… but I want to help you!”

“I know.” Celestia rested a wing on her back. “But I want you to be safe.”

“Safe from what? Bureaucrats?!”

Celestia swept aside her newly styled mane to show the electrode scar. “Yes. Trust me on this one, Twilight.”

In the end, Twilight had no choice but to do so, for Celestia had abruptly vanished in a great teleportation burst while Twilight was making them coffee.

She cursed and considered pursuing her, but Twilight knew that by time she reached New Canterlot, any damage would already have been done and her intervention would only make matters even worse. In the end, she had no choice but to bitterly wait, fiddling with her radio, while anticipation gradually tore apart her sanity.

Celestia had also left behind her notebook, where she had meticulously planned and revised her speech. Whether she had left it accidentally or intentionally, Twilight could not know, but the end result was still quite the same—Celestia would be winging what was possibly the most important speech of her life.

With this in mind, Twilight was nearly shivering in anticipation as she hunched over her pathetic little portable radio—a mess of wires and gemstones stubbornly replacing what in another life had been electricity. The condemned library had none, and as such she had to make do with magical alternatives. She was turning the Sunstone over and over in her hooves, if only to give herself something to do beyond wait in terror.

She rose only once, trotting swiftly to her study and removing a pack of cigarettes from within. Things she hated herself for buying, if only out of her disgust for the smiling twins on the packaging.

Still, it gave her something else to fiddle with besides an irreplaceable magical artifact.

A cheery, upbeat song with lyrics about canvas skies and paper moons bled into a weather report (rainy all week, with chances of hail in the evenings) followed by a calm instrumental cello piece.

Then, abruptly, the music was interrupted by a sharp, static-like click—the sound of the studio microphones springing back to life and the reel-to-reels beginning to whir.

Then, Princess Celestia’s voice came clearly through the cracking fog.

“Hello, Equestria. My name is Celestia. I was the ruler of this fine country for approximately twenty-five-hundred years, up until November of twelve years ago—which you may remember as the month of my suicide and death. Both of which, as evidenced by my voice reaching your ears, have hopefully been proven as largely fictitious. Allow me to extend my apologies to any publishers and authors of history books, I realize that revisions will be costly and inconvenient. We’re losing enough trees as is.

“Naturally, that is the reason I am speaking to you ponies now. I do not wish to point my hoof at other ponies and shovel blame upon them, but I will state that my permanent resignation, as it were, was by no means approved by myself. I never took my own life, I never abdicated my throne.

“Of course, a lot has changed in twelve years. I don’t expect my return to be greeted with a flowery red carpet leading back to my throne. Many of these changes are good—the progress that has been made in the fields of agriculture, for example, have made me considerably proud. I have spent a good portion of my night fiddling with this very radio device, and I am earnestly amazed at the possibilities it unfolds. I have nothing but pride for your progress.

“And yet, there are negative changes, too. Unemployment rates have skyrocketed thirteen percent despite the rapidly shifting infrastructure—partly thanks to the destruction of rural lifestyles ground under the wheels of modernization. Quality of life in both rural and urban settings has been threatened by the overhanging clouds of smog thanks to poorly evolved industry. And, most disturbingly, the pollution levels have placed a countdown timer on this planet’s survival. We have lost seventeen percent of our forests in twelve years. I would like everypony to pause and reflect on that number for a moment.”

Twilight blinked. True to her word, Celestia was silent for nearly fifteen seconds, only fragments of static coming through the radio’s speakers. Twilight took the time to snuff out her cigarette.

“Clearly, this cannot go on,” she eventually continued. “I am not advising a complete cessation of industry and progress. That would not only be unfeasible and pointless, it would be devastating to the crippled environment and the unemployment rate. No, that is quite silly.

“I am instead calling for two things, and I am doing so on a public platform so that my words cannot be minced. Firstly, I am calling for a gradual reform of the industrial structure. We can make it sustainable, but we can only do so by making the ponies our main priority, instead of the value of the bit. Secondly, I would like to formally request an audience with Flim and Flam, or a high authority representative. Preferably the former, but I am not a picky mare. I merely wish for an informal conversation, where we can discuss our plans moving forwards. I would also like for this exchange to be broadcast—I have nothing to hide and I hope they do not, either.

“Do not be mistaken… I wish to retake my throne in time. I did not properly abandon it, and I have no future intentions of doing so. I realize many of you may be alarmed by this, but rest assured my plans are merely long term, and it is unlikely any of you will notice immediate change. I do this out of my undying dedication to bettering everypony’s lives. Not for any purposes of profit and personal gain. I hope to come to a compromise with Flim and Flam silently and peacefully, so that we can all be on the path for a better and more sustainable future.

“Together, we can both reap the benefits of change you have all sown, as well as plant seeds for our future generations. I apologize for interrupting your scheduled broadcasting, and I hope you all have a wonderful day. Thank you.”

Another electric click. Somewhere, miles away, the whirring tapes would be easing to a halt. Twilight had a mental image of Celestia taking a content step back from the receiver, giving the technician a grateful nod, charging magic into her horn, and then—

In a flash of arcane light, Celestia burst into being in the library.

Her gaze swept over Twilight, who quickly sunk her head to hide her shocked expression.

“Were you… were you serious about that?” Twilight whispered eventually. “Do you really think they’re willing to give you your throne through… through compromise?”

“No,” Celestia admitted. “No one seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. We’ve only taken the first step towards a very long battle, but it is important I don’t appear to be on the offensive. For now, we can do little else but see how Equestria responds to the ashes we have stirred up.”

Celestia and Twilight spent a significant part of their day still surrounding the radio as though they were in the middle of some worshipping ritual. The radio had fallen to static for nearly a minute after Celestia’s speech had ended, and then the cheery music had comedically continued on as though the speech had not occurred at all.

As fascinated as Celestia was by the device, she began desperately wishing it would produce something other than music as the hours carried on. Several times Twilight had interjected into their tense silence by offering that typically there would have been some news report or advertisement, and such a long period of uninterrupted music was not natural.

Celestia imagined her speech was probably being replayed over and over again—hopefully by Flim and Flam themselves. Ponies in dapper suits were probably tearing apart every line she had spoken, hunting for some weakness to exploit.

It was not a voice through the radio, however, that cut through her anxious thoughts, but rather a sudden, blaring ring coming from somewhere in the library.

Twilight perked up, too, and was on her hooves in an instant. She looked intensely excited and intensely frightened as she sprinted towards a device mounted on her wall that seemed to be the source of the ringing—a wooden box with two bells on the top, a rotary dial on the front, and what looked like funnel-like device with a wire hanging from a cradle on the side of the box.

It was this funnel that Twilight viciously dove at and tore from its cradle.

“What?” she hissed, as if speaking to it.

Celestia blinked.

Twilight was silent for a moment, listening intently.

When she next spoke, it was in the same irritated hiss. “No, you know what, Shining? Shut up. I told you before not to call me—”

Twilight suddenly stopped, as though she’d been interrupted.

She glanced at Celestia in terror.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shining! She’s… she’s dead, right?”

Slowly, Celestia realized what she was seeing—in fact, now that she thought closer, she recognized the device from Shining Armor’s apartment, too.

Whatever this thing was, it was like a radio, but with two-way communication.

“…you’re not making any sense, big brother,” Twilight was saying. “I… I don’t even own a radio, how would I know—”

“Is it Shining Armor?” Celestia approached the device. “He wishes to speak with me?”

Twilight’s eyes grew wide—first in shock, then in defeat. She wordlessly passed the receiver to Celestia.

“H… hello?” Celestia felt foolish speaking into an inanimate object, but a voice emanated from it regardless, distorted and crackling but undoubtedly familiar.

“Well, you’ve done it, Princess,” Shining Armor said. “They’re here right now, y’know. In my apartment. Demanding information about how to contact you. I guess they figured I’d be the first pony you’d contact.”

“What, precisely, is this?” Celestia said cautiously. “A… a communications device…”

“It’s called a telephone, Celestia,” Shining Armor said. Even with only his voice as a reference point, Celestia had an image of him bringing a hoof to the bridge of his snout in irritation. “Twily graced me with her telephone number, but wouldn’t tell me where it actually led to.”

“You lied to me,” Celestia said. “You said you had no way of contacting her.”

“Yeah, why don’t you sic your guards on me, Your Worshipness?” he drawled sarcastically. “First of all, nice speech. Seriously, brought a tear to my eye. I’d honestly started to think you’d gotten yourself caught and hauled back to your subterranean kingdom.”

“I was… occupied with other matters.”

“Oh? I wonder if those matters are connected to two artifacts worth nearly five thousand bits a pop vanishing from the Everfree Museum?”

Celestia grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is this what you do? You come back, infect my sister with your archaic ideals even more than you already have, and then have her help you steal stuff from a museum? Did you lose your mind?”

“Captain Shining Armor, I fear we have been driven off the trail. Can we go back to talking about my return announcement?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you about that. But stay on the line for a second.”

There came a clicking sound from the funnel-device, followed by silence. During it, Celestia cast a cold and accusing glance at Twilight.

“You refused to tell your own brother where you live?”

Twilight’s head sunk, but any reply she had was interrupted as a new, unfamiliar voice rung through the telephone.

“Miss Celestia?” A voice, distinctly a mare, asked her.

“Miss Celestia,” Celestia repeated, arching an eyebrow even though Twilight was the only pony who would see so. “That’s new. Who might I be speaking with?”

“You’re speaking with Flim Flam Corp, Miss.”

“The entirety?” Celestia tried and failed to repress a chuckle. “You identify as a unit? That’s sombering. I presume you wish to discuss our meeting? I made the request publicly, so everypony in Equestria will know if you refuse.”

Whoever the mare on the other end of the line was, she seemed unphased by Celestia’s taunt. “Obviously. We would be thrilled for a chance to speak with you.”

“That’s wonderful! On a public platform?”

“You made that rather clear.”

“Indeed I did, and I will take your answer as a yes,” Celestia said, moving the receiver to her other ear. “So then the details? The radio station that hosted me earlier this morning were rather polite and accommodating…”

“They’re the New Canterlot community radio. They have to be. They’re called public radio for a reason.”

Celestia fiddled with the receiver again, smiling widely, wishing Twilight could hear, too. This mare had quite a sharp attitude—Celestia almost felt guilty for finding it charming. “Duly noted. Then they will do fine… so it is merely a matter of date and time?”

“Tonight. Six PM.”

“Rather direct,” Celestia said. “And sudden. I’d think you’d like to give the papers a chance to tear me to pieces again, but no matter. I am perfectly content with that time.”

The mare on the other end started to say something, but Celestia brought the device back into its cradle, where it clicked and cut the conversation short.

Twilight was peering at her curiously, looking ready to burst into questions but keeping them back all the same.

“Six.” Celestia grinned. “Tonight.”

“What?! Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Celestia repeated. “They are wasting no time.”

“I’d think you’d have a point, though. Wouldn’t they want to tear into your reputation a little before giving you a public voice?”

“Oh, of course. But what did I give them that they can shove out as fiendish? That ponies who don’t have jobs should have jobs? That ponies' children should be given a good future? If they spoke against those, they’d only be revealing themselves as flawed. Plus, keep in mind, they’ve been planning since I escaped.”

“That’s true,” Twilight nodded.“I’m going with you tonight.”

“You most certainly are not. Not when there is still risk of—”

“Of what? Me being found guilty of helping you?” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Fine, I could live with that. Besides, do you think they’re not already onto me at this point? They’re onto my brother, so why not his nutcase journalist sister who has, on multiple occasions, written articles claiming the death of Princess Celestia is a staged conspiracy? They’ve already been looking for excuses to shut me up long before you entered the picture.”

“Have you forgotten what the point of retrieving the Sunstone was, Twilight? You are hope if I fall. You cannot fall with me.”

“What about that talk about me being your… your Crown Minister?” Twilight was pacing back and forth. “How am I ever going to be that if I just stay in the shadows? Besides, you’re not a dangerous criminal, and if they claim you are, they’d also have to claim they wrongfully imprisoned you without a trial for eleven years.”

Celestia opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t actually find an argument to use. Twilight Sparkle was right, after all… and truly she had been nothing but useful in the time Celestia had known her. Would it really be so selfish to accept her help when she desperately needed it? Twilight was determined to do her best and for the first time in her life was showing signs of actually having a purpose she was proud of. Why should she snuff that out?

Keeping her hidden in the library may keep her protected from the various voices tearing her reputation down, but would letting her face those voices herself be such a terrible alternative? Truly, they were safer in the public limelight than they were in the shadows—any claims regarding her tyranny or Twilight’s madness would be better denounced through public trust than simply laying in the protection of Twilight’s abandoned library.

Besides… she was simply speaking with Flim Flam Corporation, and with the whole of Equestria as an audience. Twilight had been exemplary by her side retrieving the Sunstone—would she really be any different by her side now?

Celestia shook that thought from her head promptly. Twilight’s usefulness was certainly a contributor, but not the only variable. She thought herself to be pathetic, to be a freakish misfit, and yet in so many years Celestia truly felt as though she had a pony who would actually listen to her when she spoke.

For more reasons than confidence and usefulness, Celestia decided keeping Twilight close could hardly have a harmful impact on their slim chances.

Six PM.

Celestia was ready.

New Canterlot loomed ahead, compressed into the small rectangle of a train window. Celestia peered thoughtfully at the bright and colourful lights, blinking and dancing as the train made its way into the heart of the city on an inclined rail.

Below them, streetcars darted to and fro on their electric trails… another impressive development that had required explanation from Twilight.

The heart of the city was at odds with what had lined the outside—colourful and bright on the inside and bleak and sombre on the outside. The outskirts, with their billowing vapour, seemed to be sacrificing their own beauty for the benefit of the city within.

Once more, Twilight had been a source of information as they had passed the stacks.

“Tobacco factory,” she’d said, pointing at each. “Fossil-fuel power station. Manufacturing line. Petroleum refinery.”

She’d also rattled off their pollution rates per year, something Celestia was more than thankful Twilight had on hand. Every second that passed, even on their eventless train-ride, she was becoming increasingly grateful for Twilight’s presence.

The unicorn herself had arranged her mane into a bun that seemed caught in a limbo between casual and classy. It was a manestyle that Celestia had tried and failed not to gush over. She had used the word adorable to describe it and hadn’t even felt guilty when Twilight had blushed intensely. Why should she feel guilt for simply saying the truth?

Besides the smokestacks, there were also thin metal scaffoldings, standing like artificial trees. Wires snaked from scaffolding to scaffolding, leading the way into New Canterlot proper. Telephone lines, Twilight had quickly explained as she traced Celestia’s curious gaze.

Before too long, the train was screeching to a halt in the midst of the much more tolerable interior of New Canterlot. Celestia led the way, first down the train carriage and then down the city streets.

There were crowds, but they all parted as she walked proudly past. They gawked and whispered, some cried out in surprise. Twilight trailed nervously behind, her eyes on her hooves, for the entirety of the short walk to the studio.

There was a heavy crowd of at least two dozen ponies surrounding the New Canterlot Public Radio, like it was the premiere of some popular film.

Except with much more malice than Celestia would have expected from such an event.

She kept her expression stoic and calm, ignoring the jeering and screaming crowd that had gathered. Celestia had seen her fair share of protests—she’d even seen effigies of herself during the Crystal War, although those had hardly been erected by her ponies. This was relatively tame by comparison. The faces and expressions were the same, although the slogans were new; Monarchy = History and All Hail The Queen of Corruption.

Celestia ignored them, and with a backwards glance she told Twilight to do the same, up until one particular cry caught her attention.

"Princess Celestia! Manehattan Times! Can I get a photo?"

She'd been catching flurries of camera flashes in her peripheral vision the moment she had stepped off the train, but for the first time she actually turned for one, and with a wing on Twilight's back gently turned her to do the same.

A small smile on her part, a torrent of a dozen camera flashes, and then she turned and continued her walk into the studio without any further events or confrontations.

It was all familiar to Celestia from earlier, entirely unchanged save for the abundance of ponies within. There were several guards—domestic police; her royal guard had been disbanded since her fall. Celestia noted how each had a firearm. During her rule, such a thing had never been needed, but then again she was probably the reason why they were carrying them now.

They were standing at the entrance, and Celestia gave them a polite smile as she trotted in, not hesitating in her walk towards the studio proper.

“Miss Celestia.”

She turned. The voice belonged to the same mare that she had been speaking with on the telephone—a young mare surely nowhere older than her mid-twenties, a long light gold mane and orange coat.

“Florina Harshwhinny.” She offered a hoof. “We spoke on the telephone?”

“Indeed!” Celestia blinked, amazed. Perhaps not a familiar face, but a familiar blood relation nonetheless. She shook her hoof and smiled with earnest mirth. “I do believe I knew your mother, Miss Florina. Equestria Games Inspector?"

The young mare nodded. "That's her."

Celestia withdrew her hoof, still smiling at the semblance of familiarity. "Pleased to meet you. I suppose you will be representing Flim Flam Industry?”

She nodded. “I’m the head of the public affairs department.”

“Ah, very nice. This is my friend, Twilight Sparkle. She’ll be sitting in, if that is alright.”

Twilight was blushing furiously. “We’ve… ah… met.”

“Hello, Miss Sparkle,” Florina grinned devilishly. “Steal any more corporate paperwork, recently?”

Twilight blushed further. “Shut up. You didn’t even prove anything against me.”

“We didn’t publicly expose anything against you,” she corrected cheerily. She seemed to be several years younger than Twilight, but her confidence was boundless nonetheless. “Quite the company you’re keeping, Miss Celestia. Equestria’s model citizen herself.”

“I’d appreciate it if you saved your petty insults for when the entirety of Equestria can hear you,” Celestia shot back in defense, although internally she was making note to confront Twilight about the accusation later, hoping desperately it indeed was not truthful, despite Twilight’s reaction.

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t wait any further.” The prim mare motioned at the sound-proofed room beyond the glass and radio equipment. Tall reel-to-reels and other elaborate looking electric equipment soared to the ceiling on one side, but beyond the glass was simply a padded room, two microphones, and two comfortable looking couches.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” Celestia agreed. “Before the reels begin spinning, allow me just to say that I greatly appreciate your promptness in meeting me. I am amazed with how civil you are treating matters, all things considered.”

She rose an eyebrow dubiously. “…All things considered?”

“I understand I am perceived as a figure of contempt and perhaps even fear. It is comforting to be treated in such a manner.”

“Uh huh. Well, we’ll see if you’ll still be thanking me when this is all over, Miss Celestia.”

Without saying anything further, Florina Harshwhinny turned and led the way into the next room. Celestia hesitated for a moment with Twilight before following.

“It is very important how we present ourselves,” she whispered. “I don’t know how much merit her accusations of you carry, but you will not be acting in such a manner in there. Do you understand?”

“Y… yes.”

“Twilight, it is imperative that we build trust here. Not merely with a specific group, as you have, but with everypony.” A wing on Twilight’s back and a warm smile defused most of the tension, and then Celestia removed it and led the way forwards.

On the other side of the glass, the reel-to-reels sprung to life.

Florina Harshwhinny cleared her throat, tapped her microphone, and then gave the technician beyond the glass a nod.

Then, she addressed Celestia.

“You can go ahead and have the first word, Miss Celestia. This is more or less simply a briefing of events that I’ve been told to relay to you, but you can offer a few remarks of your own if you want. As soon as the light turns red, you’re good to go.”

Celestia only nodded, and leaned towards her own microphone, keeping the glowing yellow bulb in the corner of her vision, drawing in her breath, and then…

The colour switched red.

“Well, since we’re not making wine or cheese, I see no reason to delay…” Celestia decided it would be best to begin not with somberity but rather good humour. “My name is Celestia. I am here with my associate and friend Twilight Sparkle, and Flim Flam Corporation’s head of public relations, Miss Florina Harshwhinny. On behalf of the three of us, allow me to offer our thanks for your attention during these proceedings, as they were, as well as my apologies for their less than formal nature.

“I made my stance quite clear this morning, and it has been played back several times today for your convenience. I imagine it has been published in the papers as well, so there is not much cause for repetition there. I hardly wish to appear offensive or confrontational, so with that said I will allow Miss Florina to offer her reply, on behalf of Flim and Flam.”

With a bored-looking stare, Florina Harshwhinny obliged.

“First of all, if you could ditch the pretentiousness, we would probably all be quite content,” Florina began, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t imagine many ponies wish to sift through your showy language to get to your point.”

Twilight opened her mouth with a sharp retort, but Celestia was quicker. “My point, in your eyes, being?”

“That you have no idea what the hell you’re supposed to do. And you expect us to give your throne back, without you lifting a hoof or proving you deserve it, because you don’t even know how to begin shrugging off your own reputation.”

“Hm, perhaps you are right, and my use of language was needlessly confusing,” Celestia replied, her smile unfailing. “I’ll be blunt, then; I want my throne back, but I wish to do so without villainizing anypony. As such, I leave the first move up to Flim Flam Industry, to be done in the limelight. If you truly wish, I can have the first move, but I don’t think you would wish if I did.”

“Is that blackmail, Miss Celestia?”

“I hardly think so. Blackmail entails you having done something wrong, and I said no such thing.”

Twilight’s pen scratched furiously, and the unicorn herself was wearing a smug grin.

“Fine,” Florina replied, narrowing her eyes. “You want our reply? Alright. A hearing. That’s our reply. A criminal hearing.”

“A criminal hearing?” Celestia cocked her head. There was a jug of water on a nearby end table, and she poured herself a glass without breaking eye contact with Florina. “I am confused. What offense, exactly, am I being accused of committing?”

Florina was silent for several seconds, and Celestia truly did not care to hear whatever answer she’d had before continuing anyways.

“I don’t enjoy pointing hooves and shovelling blame onto other ponies, but it seems to me I should be the one proposing such an action.”

This time, Florina looked up in surprise. Celestia could have sworn she’d seen a trace of genuine joyful surprise flit across her stoic expression. Her response was one syllable.

“Oh?”

“Oh indeed.” Celestia took a dainty sip of her glass of water. No sense keeping her cards hidden, now. “I think unlawfully imprisoning me for eleven years in atrocious conditions without fair trial and carrying out blatant torture against me are grounds for legal action on my part—both under the infrastructure you ponies have set up in my absence, and under my former semi-autocratic government. Is that the trial you are proposing…?

“No. You misunderstand,” she replied.

“Ah, I do?” Celestia gave an innocent looking smile, before waving a hoof dismissively. “Then enlighten me.”

“Your rule is under trial. The—and I mean no offense with this term—despotic nature of your self-identified ‘autocratic’ government, is under trial.”

“Mm, indeed.” Celestia nodded, setting down the glass of water again. “That makes much more sense. Although I must wonder why such actions were not taken eleven years ago.”

In the ensuing silence, Celestia’s stubborn pride bade her add another muttered remark:

“Seems to me like with your so called proper legal standings, you could have gone… ah, Queen of Prance on me right then.”

Twilight perked up a little, but Celestia got the impression nopony else listening beyond the studio glass had understood her remark. Still, her intent and tone remained clear and Florina was quite indignant.

“That is slander, Miss Celestia.”

“Ah, is it?” The irony was hardly lost on Celestia, but her mind had since caught her inconvenient pride and scolded it down. To engage this foolish mare in petty bickering before all of Equestria would not be beneficial to her cause even remotely.

Instead, she smiled sheepishly and apologized.

For the record, and what not.

Twilight, however, perked up from her notes wearing a dubious expression. “Sorry to interrupt, but… what exactly is the purpose of this… uh, hearing? To prove she’s a tyrant?”

“Not a tyrant. Simply unfit to rule.”

“Interesting.” Celestia brought a hoof to her chin. “And if you fail to? Then what? You shall give me my throne back?”

“That is not my authority to say.”

“Mm. Figures,” Celestia mused. “Precisely why I wished to simply speak with Flim and Flam. Not their flying monk…”

She trailed off before she could finish. Thankfully, Twilight was quick to leap in again.

“So what’s the end result of this hearing?” she inquired, setting her notes aside. “Both results—if we win, and if we lose. And it’s gonna be public again, right? So you can’t pull your corrupt propaganda censorship bullsh—”

Celestia silenced Twilight with a raise of her hoof.

“Yes, it will be public,” she said. “Not broadcasted live, but open to the public nonetheless. And the end result, assuming you disprove the allegations presented against you, will most likely be your eligibility for candidacy.”

“Wait…” Celestia blinked. This time, it was her turn to be indignant. “I have to be elected? Why would I have to be elected if I already proved my leadership worth? What, do I need more job experience?”

The moment the sharp remark left her tongue, Celestia knew it had been a mistake.

The entirety of Equestria had just heard her practically boast.

Florina took a sip of her own water, disguising a satisfied smile with a hoof. “No, you need to prove that Equestria wants you to be their leader. Isn’t it all for the ponies, Miss Celestia? Because you make it seem like it’s a pursuit of pride.”

Beside her, Twilight dropped her pen. Despite the severity of the situation, Celestia found herself more curious whether or not the sound would have been picked up by the microphones.

“I’m curious, Miss Celestia, and I’m sure the entirety of Equestria is, too…” Florina looked first at Twilight, and then at Celestia, like a great bird eyeing down prey. “You have made it quite clear that you are discontent with Equestria’s new democratic rule. I’d like to hear you elaborate on these problems, as you see them.”

“Certainly.” It wasn’t a challenge Celestia had any intent to back down from. She politely took Twilight’s notebook and unfolded it. “Let’s start with the laws surrounding industrial production. Or the lack thereof. You’ve established a free-market capitalist state without any government intervention.”

“So you’re saying the government has a right to arbitrarily dictate production?”

“No, but unbridled control given to those whose sole intent is to turn a profit? I fear for the well-being of the working class. And that’s to say nothing of the mass amounts of pollution that you’re churning into the skies.”

“Right. So a bit of unpleasant looking fog stirs up on the outskirts of the cities and you’re calling for an entire social overhaul.”

“That unpleasant looking fog…” Twilight Sparkle growled, apparently not even needing her notes. “… is sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxide. Long term exposure—and by long term, I mean a mere decade—can cause respiratory diseases and shorten life spans. So, yeah, a bit of unpleasant fog that poses significant health risks to innocent ponies.”

“That’s quite funny, Miss Sparkle, because every single professional evaluation has found the pollution—as you call it—to be perfectly safe. Unless you think your little homemade evaluations are more credible?”

“Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll forgive me if I'm dubious of professional evaluations of Flim Flam Industry carried out by Flim Flam Industry.”

“And how exactly are you any less biased?”

“—which is precisely why we need unbiased government intervention instead of completely unbridled capitalism.” Celestia cut in.

“You say unbiased, and then refer to ponies chosen by you.”

“Chosen by me, based on their talents, abilities, and knowledge. Not their current economical or political positions.”

“You've presented no reason why such interventions wouldn't be done in order to further your personal agendas.”

“And you have presented no reason why anypony should fear what my personal agendas may be. Why would I be concerned if your pollution is proven to be harmless? Why would I intentionally sabotage production?”

“You are asking an entire country to simply trust you.”

“Prove they shouldn’t," Celestia said simply in response. “A criminal hearing. Alright. I agree. I presume the planning is to be done by Flim Flam Corporation?”

“Yes, provided your tinfoil-hat-wearing ‘friend’ doesn’t steal our paperwork.”

Twilight bristled with fury, but thankfully remained silent.

“You’re gonna need to give us a contact address, by the way. I can’t write ‘Condemned Library’ on my documents.”

“Perhaps the library shouldn’t have been condemned in the first place,” Celestia replied passively. “Fine. Will do. Are we done here? I have a moon to raise.”

As if in reply, the buzzing red light suddenly blinked out. Celestia and Twilight both cast a sideways glance, watching as the reel-to-reels slowed to a stop.

In a blur, she had thanked Florina, and once more extended her thanks to the radio operators. She felt as if she was a ghost as she led the way from the radio studio and through the same group of protestors. Her horn was aglow as she raised the moon while sifting through the crowds, doing her best to hide her wincing expression.

The only semblance of lucidity Celestia found herself observing was that it had begun storming furiously in the short time they had been inside.

It wasn’t until they were seated within a scummy cafe back in Old Canterlot nearly an hour later that Celestia finally spoke.

“That could have gone better.”

Twilight looked up from her swirling coffee. She had an expression comparable to a shell-shocked soldier. “You think? They destroyed us.”

“I was a fool. I let her get under my skin.”

“That’s not exactly hard to do.”

Celestia sipped her coffee. “Indeed. I feel as though something is wrong. They are taking too big of a risk.”

“What do you mean?”

“This hearing, as they call it. They are putting all their chips down on the assumption that they will succeed. However, if they fail, they will essentially be discrediting their own rule and admitting to the unlawful and inequine treatment of… ah, me.” Celestia scratched an ear. “It just seems too big of a risk. It is as though they have some way of ensuring victory I do not know about.”

“Well, what exactly is their other option?” Twilight reasoned. “I mean, it’s like what you said, right? About giving opposition a voice so they can refute it? The opposite is basically letting you blab on about their horrible treatment of you, and build up a group of ponies willing to support your cause.”

“I suppose.” Celestia did not look entirely convinced. “But with their continued propaganda and censorship, they could combat that. It just seems like an odd gamble, especially since if I really did speak out regarding their actions, they could just feign innocence and shove out propaganda to support themselves.”

“Do they… uh… I’m not accusing you of anything, Princess… but do they have anything that might incriminate you? Y’know, justify what they did?”

“Hm…” Celestia pursed her lips in thought.

Did they?

“I attempted to escape several times, and destroyed some expensive equipment whilst doing so. But that seems like it would be easy for me to justify.”

Thanks perhaps to exhaustion alone, Twilight did not seem to catch Celestia's hesitation. Instead, she merely shrugged.

“That's true. Uh… also… I know you were joking, but that Queen of Prance remark…” Twilight scratched an ear sheepishly. “You don’t seriously think ponies will do that to you, right?”

“Not to sound morbid, but I was good friends with the Queen of Prance, and she was a very nice mare. Not the best leader, but a very warm and friendly pony. That did not stop history. Nor keep her head on her shoulders when her subjects grew tired of her.”

“Goddesses above,” Twilight mumbled, crinkling her nose.

The rain continued to pour and the rumbling of thunder offered a reply to Twilight’s disgusted exclamation.

“There’s an old saying, Twilight: the dance of a feather can make a kingdom burn. The tiniest of actions can shift history and kill queens. We must tread carefully.”