Bring Them Back

Chapters

I Thought He’d Last Forever
Make It All Okay
Not Strong Enough
Memories
The Stars Shall Aid in Their Return
Let the Rainbow Remind You

I Thought He’d Last Forever

She was five thousand years old, but the Everfree still terrified Twilight Sparkle. Her wings huddled close to her body as she struggled across the uneven ground, eyes shifting about for predators.

The forest had always been dangerous, but not like this. Trees grew tall as towers, their trunks clad in iron-hard bark. Thorns sprouted from every crack in the earth, every poisonous plant, every creeping vine, drawing blood from Twilight’s legs as she clambered past them. The place seemed designed to repel visitors—it was.

Trails of lilac magic led Twilight on, tracing a path through the tangle. There once was a road that ran this way, through the streets of Ponyville, across a bridge over a calm river, but that was many years ago. The Everfree engulfed it all now.

The princess came upon an impassable wall of thorns, focused a spell, and blasted a way through. Her horn went haywire, sputtering off sparks of lavender as raw magic surged around it. Twilight took a deep breath and turned off her pathfinding spell. She wouldn’t need it anymore.

A mighty force had warped this place. Above her, the trees grew in thick layers, curling inwards in a cavernous dome around a clearing. Sunlight trickled through holes in the dome as if they were windows in a castle wall. Thorn barriers, quicksand moats, and vine traps guarded the land, grown by wild magic.

The forest had become a fortress, an impenetrable sanctuary meant to protect one very special place.

Impenetrable to all but a certain very powerful, very desperate alicorn.

Before her stood a bulbous cottage, all covered in moss and leaves as if it too had sprung out of the earth. Everything around it had decayed; the rains had washed away the road, the flooded river had swept away the bridge, but the cottage remained, untouched, unaltered.

Fifty lifetimes ago, it had been the home of one of Twilight’s closest friends. Now, it was her crypt.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight knocked on the door.

Another old friend answered.

“Do you like what I’ve done with the place? I’ve even kept it the right way up this time. No, my days of turning buildings on their heads and blessing Ponyville with chocolate rain are behind me, dear Princess Twilight. Would you like some tea? A scone?”

Twilight said nothing.

“Perhaps one of those cucumber sandwiches?”

No response.

“What, come all this way to visit your old pal Discord, and you can’t even say a word? Cat got your tongue?” The draconequus pulled open Twilight’s mouth. “Nope, still there.”

Twilight closed her eyes.

“You know, it’s been ages since you last dropped by.” Discord glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands spun wildly. “I think. I’ve never been good at reading these kinds of clocks. The short hand is the minute, right?”

A slow tear puddled above Twilight’s cheek.

Discord’s antics ceased. “I’m sorry. You’ve come to see her, haven’t you?” He hesitated, then laid a warm paw on her withers. “I’ve kept the tomb clean. Put some flowers on it every once in a while.”

Soft whimpers. Twilight shuddered, her belly rising and falling in uneasy rhythm. She could barely stand.

Discord put his arms around her, held her, and led her to the grave.

FLUTTERSHY
Here Lies a Dear Friend
There never was a soul she could not save
Rest in Harmony

The headstone, first laid five thousand years ago, had not crumbled, and the thorns would never cover it. Only flowers grew here.

“As long as my magic holds out, the grave, the cottage, all of it will last forever.” Discord looked back at his first friend’s old home. “You know how hard it is for the God of Change to make things stay the same?”

They stood there, the two immortals, and watched the daylight trickle through the branches. With defenses like Discord’s, this grave would remain undisturbed until long after the sun burned out.

His arm still rested on Twilight’s back. Discord hoped this was the right way to comfort a friend. It was more complicated than this, he was sure—maybe he should say something? Fluttershy hadn’t stuck around long enough to explain what to do in these situations.

It took a moment for Discord to realize Twilight was crying. His fur slowly soaked through with tears as the alicorn pressed her face into his chest, no longer able to look at the grave.

“There, there,” the draconequus said, softly stroking her back. There, there? I sound like I’m talking to a foal who stubbed her hoof! This isn’t right, these aren't the words to say! What do I do?

“She… Fluttershy…” Discord never struggled for words before, not when he was cracking a joke or insulting the Princesses. “She has an alicorn, a god, and a dragon to remember her.”

Before Discord could speak again, Twilight muttered something, muffled in his fur. Discord pulled himself back so he could hear.

“He’s gone. Spike… he’s gone.” Twilight’s throat throbbed and her voice wavered. “I did all I could, renewed the youth spell every day, but it…” She remembered the smell of his burning body, consumed by his own dragonfire. A natural funeral pyre. “It fell apart. I couldn’t hold it forever, and now he’s…”

Her knees buckled, spilling the princess across the forest floor. She didn't have the strength to stand. "He's gone. All at once, five thousand years caught up to him.”

Discord conjured a handkerchief and tried to mop Twilight’s tears off her face. “It turns out…” She fought to speak between her sobs. “Not even dragons live that long.”

They sat there, Spirit of Chaos coiled around the Element of Harmony, till the sun set.

“What did her voice sound like, Discord?” The first words Twilight had spoken since the moon rose. Cold light fell on Fluttershy's grave.

“You were a closer friend to her than I ever was. Your memories will be better than my imitations.”

He felt Twilight shake her head against his chest. “I meant to tell you earlier. Turns out memories don’t last forever, even though I do.”

Discord raised an eyebrow. “You mean…?” Twilight’s horn ruffled his fur as she nodded.

“Even alicorns forget.” She pushed herself up, taking all her effort not to collapse again. “I gave the eulogy at the funeral, Spike’s funeral, just four nights ago. I talked about his first day in Ponyville, about being the first baby dragon Fluttershy ever saw. He encouraged her to start the Dragon Sanctuary. He encouraged all of us.” She drove her muzzle into Discord’s fur, trying to gather what little strength she could from him.

“And Celestia…” She hadn’t gathered enough. “And Celestia…” Her body quivered. “And Celestia had no idea who I was talking about. I talked to her after the service—Fluttershy meant nothing to her. Just a name from five thousand years ago, a random pony she doesn’t even remember. For all I know, she forgot her to make room for some other hero.“ Discord stroked her back in slow circles. “Just another dead mayfly.”

“And I realized… I can’t remember the sound of Fluttershy’s voice. I only recalled that bit about their first meeting because I wrote it down, but it’s just words on a page to me.”

“I had to look it up to recall our first day in Ponyville. I had to look up the events of one of the most important moments in my life. Like I was writing a history paper.” Again, her head sunk into Discord's fur. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. “Because that’s all it is to me now. History. A story written by some other pony, some other Twilight, with friends I can barely remember.”

Discord tried to speak, but his words fell flat in his mouth before they ever left his lips.

“I don’t blame Celestia.” Twilight's voice interrupted his attempts at a response. “If I had to remember the millions of ponies I saw die, I’d go insane. I probably already am. I spend all my time trying to hold on to them, but they’re slipping away. I can feel it.” Her tear-stained face slowly wrenched itself into a determined grimace. “And I’m sick of it.”

She looked up into Discord’s hollow smile, and the draconequus was stunned to see steel behind the tears in her eyes. “Discord, I want them back.”

“Twilight, are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“Yes! I want them back from the grave, from the afterlife, from Heaven or Hell or Tartarus or Nothingness or wherever it is we go when we’re gone, I don’t care! I want them back! I want them here, because this alicorn blood means I will never be able to go them!”

She battled to keep her voice from cracking, and for a moment, it seemed like she was winning. “I want them back. I want to see the Rainboom again, I want to question my own sanity as I see Pinkie do the impossible.”

Twilight’s anger melted together with her sorrow. “I’d trade everything, every one of these damned court outfits, and… and every jewel in my golden crown just to feel the stitches of Rarity’s dresses again.”

“I want to…” She could barely breathe now. Her words battled tears, coming slowly and weakly from her mouth. “I want to see…” Deep breaths rattled her rib cage as she fought for air. “I want to walk to Sugarcube Corner again, with Spike on my back…”

As she spoke, her voice dwindled to a whisper, till Discord had to crane his neck closer to hear her. “I need to see their faces. One more time. Give me one more time, Discord.”

Finally, the God of Chaos spoke. “You know, I tried to offer immortality to Fluttershy, to keep extending her life forever, must have been a thousand times. Refused, again and again as she withered away. Even on her deathbed…”

“I don’t care.” Twilight still had to choke back tears, but her voice had a shred of iron in it again. “I don’t care what she said, and I know that makes me a bad pony, but I don’t care. She can curse me when I drag her back to me, as long as it means I can hear her voice again. As long as I can feel anything again. I know Fluttershy always loved nature, but I don’t, not if that nature takes my friends away from me.”

“I don’t care if they hate me, I just want…” Sobs racked her body, and for a moment the princess looked just as she did five thousand years ago, a lost little pony without color in her mane or hope in her heart.

That time, Discord had taken her friends from her. This time, she prayed, he would bring them back.

“Discord, if there’s any of the old you, the chaotic you, the spirit that made a mockery of the laws of nature and turned the world upside down on a whim, I beg you. Do it again. Cheat death for me.”

Discord tried to think of a witty reply. He failed. In the end, all he could do was wrap his arms around the weeping princess. Tears ran off his scales and soaked into his fur.

“Some things are beyond even my power, Twilight. I can lengthen life, stretch it out, but once it’s gone… You know it doesn’t work that way.”

Twilight sunk deeper to the forest floor, Discord’s arms the only things holding her up. She was spent. Once, many centuries ago, there was fire in her, fire that would burn through forests and boil away the ocean to save the ones she loved, but that flame was flickering, and now Discord’s words had finally snuffed it out. Only ashes remained.

She lay there, too tired to cry or shudder or even breathe, for what seemed like eternity. Then the corners of Discord’s lips slowly curled upwards. The old jester might have one last trick up his sleeve, one last chance to make the princess smile and flip Equestria on its head. It would cost him. But who ever liked a cheap gag?

Twilight heard his voice, his old voice, like it was the first time they met, the voice of a trickster god, full of playful malice, content to mock the universe like it was nothing.

Discord spoke. “Twilight, it seems you’ve misheard me. It’s beyond my power, princess. And it’s certainly beyond yours, or else you wouldn’t come running to me, inconsolable as a kicked puppy. But…”

Discord’s words hung in the air—quite literally, for he had conjured a speech bubble right out of Spike’s cartoons. He hadn’t joked like this in millenia.

Twilight breathed in. Was he…? Surely he didn’t mean…? “Discord, please, if you…” The words caught in her throat again. “If you remember any of the mercy Fluttershy taught you, tell me—” She could barely speak, couldn’t bear to ask for what she thought was impossible. “If you are lying, I swear I will destroy you.”

But she had to know. “Discord, please.”

Discord smiled broader than ever. “Dear Princess Twilight, I never said it was beyond our power.”

And in an instant, Twilight’s fire burst back to life. “You mean…?”

“Twilight, you know I love you, but you’ve got to stop with the dot-dot-dots, it’s breaking the flow. But yes, I mean it.” A long claw brushed Twilight’s disheveled mane out of her eyes. “Let’s do this.”

Her face broke into a smile. “I’ll get my books.”

“No need, they’re already here.” A snap of Discord’s fingers, and the forest suddenly shuddered under the weight of a million codices, scrolls, grimoires, and treatises on the darkest of magic.

Another snap, and herbs from distant lands, potions drenched with power, and every manner of reagent, amulet, ingredient or hieroglyphic engraving that could possibly help filled Fluttershy’s cottage.

One final snap, and an elephant fell from the sky into the seat of a twelve-foot unicycle.

“I don’t think we’ll need that, Discord.”

“Ah, ah, who’s the master of chaos here?”

Twilight sighed.

“Come on, say it.”

The princess put her hoof to her face. “You are.”

“And don’t you know it, baby.” Discord pulled a lab coat and thick goggles from his conjured wardrobe. “Twilight, it’s time to raise the dead.”

Make It All Okay

“Now, I’ll just recharge these every four hours, and you’ll stay strong and healthy for a long, long time!” Twilight’s horn lit up the night as her magic carved curved sigils into Spike’s scales. Lines of force traced the carvings, pouring energy into the dragon’s body. The spell was Twilight’s own invention, a shield to hold back the years.

The ground shook as Spike took a breath. The spells made it easier, but he still labored to fill his lungs. “How long is a long time, Twilight?”

The princess’s eyes fell. “About another fifty years, until the runes stop working.” She looked up. “But I’ll think of new ones! I’ve got Golden Arrow and his best battalion working on taking the Idol of the Everlasting out of changeling territory, and once I have it, I can drain its magic for another century! If my calculations are correct, the idol should slow your aging by eighty-six percent.”

Her mouth contorted itself into a forced smile. “And my alchemists think they might be able to squeeze a bit more out of the elixir you’ve been taking! And the archaeolinguistics team is working on a new translation of the Litany of Tambelon! It might be a dead end, but I think we could repurpose some of its rituals to help…”

“Twilight.” Spike’s growling voice cut her off, his deep tones shaking the crystal of the castle walls. “When are you going to stop?”

“What? What do you mean, stop?”

“Last century you were… ‘recharging’ me every few weeks. Now it’s every few hours. I don’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t soaked in that ‘elixir.’” His nostrils flared as he took another breath. “I’m getting old, Twi.”

Twilight stood up on her hind legs, resting her forelegs on his hand—it was as large as she was now. “Nonsense! Dragons live long, healthy lives; it’s just some extra help, like those vitamin pills ponies take, just something to make you even stronger…”

“Twilight.” Again, his voice silenced hers. “I have lived a long life. But this isn’t healthy anymore. I’m a sinking ship, and soon you won’t be able to bail the water out fast enough.”

His eyes, large and wet as murky ponds, tilted up to the moon. “I’m going to be gone someday. And I want you to be ready.” Spike closed his eyes as he sighed, his heavy breath filling the room with the smell of smoke.

When he opened them again, he saw Twilight crying.

She was everything to him—mother, sister, caretaker, and friend. Now she was crying, and Spike knew that that would not do. His wing stretched over her, sheltering her with impenetrable scales and leather skin.

Twilight’s lip quivered.

“Come on, Twi. You’re supposed to be a princess, not an old dragon’s personal nurse.”

“You’re right, Spike. I’m the Princess of Friendship, and I can’t be that without my first friend!” Her quavering voice betrayed her fear, her quaking lungs, her quickening pulse. “I-I still need my number one assistant. Spike, I need you. Please, stay.” For the thousandth time, she cursed that Spike had grown too large for her to hold him. “For me.”

She tried to stroke his house-sized head with her wings. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it all okay.”

Twilight woke with her mane soaked in sweat.

“Dozing off, are we, princess? Well, I suppose it’s for the best.” Discord smirked, his nose still buried in a Saddle Arabian scroll. “You certainly do need your beauty sleep.”

The alicorn wiped drool from her mouth with a dirty wing. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours. ‘Course, you haven’t slept since you got here last Monday, so it was probably well-deserved.” He slithered through the air towards her. “Take a gander at this.”

Twilight’s eyes wobbled as she tried to focus on the papyrus Discord shoved at her. “What am I looking at?”

“The line that starts with loaf-duck-horseshoe-squiggle.”

Her tired brain worked overtime to translate the hieroglyphics. “It’s an… embalming spell?”

“Not quite. Looks like the pharaohs had some insight into reanimation, too. Of course, most of these ingredients are illegal, but I don’t think that’s going to stop either of us.”

“No good. Reanimation isn’t going to cut it, not unless you think a few shambling corpses can replace my friends.”

When Discord had agreed to help, she’d felt like the sun was shining for the first time in years. Finally, there was hope. She didn’t know how he did it, but Discord could summon up books even she’d never heard of.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. Day after day she spent without sleep, just like she did before she came to Discord. And day after day, she found nothing.

“It’s close.”

“It’s not. Shoving new life into dead tissue is possible, sure. Doctors do it all the time. But I don’t want new life. I want old life, my friend’s old lives, their souls. Reanimation won’t bring back the memories, just put a new pony in an old body.”

Discord dove into a pile of parchment and pulled out a half-torn page. “What about this? Some old mare wrote it. Starbright Sleazy, I think? Or maybe Starry Glimmer. I don’t know, unicorn names all sound the same to me.”

Twilight grabbed the page from his claw. “Time travel? Over a five thousand year range?”

“Yeah, I know. Not enough energy in the universe. But what if we…”

“No, Clover’s Law of Life-force Conservation forbids it, even if we could somehow harness infinite power.”

“Well, you know what they say. Laws are meant to be broken. I’m sure I could pull a few strings, bend some rules.”

“Suspend Clover’s Law? That would—” Twilight’s eyes glazed over as she performed a few mental calculations. “—annihilate all matter in the galaxy several times over. Even if you could do it, which I doubt.”

Her head flopped down onto a book. “We’ve tried everything, Discord.”

“Oh, not quite everything. I can always conjure a few more books, we can flip through them together…”

“More books aren’t going to help.”

The draconequus sucked in air sharply. He’d known it was bad, but this was worse than he could have predicted. Twilight, saying books wouldn’t help?

The princess continued. “And look what we’ve done. We’ve turned Fluttershy’s cottage into… into a lab, filled it with dark magic and poisonous herbs and an elephant on a unicycle.” Her hooves rubbed water from her eyes. “Not the most honorable way to treat your friend’s grave.”

She was shivering again. Boiling potion cauldrons kept the cottage hot, but Twilight still kept shuddering. Something inside her was frozen, had been frozen ever since she saw her friends fade away.

And Discord would not allow that.

“Twilight, try to get some sleep. Even alicorns need it.”

“What? No, I don’t…”

It took barely any magic to get her to slumber. A quick snap of Discord’s fingers, and she fell back onto the book, drooling in deep sleep. He needed her out of the way. He needed to keep her in the dark.

There is one thing we haven’t tried, little pony. But you’re not going to like it.

Not Strong Enough

“Get the magicians!”

“Yes, Princess. Which…”

“All of them!”

Twilight’s words sent the servant stumbling out of the crystal chamber, but she did not look up from her books. The air around her distorted as she wove ancient spells.

“Alchemists, more elixir!”

“It’s having no effect! The formula—”

“Add comfrey root, double portions!” Still her eyes raced across the pages, searching for something that could save Spike.

“Twilight.”

“What!” Her mind still searching through scrolls, she barely recognized her dragon’s voice until he spoke again.

“Twilight.”

This time, she realized who was talking. “Spike? It’s going to be alright. The magicians are coming, we can—” She didn’t know what they could do. “—we can do something. We can save you.”

“Twilight, I need you to know….”

“Stop! Save your breath. Please!” Another book, another spell—each one tried, failed, rejected. Another book, another spell—one of them had to work. Another book…

If only her runes had lasted. If only she hadn't failed. If only she had been stronger. Then Spike wouldn’t be suffering.

“Alchemists! New recipe!” She tore a page from her book and tossed it with her magic.

“Princess, there’s no time—”

“Make it!”

“Twilight…”

“I need to focus!” No time to speak, no time to listen. Work faster. Think faster. For Spike.

“Twi, I love you.”

“You can tell me later! Just shut up and let me save you!”

She felt the room growing hotter and hotter. The screech of the magician’s spells, the crash of alchemist’s pestles, the crackle of flames—too loud. Need to focus.

Somepony shouted. She didn't listen.

Summoned scrolls and sheaves of paper spiraled around her head, her eyes devouring them, excavating them for any spell that could save him.

“Spike, breathe deep.” If he answered, she was too busy to notice.

The heat rose even higher. Twilight mopped sweat from her face.

“Princess!” Golden Arrow’s voice. He was close to her, almost shouting into her ear.

“Silence! I’m working!”

“Princess, we must leave…”

“Guards, remove this nuisance! Now, Spike, hold on, I have an idea…”

“Princess!” An armored hoof seized her shoulder, grabbed her, dragged her away. Away from Spike.

“Release me!” Still she recited incantations, racked her mind for solutions…

“Princess, we need to get you to safety!”

“What?” For the first time since she heard Spike was dying, she looked up from her manuscripts.

Her breaths shallowed and quickened. The books stopped their circling, levitated scrolls fell to the ground one by one. Slowly, she looked away from them. She saw the fire.

She’d seen it before, in the dragons she’d studied. In the moment of death, all their magic ignited in one last inferno.

She’d seen it before, but never with Spike in the center.

Discord watched the pony, her head shaking, her mouth wrenching itself into tiny gasps and screams. He’d tried to suppress her dreams, keep her from reliving the same nightmare. But he wasn’t Luna. He hoped he’d at least dulled the pain.

No matter. She’d be feeling pain soon enough, anyway, and there were more pressing issues for Discord to attend to.

Namely, his own mind. He hated going there, hated it every time. But he had to. He knew the spell, a simple thing. He cast it.

Discord’s eyes rolled backwards into his head, looking through his skull, looking into his brain. It was a dark and scary place, full of bad thoughts he kept locked up. Even Luna feared to enter his dreams.

But his dreams were where he needed to go.

Checkerboard patterns covered every surface of the endless sphere. Below his feet, he saw pawns and kings, knights and rooks, acting out the eternal game that raged in his mind.

At least, he thought they were rooks. Those were the ones that moved diagonally, right? Discord had never learned to play chess. Now that he thought of it, chess probably didn’t involve juggling queens, either.

“Good heavens!” A pig struggled to flap its meaty wings and fly up to Discord. “Fancy you dropping in, sir! What can I do for you?”

Reginald, Caretaker of the Memories of the God of Chaos. Another figment of Discord’s imagination, of course, but a useful one.

“Reginald, take me to the Restricted Zone.”

The pig’s monocle almost fell out. “The… the Restricted Zone, sir? Where we keep the… the bad thoughts?”

Discord couldn’t help but shudder. “Yes. I need one of them.”

Reginald gulped. “Follow me, sir.”

The flight was instantaneous, or maybe it took a thousand years. Probably the thousand years; everything in Equestria took a thousand years, it seemed. Either way, time meant very little in Discord’s mind.

“Here we are, sir. The Restricted Zone.”

The Zone was a prison, a most unpleasant prison. Black towers rose from black earth and culminated in black spires from which hung black silhouettes on black gibbets. This was where the bad thoughts stayed. Discord had many bad thoughts.

“Remind me to repaint this place sometime. Maybe a cheery yellow?”

Reginald shook his head. They both knew sometime was never going to come. Sighing, he hoisted open the gate. Discord started to walk through.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Reginald?”

“It’s time, is it? For the… you know?”

“Yes.”

Discord always knew this day would come, so Reginald did, too. You never could keep secrets from your own mind.

The pig tried to collect himself and stop his quivering. Sharply, he snapped into a salute. “Sir, it’s been an honor.”

“I’ll miss you, Reginald.” With that, Discord stepped into the Restricted Zone. Before long, he heard the clip-clop of hooves and the rustle of a familiar bubblegum mane.

“Um, hello, Discord. Would you like some tea?”

Memories

“So, tea? If that’s okay with you. We could have a nice picnic, too. I’d like that. Maybe I could invite my animal friends!” She rubbed her forehooves together, anxious. “Oh, I don’t know, though. It’s very dark in here. Maybe we could have the picnic outside, on the grass?”

Discord didn’t listen. The pegasus hesitated, then followed him deeper into the prison. Cell 146, 145, 144…

All his bad thoughts went here. After he reformed—after she redeemed him—the place had gotten crowded. But that wasn't why she was here.

Together, they walked past nightmares. Discord kept them walled up, trapped behind steel doors, but it was never enough. Ideas leaked out.

Celestia, knife in her—no. Discord tried to block the idea, but he still heard the princess crying through the prison bars. Just a thought, just a thought, he told himself. I'm a hero, now, remember?

“Oh, oh, I’m scared…” She shriveled up against Discord, her warm body pressing into his fur. “Can’t we leave?”

111, 110, 109… Still not there. He needed an old thought, an idea he buried very far back in his mind.

“You know you shouldn’t be in here at all.” His first words since he entered the Restricted Zone. “This is place is a cage for my… viler ideas, and you’ve never been much of a villain.”

“But you have, Discord.” She felt his face fall slightly, and was quick to reach out a comforting hoof. “But that’s okay, because I saved you. And I’m going to save you again.”

A stallion, thorns sprouting from his—stop. Discord's scales crawled as he felt the idea through the prison wall. He kept them locked up for good reason.

“I think enough ponies have tried to save me. It’s time I returned the favor.” Almost there, just a few more doors. Don’t listen, don’t listen. Twilight needs you. Cell 101 was just around the corner.

A half-smile crept onto her face. “That’s very noble of you, Discord. I always knew you would be a sweetheart.” A wing stroked his back. “Now, how about we celebrate with a nice coffee cake outside?” Her eyes fluttered down to the ground, a blush growing on her face. “I mean, I’m no Pinkie Pie, but I think I can still bake a…”

“No.”

Her pale blush became a bright red glow. “Oh, you’re right, I’m not very good at that at all. I’m sorry…”

Discord’s hands clenched into fists. “No. You’re not Pinkie, and you’re not Fluttershy.”

“What… what do you mean? I try so hard—”

Discord took her head in his hands. “You are a memory. You’re a dream I keep having.” His claws dug deeper into her coat, almost breaking the skin. “And it’s time I woke up.”

He felt her flicker like a candle flame. A shaking forehoof wrapped around his arm.

Screams and shouts came from the locked rooms, but she could still hear Discord’s whisper. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

Her head nodded twice, barely moving at all. She was scared. Which meant he was scared. “You don’t have to do it,” she pleaded with shining eyes.

She was right. He didn’t have to. But he wanted to. “Fluttershy’s saved me enough. It’s time for me to be the hero, now.”

Her body flickered again as Discord reminded himself that this wasn’t her. Just a ghost. Just a dream.

A dream with very strong forelegs. They wrapped around him, locking him in place. Her voice hardened like a stone as she muttered “I won’t allow it.” Discord tried to pull away. “You always thought I was a push-over, but not today. When my friends need me, when you need me—” Her sky-blue eyes trapped his gaze. “—I’ll protect you.”

Discord finally shook himself free. “You know that stare doesn’t stop me.” He stood up, slithered towards Cell 101's black door—

—and fell to the ground as an angry pegasus slammed into him. Four powerful legs pinned him to the cold floor as her shouts splashed hot breath over his face.

“I won’t let you!” Her body flickered again, but she stayed solid enough to keep him down. “I won’t let you sacrifice a million years of your life for a few dozen of mine. It doesn’t make sense!” Tears crept from her eyes. No. She’s only a memory. The real Fluttershy needs you.

She clamped down harder. Discord pushed, squirmed, contorted. No good. She was strong.

“You are not. Opening. That. Door!” Heavy punches punctuated her sentence. Her forelegs bent, dragging him to his feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bucked him into the wall. Discord fell a rib pop out of place as he hit the concrete.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry! I hope I didn’t hurt you.” She apologized, but kept her body firmly between him and the cell.

“Well,” Discord wheezed when his breath finally came back. It hurt to talk. Discord didn’t know how his memories could hurt him, but then again, he never understood how his mind worked. “I don’t remember Fluttershy ever doing that.”

“She would if her friend kept insisting on dying to save her.” Another flicker ran through her body. “Can’t you see I’m gone, Discord? Just… remember me, please. Remember what I would say to you.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and continued. “I feel terrible for doing that.” A hoof stretched out to help him up, but quickly pulled back. “I’ll get you an ice-pack once you agree to leave. Just, just promise me first you won’t...” She quavered. “Open it.”

“You’re really going to stay there forever and keep me out?”

She grimaced and nodded her head.

“You know the bad thoughts get restless at nightfall. Very scary, too. They rattle the cages, whisper ideas to each other…” Discord checked his wrist as if it were a watch. “Should be starting soon. Usually, the Murders get noisy first, followed by the Mutilations, and then… well, after that, everyone wakes up. You planning to stay for that, too?”

She flickered again, but stood her ground. Discord saw her throat working hard to swallow her fear. “Yes,” she barely managed to gasp.

She was telling the truth, Discord realized. As long as her memory remained in his mind, he’d never reach that door. It seemed that the only way to get her away was to give up.

“Well, Fluttershy, I guess this is going nowhere. You know, and I know because you’re me, that you’re not going to let this go.”

Suddenly, the pegasus seemed more solid, less flickering. He hadn’t called her “Fluttershy” before. A ghost of a smile traced across her lips.

“So how about we go have that picnic?”

The ghost became a full smile, wide and bright enough to light up the torchless prison. Discord always loved that smile. “I’ll see if I can get the bluejays to sing. Oh, I’m so excited!”

You can go with her. You can keep her—Discord reached out a furry hand, and she gladly put her forehoof in its warm grasp. All was right. She was holding his hand…

Discord’s other hand clamped down on top. Confusion flashed over her face; she tried to pull her hoof free, but—gah!

“You know, Flutters, the first time I dreamt up the Plunderseeds, they were meant to kill the princesses. But even when I was evil, I wasn’t that evil. So down that idea went, to the prison where all the bad thoughts go.” He slowly pulled away his hands, revealing the black mark on her hoof where a thorn pierced her skin.

Color bled from her, like squeezing out a sponge. Her mane faded to gray, her eyes lost their light. The plunderseed Discord had hidden in his hand now sprouted from her hoof, as lethal in his mind as it would be in the waking world.

The draconequus stepped over her barely-alive body, already starting to seize up. Cell 101. Discord flittered his fingers over the keypad, punching in the combination. Slowly, slowly, the steel door slid away, magic fields dropped, defenses disabled and tripwires disarmed.

It was a lot of security for a piece of paper covered in crayon scribbles. They were very important scribbles, though. Draconequus spells might not be written in calligrapher’s ink on fine parchment, but they were no less powerful for it.

Stay alive for a few aeons, and anyone would start thinking of ways to end it. Discord was no exception, but in this case, his suicide might be Fluttershy’s salvation. Carefully, a claw reached out and snagged the paper, holding it well away from his body as if it could burn him. Another hand prepared to snap its fingers and bring him back to the real world, but a hoof around his leg stopped him.

She was still alive, barely. “Discord…” Don’t forget me, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t. She knew he would now, very soon. Instead, her wings reached out for him one last time. “Save them.”

He met her gaze, nodded, and snapped.

Discord woke up. And vomited.

After a while, his stomach emptied and he stopped. There was something… something important, but he couldn’t quite recall. Maybe it was a someone?

Didn’t matter. He remembered one thing. Save them. He had to do it, had to do… what? Discord lifted a claw to his head, scratching his scalp as he thought. His hand brushed against something crinkly.

A few more exploratory prods, and he discovered there was a long paper scroll poking out of his ear. He grabbed it, unrolled it, and began to read the inelegant crayon scrawl.

Oh. That.

He looked up. The journey into his mind, the Restricted Zone, the prison… all for this. A secret he’d hidden even from himself. But he needed it. He needed to save… someone important. It would be worth it. Discord knew it must be.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” he muttered to himself. His yellow-red eyes scanned over the cottage. “Who decorated this place? I’ve never seen a hovel so boring.”

The Stars Shall Aid in Their Return

“First things first.” Discord read over the scroll. “Gosh, my handwriting truly is terrible. I think that says ‘unleash the currents of wild magic,’ but it might be part of my shopping list.”

He paused for a moment, full of genuine terror. I hope I got the right piece of paper.

“Well, might as well do as it says.” Discord snapped his claws, sending a black-and-white pulse of unrestricted sorcery flooding through the room, out the windows, and into the forest.

“Hmm. That doesn’t make sense. Not one bit. That’s not even a word!” His eyes tried to decipher his scribbles and failed. His handwriting could drive mortals permanently insane.

“Oh, silly me! The darn thing’s upside down!” A claw daintily flipped the page around. “No, still not right.” He flipped it again. “There we go.”

“Next step: conjure a siphon, blah blah blah, magic, blah blah eldritch horror, thousand years of chaos, and so on.” His fingers snapped in rhythm, artifacts and arcane apparatuses appearing around him.

Soon, a brass-and-rubber behemoth came together in the center of the room, assembled from summoned parts according to the crayon blueprint Discord held. Faint sparks of monochrome magic flittered around it, only to be sucked into funnels and ricocheted off mirrors.

To the untrained eye, it was a collection of random pipes and nozzles arranged in no logical order. To Discord, it was a collection of random pipes and nozzles arranged in no logical order that was also capable of killing him.

Discord couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he was missing, something, something… yellow? Butter, maybe? Butter sounded almost right. Whatever. For now, he had more pressing problems, like stopping that abominable snoring.

“Twilight. Wakey, wakey, princess.” His claw flicked her in the cheek, once, twice, a third time. She was a heavy sleeper, especially when she had Discord’s magic to thank for it.

Another flick. “Euggh? What?” She batted Discord’s hand away. “What happened? And why is there… so much butter?” Her hoof made a sucking sound as she pulled it free of a mound of soft dairy.

“Don’t know. Thought it might be important.” Discord waited as Twilight stretched her jaw into a massive yawn. “You must have dozed off again. I made biscuits to celebrate.” He slid a baking sheet of golden-brown pastries under her nose. “Well, I conjured biscuits. Technically, the forces of chaos made them as I bent them to my will, but, you know, po-tay-to po-tah-to.”

Twilight frowned.

“What? They’re still edible, as long as you aren’t allergic to dark magic.”

“Discord…” Both hooves rubbed her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and lack of sleep was not the only reason.

“Oh. Sorry.” Stupid, stupid Discord, don’t you know she’s lost… someone? “Right, no jokes. I built a thing.” Twilight raised an eyebrow as she ran her horn’s aura over the device.

“It looks like a… magic extractor? But what are we going to extract from?”

“Ah, yes, that’s the interesting bit, yes, well, you see…” His voice trailed off to barely a whisper. This is going to hurt, isn’t it? He could have sworn a wing brushed his back. The soft feathers felt like a warm hug. But it’s worth it.

“Oh? Yes, yes, it drains the magic from those artifacts we gathered. Yes, that’s totally what it does.” Blood rushed to his ears as he lied, but his fur hid the evidence. Why was he lying to her?

“I see.” Twilight prodded the strange machine, trying to decode its inner workings. She failed. “Let me get this straight. We put power in, and we get my friends back?”

“That’s the idea, yes. Channel the energy from the extractor into that fancy resurrection spell you made, and I think Clover’s Law of Whatsit Conversation won’t give us any trouble.”

“Life-force Conservation,” she automatically corrected. “There’s really enough energy in those artifacts? I did the calculations, and that’s not even a tenth of a percent…”

“I’ll make it work. For now, I’m afraid I need your help with something rather challenging.” Discord’s face twisted into a grimace. “Math.”

“I took a stab at it, but I’m afraid algebra makes my eyes spin.”

“Mmhmm.” Twilight’s pencil jittered as she held it in her mouth. Three other quills circled her head, gripped in her lilac magic. “It looks like a destiny-alteration calculation, though the crayon does make it rather hard to read. Where did you say you found this?”

Discord shrugged his dissimilar shoulders. Draconequi had to keep some secrets. “It’s needed for the extractor to function, I know that much, but… you know me and numbers. Can’t tell a four from a nine.”

“I see.” The quills brushed their tips over three sheets of parchment, each one transcribing part of the equation. How Twilight could split her focus like that, Discord would never understand.

“Well, you certainly made a few errors. A lot of errors, actually. If we used these values in the spell, the world would end.” She kept scanning the paper, shuffling pages and color-coding her inks. “Discord, pass me that abacus.” Her eyes lit up as she slid the beads around, and Discord imagined this was what she looked like back in Celestia’s school. Just a filly, playing with numbers.

Discord sighed. He’d never been good with math; too many symbols, too many fiddly bits. Too much order. Chaos theory was all he really understood. But sometimes, a bit of calculus could make a world of difference.

“Discord, I need a logarithm table.” More frantic quill scratches. “Discord, can you conjure a compass and straightedge? I’ll need to draw some blueprints.” Swish, scribble, scratch. “Discord, I’m out of ink.”

He had never seen her so happy. It was true; she wasn’t strong enough. But she was smart enough.

“She really is a genius, isn’t she?” He saw the pegasus smile as he said it, flecks of blood dappling her yellow coat. “You sure know how to pick your friends…”

Twilight’s voice stopped his ramblings. “Discord? Who are you whispering to?”

Discord pointed a claw at the pegasus. “I was just talking to…” What pegasus? “Myself, I guess.”

Twilight fell back into her work, too busy to notice the flicker of confusion on Discord’s face.

He watched as drips of magic squeezed from the leaky pipes. “Almost done, Princess Smarty Pants?” He was always an impatient draconequus, even when waiting meant prolonging his life.

“Hmm? What does my doll have to do with this?” She looked up. “Oh, that was an insult.” A few more quill scratches. “I’ve had to invent two new kinds of geometry already. This could take some time.” A quill broke, was tossed aside, replaced. “Now that I’ve been working on it, it seems like it might be a variant of the spell I cast to mix up my friend’s cutie marks. The spell that made me a princess.”

She stopped writing. “I wish I never cast it.” Twilight sighed. “Then I could be wherever they are, instead of here, working on another equation.”

A deep breath. “But that’s set in stone, now.”

She was crying again. That would not do.

“Hey, I was set in stone for a thousand years, quite literally, I might add.” A conjured handkerchief scrubbed a tear from her face. “Look how I turned out.”

She grabbed the handkerchief and blew her snout, small sparks of magic flaring from her horn as she did so. Even princesses have drippy noses.

“You really think this is possible?”

“Twilight, I’ve done more impossible things than I can count.”

She forced a smile. “You’re right. Let’s get… let’s get back to work.”

“Discord, it’s not enough.” Another quill snapped in her aura. “I’ve gone over the math a dozen times, and the numbers don’t add up. We need more energy.”

She heard the crinkle of paper as Discord tossed his comic book aside. “All that work, and you still haven’t found a solution?”

“There is no solution, not unless you’ve got a bottomless magic battery on you.” Discord scratched his chest with an anxious claw. He didn’t, but he had the next best thing.

Twilight’s hooves rubbed her eyes again, as if maybe that would clear her vision and she’d miraculously see the answer.

“How much do we need?” asked Discord. She tossed a piece of scratch paper to him. He saw a seven, but his eyes glazed over once he got to the twentieth zero after it. Exactly as he predicted; not enough energy in all Equestria. “That bad, huh? You thought about using the stellar surge?” It won’t be enough, but it’ll give you a little hope.

Twilight opened the window blinds with her magic. She could see the constellations, looking almost as they did when Nightmare Moon returned, gearing up to splash a millennium's worth of magic energy on Equestria.. Every thousand years, the clockwork of the sky lined up perfectly… “That’s still not for another twenty-three years. Even then, I doubt it would be anywhere near enough energy to…”

She felt a slight shift as Discord snapped his fingers. “What did you do?”

“Fast-forwarded twenty-three years. What’s next?”

Twilight’s eyes grew as white as dinner plates. “You did what?”

“I told you, I…”

“We need to start now!” Another glance out the window told her what she needed to know. “The stars are right… Quick, throw these in the centrifuge!” She threw a trio of phials at him.

“What centrifuge!”

“Use the unicycle! It spins!”

Discord shouted over his shoulder as he slotted the phials into place. “I told you this would come in handy!”

“Gloat later!” Lilac lightning arced across the cottage, flinging wires into place. There was no time to worry about the impossibility of this task. And that was just the way Discord wanted it.

Discord dropped the artifacts around the extractor. They didn’t really matter, but at least they’d keep up appearances. He was getting very tired.

Twilight stole another glance at the sky. “Not much time if we want to harness the surge! Discord, get to safety, I’m going to flip the switch!”

You don’t have to do this. You can—Discord couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another pony in the room. I must do this.

Lilac magic merged with black-and-white. The extractor spun to life, slowly, but speeding up. The world looked like a melting wax sculpture as light began to bend inwards, towards the oblivion of the machine’s heart.

“Twilight, get behind me!” Discord had to shout over the maelstrom that formed. Tidal bores spiraled around the center, ripping spells into the extractor.

Discord heard Twilight yell out behind him. “The stars!” Bolts of white light surged down through the windows, terminating like everything else in the pulsing core of the extractor.

It didn’t stop.

Discord couldn’t hear her voice now, only feel the vibrations of her sobs as Twilight clung to him. He planted his feet against the storm and began to step forward.

It was time to die.

The winds whipped harder, sending shards of glass digging into his fur. His feet stumbled, lost their grip…

A yellow pegasus, with black thorns piercing her eyes. She was injured—he had injured her. He had to save her. His feet found purchase on the slippery ground.

But a lavender hoof held him back. Twilight knew what he was doing. There was only one thing left with enough energy to feed the machine.

“You know it has to be this way!” he howled.

She shook her head, winds stealing the tears from her eyes. Gales tangled her mane as she tried to shout over the storm.

“If you die, there’ll be no one to remember with me!”

“If I do this, you won’t have to remember.” Discord forced his way forward, shrugging off her hoof. He was going away. And his friends were coming back.

The machine was close now. He knew what he had to do.

Discord plunged his claws into his chest, ripping his scales open. Drops of blood flecked out like electric raindrops, sparking with magic. Still he sank his fingers into his flesh, pulling, ripping, tearing himself apart, exposing every shred of magic in his body.

Half-blinded by the storm, Twilight saw him make the last incision, splitting his rib cage and revealing his pure black heart, impossibly radiant with power. Then even the storm fell silent as the heart beat, stronger than it ever had before, releasing all its energy at once in a soundless spectacle of light and madness.

Twilight screamed, wordless. She screamed with a voice she used whenever she lost a friend.

Her legs compressed like springs, her muscles strained and popped as they passed their limits. Her body shot across the room, shot towards Discord.

Lavender wings stretched out over his open wounds, blood staining them black and red. It’s not too late, it’s not too late—

He grunted as he tried to throw her off his back, draconequus biology keeping him barely alive. “I need to save your friends!”

“You’re my friend!”

A dim flicker of rainbow magic sparked around them, only to be ripped into the machine’s maze of pipes.

Hooks of hard light dug into her wings, prying joints from their sockets. Still she held on, her nerves screaming as she struggled to save her last friend.

Her last friend didn’t want to be saved. He bucked like a bull, tossing her away.

Twilight shrieked as she fell through the air, the machine’s tendrils latched to her wings. She could feel them eroding her alicorn magic, annihilating her.

Two streams of fire fed the machine, one from Discord, the other from the princess. Two screams split the night.

Discord had thrown himself into the storm first, and he took the lion’s share of the pain. Black fire rocketed through his veins, exhausting every scrap of sorcery it could find and pouring it all into the machine. The cottage crumbled around him as wood and tile disintegrated.

Twilight watched as his body turned to ash, whipped in a thousand directions by the whirlwind of magic.

The stars slowly shifted out of alignment, and the storm spun to a stop.

“No!”

At first Twilight screamed at Discord, then at nature, then at herself. She could scarcely feel the holes in her back where her wings used to be. She was still alive, still far, far away from her friends.

“Another one… gone.” She collapsed, muscles releasing their tension.

Slowly, softly, in the ruins of another impossible experiment, Twilight Sparkle began to cry.

“Um, I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not really sure if this is something I should be intruding on or maybe it’s a private moment, but…”

Twilight’s eyes wrenched open faster than the speed of light. I remember. That’s what it sounded like.

The unicorn pushed herself off the floor, and though every muscle in her body howled in pain, she leapt into Fluttershy’s waiting embrace.

Through eyes blurred by tears, she saw columns of light and freshly-formed bodies, still gleaming with magic.

“I reckon what Fluttershy meant to say is, are you alright, sugarcube?”

Applejack.

A monogrammed handkerchief—Twilight didn’t know how Rarity already had a monogrammed handkerchief, but she did—brushed away her tears, a cornflower blue aura holding it in a soft grip.

“You’re here? You’re all really here?”

“Well, of course we’re here, dummy! Where else would we be but with our bestest friend forever?” Twilight cried again as Pinkie tackled her in a bone-crushing hug. Somehow, Pinkie didn’t mind the blood soaking into her fur.

“Pinkie… my ribs…”

“Oh, sorry.” The pressure lessened. “Hey, what happened to the wings?” Pinkie nuzzled her cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, it means I can hug you even closer now!”

“Darling, let’s give her a little distance. I… don’t exactly know what happened, but it looks like it was very stressful for our dear Twilight. Perhaps some space is needed…”

“No!” The girls’ eyes widened at her shout. “No, I mean… don’t. I don’t want space, or distance. I never want to be far from you again!” Her forelegs tightened around the girls, one hoof reaching out to pull Applejack into their embrace.

“Hey, you know I’m not one for mushy stuff like this, but…” Twilight heard Rainbow’s voice coming from up above her. “I guess I can make an exception.” She glided down, her snout gently scrunching against Twilight’s head.

“Uh, shouldn’t there be a certain ridiculously-loyal dragon around here, too?”

Twilight pushed out of the group hug. “Spike! Oh my stars, Spike! Where are you!”

“I’m okay!” The girls heard a shuffling in the undergrowth as Spike, no larger than he was on his first day in Ponyville, popped out of a bush. “And I’m… small.” He cast a disdainful glance about his body, substantially less musclebound than he was used to.

“Oh, no, I think you’re just the right size.” Fluttershy flapped her wings over to him and scooped Spike up in her feathers for a hug, rocking him back and forth. Spike closed his eyes in happiness.

Twilight collapsed again when she saw her baby dragon alive. Applejack had to hold her up. “Spike, you’re alright!”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I’m not really sure what happened.” A bit reluctantly, Fluttershy set him down on solid ground. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Explanations later. Hugs now.

Twilight drove herself into him, surrounding him in a vise grip of fur and snuggles. When it came to cuddling Spike, she could give even Pinkie’s breathtaking hugs a run for their money.

“Come on, Twi, even dragons need air!” He was only joking, but Twilight loosened her grip immediately. She could never hurt him again.

Spike levered himself to his feet with his tail. “Aw, you’re crying again.”

“Tears of joy, Spike. Tears of joy,” she answered. Rarity stepped forward, at the ready with her handkerchief.

The ancient dragon in a young body looked over the ruins of the cottage and the still-steaming crater where the extractor used to be, but his eyes quickly fixed on his friends. “I missed you, girls.”

“And I missed my Spikey-wikey!” The raspy voice came from above. Spike looked up to see Rainbow Dash doing her best impression of Rarity.

“Rainbow, stop teasing the poor dear!” Gently, Rarity brushed a pastern over Spike’s spines. “But I did miss you, darling.”

For a moment, everything was right with the world. Then Rainbow started talking again.

“Hey, why’s there a grave here that says Fluttershy?”

She couldn’t hide it anymore. Twilight’s eyes dimmed, her eyelids drooped, and her gait slowed. “Girls, Spike, there’s something you should know.” The six others gathered close. “You’re dead. Well, were dead. I don’t know if you remember it, I’m certain the spell interfered with your memories, but… Fluttershy is buried there. Was buried. But we brought her back, brought you all back. We meaning Discord and I. We used some kind of magic—probably draconequi?—to bring you back, though I don’t really understand how it works…” Her words came tumbling over each other as she tried to explain herself.

“Woah, there. Slow down, Twi. We’ve got time.” Applejack, always the reasonable one.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do. It’s not in any books—I read them all!” Twilight’s legs spread as she slid to the forest floor, tall grass brushing against the dried blood on her wing wounds. “I don’t know if it was right to force you back here, or what this means for your souls, or anything, I just did it! I needed you! I was selfish but I needed you and I still need you and please don’t hate me!”

Spike stroked his small hand over her foreleg, just like he did when they were kids. Applejack came closer, extending one of her one farm-toughened hooves.

“There, now. I still don’t understand what it was you did, but if it’s tearing you up like this, I reckon it’s something you needed to do.”

Twilight coughed and sniffled as she nodded her head. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

“I’m… dead?” Fluttershy crooked her foreleg and brought a hoof to her heart, her usual response to a baffling situation.

Twilight nodded her head, then reconsidered and shook it. “It’s a long story. I promise, I’ll explain later.”

“So, what’s up with the trees? I’m not an egghead botanologician, but I’m pretty sure that’s not natural.”

“Botanist, Rainbow. And it’s not. Discord grew them, to keep… to keep Fluttershy’s grave safe. And her cottage, though I guess that part didn’t succeed.” She nudged a bit of burning hut with her hoof.

At the mention of Discord, Fluttershy perked up. “Oh, he’s such a sweetheart! I’ll have to thank him later.”

“We all need to thank him, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that. He poured everything into that spell, more magic than I’d ever seen before.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy squeaked, afraid of what she was going to hear.

“He gave himself up. He’s a creature of magic, and his magic just burned away.” Twilight had lost track of how many times she had collapsed, but she did it again anyway. “Discord’s gone,” she finally whispered, tears dribbling disgracefully down her snout.

This time, Twilight dragged Fluttershy into a hug. “He was a hero, Flutters. He was a hero.” For a moment, they stayed there, motionless, each pony’s fur soaking up the other’s tears.

Spike broke the silence. “So Discord made this place with his magic?”

“Yes, Spike. It was a memorial for Fluttershy, the best anyone could ever have.”

“And all Discord’s magic is gone now?”

“Yes, though I don’t know what… you… oh, no.” She ended her embrace with Fluttershy. “We need to—”

The cracking of trees finished her sentence for her. A million tons of lumber, held in place by chaotic magic, realized that there was no magic holding it anymore.

Twilight’s horn sputtered and flared as she tried to teleport them away. No good! She was lucky to still have a horn, let alone be able to cast a powerful spell so soon after her extractor ordeal.

Quakes split the earth as roots came free and branches tumbled down, separating the girls with impenetrable armored bark. Acting on instinct, Rarity hurled herself between Spike and the falling razor-sharp leaves, her body arched over him like a shield. Her magic, meant for needles and thread, struggled to deflect the wooden flechette.

She might die again, but she’d do her best to save her friend. “Spike, I…” A cracking log smashed her on the withers and knocked away her words. Surely this is the end, surely…

A boom, a crash, a rain of splinters.

Rarity kept her eyes closed.

“I never did a rainboom like that before.”

She opened them. Lingering rings of technicolor light pushed the trees away, clearing a safe space in the wreckage.

“Rainbow! You did it! You saved me! You saved Spike!” She finally pulled him into a hug, the first one she’d given him in five thousand years.

“Umm, Rarity? There’s something I need to tell you…” His voice was half-muffled by her chest fluff.

Her ears perked. “Yes? What is it, darling?”

“Your, um, your hoof’s on my tail, and it kinda hurts.”

She looked dazed for a moment, then quickly whipped her leg up. “Oh, of course. Yes. Hoof, tail, I see. Sorry, dear.”

More mulched wood pitter-pattered around the girls. Now that the big logs were gone, it felt almost like snowfall.

They stood there, together in the forest, a wingless princess and her closest friends. Until they heard another tree begin to fall.

“I think that’s our cue to leave, girls.” Like a mother wolf, Twilight grabbed Spike’s scruff in her mouth and flipped him over onto her back. He quickly nestled on her withers, his nose breathing in her mane’s scent. Somehow, she still smelled like musty old books. Like home.

“So, do you want to tell her, or should I?” Spike heard her and traced her line of sight to Rarity.

“You know what? I think we should let her figure it out for herself.”

So Spike and Twilight cantered out of the Everfree, little dragon on his big sister’s back, both giggling as they stared at the ugly mass of snot-colored tree sap that had ruined Rarity’s coiffured mane.

Let the Rainbow Remind You

He was going to die. He was sure of it. That was the plan.

He was going to die, but something got in the way.

Lavender wings spread over him, sheltered him from the storm.

That couldn’t be right. He was the God of Chaos. No one sacrificed themselves for him. No one sacrificed anything for him. He was evil.

Wasn’t he?

But why did he remember a rainbow spark? That magic wasn’t normal. That was… different. It was powerful.

It fed the machine. Just a little. Just enough to keep him alive.

Something quickened in him. Something lavender. Something that sparkled like a brilliant, prismatic rainbow.

There was life in the old god, yet.

His mind was full of lightning, and he could barely recall anything. He remembered raging across Equestria, dueling the blasted Sisters, years spent in a stony prison…

Then what?

Something yellow flashed before him. It was time to wake up.

A fallen log shifted. Then it shifted some more.

“Oof! I never knew lifting things without magic was so difficult! How do those earth ponies do it?”

Slowly, slowly, a tiny creature pushed its way out of the rubble, looking for all the world like a deflated balloon animal. He rubbed one of his broken-off horns.

“That’ll grow back, I think.” Discord took a deep breath, trying to suck some magic back into his drained body. He still couldn’t remember what happened. Something saved him…? That didn’t make sense. No one would save a monster like him.

He cast his miniaturized eyes around the wreckage in all directions.

“Sheesh. Looks like someone fought a war here. It’s dirty.” He rubbed his small hands together. “I like dirty.”

The immortal trickster god, still small as a beetle, walked off into the sunrise, humming a tune he half-remembered from a long time ago.

In the ashes of the cottage, a yellow pegasus with thorn-pierced skin smiled as she listened.