On the Nature of Alicorns

by Typoglyphic

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Thriller, Drama, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 37242

After realizing the extent of her new powers, Twilight begins to investigate the nature of alicornhood.

For the vast majority of Equestria’s recorded history, there were only two alicorns. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna were divine, unique, and to even imagine a time before them was impossible.

After thousands of years, two more alicorns were born, and ponies started asking questions. Where do alicorns come from? Why are they so long-lived? What exactly does a pony need to do to ascend?

Neither of the ancient sisters were interested in answering those questions, if they even knew themselves, and that is where the leads died for so many intrepid students, scholars, and scientists. But nopony could stand between Twilight Sparkle and the truth.

Nopony, with one possible exception.

Edited by Chapter: 13.

Thanks to Cogwheelbrain for prereading.

Published 2016-10-18 23:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-26 00:30:28 UTC

Chapter One

As much as she still missed her old home, Twilight Sparkle had to admit that living in a giant crystal castle had its perks. It was a lot less flammable, for one. More importantly, it was large enough to accommodate things that she used to have to squeeze into the corners of the old library.

She glanced up from her book as the gentle whirring of the centrifuge before her spun to a stop. Grinning, she levitated some test tubes out from within it. White sugar filled the tops of the tubes, and a small pile of iron filings filled the bottoms. Hardly a novel experiment, but Twilight was giddy just thinking about what she could do with an automated centrifuge in the future.

Along with the renovations her friends had made to the castle, Twilight had taken the liberty of ordering equipment for a proper laboratory. A laboratory that, due to the recent pony summit, she only now had a moment to enjoy. It occupied an entire wing of the castle, and was stocked with everything from wall-sized furnaces to eye protection. She'd also ordered a large supply of materials to go along with them.

Twilight closed the centrifuge and glanced around. She’d tested out most of her new equipment, and the afternoon sun was beginning its descent. Now was a good time to start cleaning up.

She carried the test tubes over to a nearby sink and began to pour out the sugar, taking care not to lose the iron with it. Being a princess with a near infinite budget was no excuse to waste perfectly good iron filings, after all. She paused as a tube floated past with iron and sugar still mixed together, one that she’d forgotten to put through the centrefuge. She sighed and moved to dump it into the sink like the others. A list of drain-safe materials flashed through her mind, and she tilted the tube back before more than a few flakes could drop. Iron did not belong down the drain.

Biting her lip, she looked back at the centrifuge. It seemed a waste of time to spin it back up for a single test tube. Well, there was more than one way to separate sugar and iron. The light from her horn pulsed, bathing the walls in soft violet. After a few seconds, the sugar began to melt into a clear liquid, and the iron fell to the bottom. Twilight smiled. Chemistry was a lot faster when you could melt things with your mind.

She stepped back toward the sink and held the test tube out. The sugar cascaded into the drain. Twilight absently wondered whether Pinkie would disapprove. Twilight began to turn as the last of the sugar left the… huh? She turned back to look at the bubble of glowing red molten iron floating in front of her.

Oops. Twilight ended her heating spell, and the iron bubble started to cool. This wasn’t the first time she’d overdone a spell since she became an alicorn. Her power had grown so dramatically that it was easy to forget she was casting one. She winced as she noticed the ring of solidifying glass at the bottom of her sink. That wouldn’t be easy to clean.

She placed the iron ball she had made onto the table next to the other test tubes and levitated a container of iron filings over, which she emptied the test tubes into. Accidental or not, melting iron magically was pretty cool. That would take…

Twilight blinked.

… Almost two thousand degrees. Of pure heat. With her horn. And she hadn’t even noticed. That kind of energy output would have knocked her out for hours as a unicorn.

Whirling, she scrambled to the door to one side of the room. Her supply room. She stepped inside and trotted over to one of the many tall storage shelves that filled the space. She ran her eyes over the rows of labelled boxes. There was no method of quantifying unicorn magic exactly, but all unicorns had a vague awareness of their personal limit. Twilight couldn’t wait to rediscover hers.

She hurried back into the laboratory, levitating several boxes behind her. Arriving at an open workspace, she set the containers down next to her. She popped the top off one of them and produced a small, shiny metal bar. If she was going to run this test properly, she had to start small.

“Zinc,” she noted aloud, “one hundred and twenty grams; melting point six hundred and ninety degrees.” Twilight began to turn up the heat. The metal glowed and began to deform. It melted completely after a second or two, becoming a small pool of clear, viscous liquid. Twilight ended the spell, leaving the zinc floating in her magic. Generating almost seven hundred degrees had felt no more taxing than her normal telekinesis.

The zinc solidified quickly, and Twilight returned it to its box. “Next up: calcium carbonate, commonly known as chalk. Fifty grams; melts at one thousand and one hundred degrees.” She levitated a small cube of chalk and heated it.

Nothing happened.

Twilight grinned. Progress! She slowly increased the spell’s intensity. After nearly a minute of steady heating, the chalk began to dissolve. It disappeared moments later. Oh, right. Calcium carbonate to calcium oxide, which boils at…

“Three thousand degrees?” Now she was getting somewhere! Twilight glanced at the pile of boxes next to her. She just had to find…

“Aha!” Twilight popped open the box labelled Tungsten. It was filled with short, fat metal cylinders. She floated one of them up to her eye height.

“Tungsten, one point five kilograms. Melts at three thousand and two hundred degrees!” Without another thought Twilight flooded the air around the cylinder with pure heat.

The metal flashed and glowed a blinding white light. Twilight flinched and ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut, an after image already superimposed on her retinas. She stumbled backward. Her flank bumped up against the fume hood on the opposite wall, and she lost her balance completely, sprawling onto the ground in a tangle of limbs and assorted lab equipment.

Twilight lay there, her head spinning. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed. A few moments passed. Once the room stopped turning around her, she glanced up. She was greeted with another scalding flash, though less severe than the first. In place of the dull metal she’d pulled from the box was a large ball of…

“Plasma?” Twilight croaked. Wincing, she ended her heat spell. The dancing sphere of lightning seemed to implode, folding in on itself until it settled into a lump of ugly looking slag. It fell to the table with a dull thump. As the spots in her vision faded, Twilight stood up and took stock of the lab.

Some of the plasma had escaped her telekinesis field, scorching the walls and probably ruining most of the materials she’d been using. Nothing was on fire, though, which was an improvement on some of her previous experiments.

Plasma. She’d accidentally ionized solid tungsten in under a second. Tungsten only underwent ionization at temperatures exceeding…

“Six thousand degrees,” Twilight muttered. That was an incredible amount of heat. Far beyond what her normal heat spell was capable of. Aside from the beginning of a headache from the flash, she wasn’t feeling at all tired. “How powerful am I?”

Twilight took stock of the damage. The other substances she’d been using were, as she’d expected, ruined. Plastic bottles had warped, cardboard had disintegrated entirely, and one of the boxes seemed to be fused to the table. She sighed and got to work. Only two or three boxes were worth saving. She tossed the rest into a nearby trash can. It was a bit late to worry about wastefulness.

She did her best not to think about the results of her experiment as she cleaned. She righted the fume hood she had knocked over when the tungsten dissolved, which shouldn’t have even been possible given that tungsten—horseapples. She was thinking about it again.

She shouldn’t be able to generate that kind of energy. This was more than a power boost. She had just used several thousand the amount of magic she’d had as a unicorn. Where did all that energy come from?

The lab door flew open, and a colourful blur shot through the opening. Twilight flinched, waiting for something to explode.

… What? It was a pretty reasonable fear, given the last few minutes.

Rainbow Dash hit the ground and skidded, coming to a stop inches from a shelf of burners. “You okay, Twi?” Rainbow glanced around the room. “We saw a lightshow go off in here from outside.” She gestured to the open window in the far wall.

Twilight sighed. She picked up a couple stray flasks and floated them back to their shelf. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“So what was with the flash?”

“Oh,” Twilight turned back to Rainbow, “I accidentally ionized some tungsten.”

A blank expression settled across Rainbow’s face.

Twilight groaned. “I made a hunk of metal so hot that it turned into lightning.”

“That’s more like it!” Rainbow cheered, pumping a hoof in the air. “I can get behind that.” She squinted at Twilight. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look, uh…” Rainbow bit her lip.

Twilight scowled before catching a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby jar. Her mane was unruly, her shorter hairs standing on end. Her coat wasn’t much better. Her eyes were red, bloodshot, probably from the flash. She looked like she’d been awake for days.

“Hey,” Rainbow was grinning, “I’m giving Scoots some flying lessons. Wanna come watch? Spend some time outside the science dungeon?”

Dungeon? They were on the third story of the castle. Twilight shook herself to attention. She supposed that cleaning the lab could wait. At least until Spike was back from Carousel Boutique.

“Sounds good, Rainbow.”

THUNK!

Ouch. That looked painful.

“I’m okay!” Scootaloo shouted through a mouthful of dirt. “I almost had it that time!”

Twilight sat on a hill at the edge of Ponyville. Rainbow Dash hovered above. The sun’s orange light nearly obscured Scootaloo from sight as she scurried up the slope toward them. Her face and neck were covered in grass and dirt, and there were small scrapes along both of her forelegs, but her eyes were bright.

“I know what went wrong that time!” Scootaloo stopped by Twilight and started buzzing her wings.

“Oh yeah? What happened?” Rainbow set down beside them.

Scootaloo grinned. “I looked down!”

Rainbow smiled awkwardly. “Uh…” She glanced over at Twilight.

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Well then you know not to do that next time, Scootaloo.”

Rainbow relaxed a bit. “Oh, totally! And, uh, this time I think I’ll fly a bit closer to you. Just in case.” She winked at Twilight. “Wouldn’t want another crash if we can help it.”

The two pegasi trotted over to the side of the hill. Twilight watched Scootaloo carefully. The filly’s… delayed development, let’s say, was a touchy topic in Ponyville. Pegasus flight was poorly understood by modern science, but pegasi, of any age, could fly. They found flying more instinctive than crawling. Twilight had never heard of another pegasus with Scootaloo’s condition.

She saw Rainbow lean in close to Scootaloo and whisper. Twilight couldn’t quite hear the words. Scootaloo nodded slowly, eyes wide. Her mouth formed a slight frown. A moment later, Rainbow shouted “so what are you gonna do?”

Scootaloo whooped. “I’m gonna show the sky who’s boss!” She ran over the crest of the hill, then turned and sprinted and leaped. The ground dropped out from beneath her, and Scootaloo soared, flapping her wings with the poise of a Wonderbolt. The moment seemed to crystallize. The air stilled. The soft swish of grass blowing in the wind faded. It felt like a dream.

Then time reasserted itself.

THUNK!

…

“I’m okay!”

One thing Scootaloo could never be accused of was laziness. Twilight sat there on the hill for hours as Scootaloo jumped and fell over and over again. Rainbow Dash was less unwavering. With each crash she winced harder and shot more worried looks at Twilight.

While Scootaloo’s flying practice was painful to watch, Twilight’s curiosity eventually started to overcome her sympathy. The proportions of the Scootaloo’s wings did seem a bit cartoonish, but they weren’t much smaller than those of other pegasus foals she’d seen. It was commonly accepted that a pegasus’ magic was more important than her wings for flight anyway.

“What should I try this time, Rainbow?” Scootaloo chirped.

Rainbow opened her mouth, but Twilight answered first. “Why don’t you try starting from a cloud, instead?”

Scootaloo’s eyes widened.

Rainbow shot Twilight a look of rising panic.

“I have an easier time taking off from somewhere high up, so sometimes I just teleport straight up into the air when I want to start flying,” Twilight continued. She did her best to sound nonchalant. “I think jumping off a cloud would be the next best thing.”

Scootaloo looked back and forth between Twilight and Rainbow Dash. She was twitching from excitement. “That sounds awesome!” She paused and turned to look out from the hill. “Uh…”

Oh. The sky was completely clear of clouds. Twilight heard Rainbow Dash let out a sigh of relief next to her. “Sorry, Scoots,” Rainbow said, “maybe some other day.”

Twilight squinted at nothing. Her heat spell had proved useful earlier. Maybe she could repurpose it.

“Hold on a minute.” Twilight began to gently heat a wide area around her. Rainbow Dash’s wings started to twitch after a few moments, probably feeling the updraft. Twilight ended her heating spell, then turned her attention to the air above her. Switching her heating spell around wasn’t hard. As she cooled the air, a small cloud formed, growing every second. Soon it was large enough for two pegasi to lie on it side by side.

Rainbow was glaring at her. “What was that?” She sounded annoyed, for some reason.

“I heated the ground until the air started to rise, then I cooled it until the water vapour in the air started to condense.” Twilight responded, feeling strangely defensive.

Scootaloo turned on Rainbow. If the filly had been at all discouraged by her lack of progress that day, she didn’t show it now. “Could you carry me up? Please?”

Rainbow hissed through her teeth and winced. Then she forced a smile. “Of course, squirt. Hop on!” She crouched so Scootaloo could reach her back.

Twilight watched as Rainbow jumped, flapped a few times, and landed on the cloud. She nudged Scootaloo with one wing, and the filly slid down Rainbow Dash’s side. She disappeared from sight as she sank through the cloud. Twilight dropped her gaze to the bottom where four little orange hooves poked through.

“You okay, Scoots?” Rainbow sounded confused. Twilight heard the buzz of tiny wings and a quiet pop as Scootaloo managed propel herself up above the surface of the cloud.

“Uh,” Scootaloo’s voice was strained, “how do I stand on it?”

“What do you mean?” Rainbow sounded even more confused, “You just… do.”

Interesting, Twilight thought. Scootaloo couldn’t stand on clouds. That certainly had nothing to do with the size of her wings.

She was shaken from her thoughts as Scootaloo fell before her eyes, shrieking. Thankfully the cloud was only a few feet off the ground, which she plowed into with with a dull thud.

Rainbow rubbed the back of her neck with one hoof. “Uh… maybe,” her voice cracked, “we should pack it in for tonight, Scoots. Your parents probably expect you back soon.”

“Aw! I wanted to try the cloud thing!” Scootaloo whined. She seemed to have already recovered from her latest crash.

Rainbow scoffed. “Sorry, but I think Twilight’s cloud is broken. We’ll find a better one next time.”

Twilight didn’t say anything. There had been nothing wrong with her cloud.

The sun was almost down, and the moon, though faint, was already well above the eastern horizon. The shadows of the trees around them were long, but the sky shone enough light for them to make their way back to Ponyville’s heart without a problem. The soft candlelight in windows flickered out, one by one.

They stopped in the centre of town, between Sugarcube Corner, town hall, and the Castle of Friendship. The only real crossroad in Ponyville.

Twilight turned to Scootaloo. The filly was still covered in dirt. “Would you like to wash up at the castle before you go home? I’ve got bathrooms to spare.” Even though Scootaloo wasn’t really hurt, her parents probably wouldn’t approve of their daughter’s current appearance.

Scootaloo shook her head. “No thanks, Twilight. I never feel right in other ponies’ bathrooms.”

Understandable.

Rainbow Dash smiled at Twilight over Scootaloo’s head. “Come on, squirt. Let’s get you home.” Rainbow scooped Scootaloo up with one leg and lifted her onto her back. With a final wave to Twilight, she jumped up and shot off toward the other side of town.

The Castle of Friendship always seemed cold and lonely at night. Despite it’s name, it was not a very friendly building. Her friends' decorations had gone a long way in making it more welcoming, but there was something innately uncomfortable about crystal floors, walls, and furniture.

Twilight made her way up the lobby stairs and past the door to the throne room. The halls were bathed in warm light emanating from the enchanted crystals which lined the walls. She heard shuffling above her. Poor sound isolation was another downside of crystalline construction, apparently. She turned a corner and climbed a spiral staircase up to the castle’s library.

Twilight stepped through a small, plain door and into the mathematics section. Her new library rivalled Canterlot’s in size. The room itself, that is. It contained an embarrassingly tiny selection of books. The bare shelves towered over her, some stretching all the way to the ceiling, nearly two hundred feet above.

Twilight navigated toward the main entrance. Not by memory, but by subject. She passed the geometry and topology shelves, eyes moving from one sign to the next. The library was somewhat cramped, despite its size. Bookshelves stood in neat rows, interrupted only by narrow aisles and the occasional writing desk. She heard faint humming ahead of her, followed by a loud thud.

“Oops,” muttered a voice.

It looked like Spike was back.

After a few minutes of walking the shelves ended. The library’s entrance was its only open area, housing a small office by the doors and clusters of couches and chairs for casual reading. A few short bookshelves here actually lived up to their names, holding the books she had ordered personally. Her necessities.

“Spike?”

“Over here,” Spike called from behind the office’s counter. Twilight trotted over.

“How was Rarity’s?”

“Oh, uh,” Spike dropped whatever it he was carrying and peeked up over the counter. “It was fine. Good, really.”

“Uh huh.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “What are you doing back there? Carrying something?” She walked up to the counter and peered over. A cardboard box, apparently. Twilight brightened. “Oh, did my last inventory request get here?”

Spike grunted. “Yeah. This one was marked as fiction, though.” He gave the box a half-hearted kick. “I thought you wanted to fill the science sections first.”

“I did.” Twilight levitated the box up onto the counter and inspected the label. Speculative and Historical Fiction. “Was this the only one?”

“As far as I could tell.” Spike climbed up onto the counter and sat. “Man, you’d think that princesses would get their mail on time, at least.”

“Well, we need to fill the fiction sections as well.” She lifted the box into the air and Spike onto her back. “Come on. Let’s go shelve these.” She headed back through the shelves.

Twilight didn’t want to get into the habit of throwing her weight around, but she was tempted to talk to Princess Celestia about… well, a few things, actually. Her library, for one. She had never lived more than a short trot from a library before. The symptoms of book withdrawal were acute. There were probably better channels for replacing her collection than standard mail orders. Also…

Twilight glanced back, past Spike, in the direction of her lab. She would need to do some research into alicorn magic. What had happened with the tungsten was… unprecedented, so far as she knew. Some Element of Magic she was if she didn’t understand her own power. And while-

“Uh, Twilight?” Spike stared at her. “What are you looking at?”

Twilight blinked. She stopped walking. “What?”

“You’ve been staring over your shoulder for, like, a minute now. You almost ran into a bookshelf.”

Twilight turned her head to the direction she’d been moving. There was, indeed, a bookshelf mere inches from her face. Twilight cleared her throat and started walking again, away from any bookshelves this time. While she held a great deal of respect for books, she knew from experience that they held very little information about alicorns. Other alicorns, on the other hoof… “Hey, Spike, are you busy tomorrow?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Spike sounded confused. “Am I?”

Something instinctive made Twilight stop in place. Ah, finally. The literature section. “Well, you are now! We’re going to Canterlot tomorrow.” Twilight opened the box and examined the book labels. “Here, you take A through M, and I’ll take Z through N, and we’ll meet in the middle!”

Twilight smiled. Spike suppressed a groan.

They had a wonderful night of shelving ahead of them. And tomorrow, Canterlot.

Chapter Two

Equestria had its fair share of beautiful cities. One had only to look upward to see the magnificence of Cloudsdale, with its gleaming white architecture and vibrant rainbows. No industry could be considered valuable if it didn't run through Manehattan, the economic hub of the nation. And if knowledge could be marked on a map, it would be labelled Canterlot. Anypony with scientific, artistic, or political aspirations would inevitably gravitate toward Equestria's capital.

Twilight Sparkle stepped out of the train station and breathed in the Canterlot air. It smelled of ambition, of determination, of... Well, it actually smelled like exhaust and fast food. A train station is a train station, national hub of culture or not.

She set off toward the castle. Spike scrambled out of the train after her. “Remind me again why you couldn’t just send the princess a letter?” His voice was nearly drowned by the clamour of the street. Ponies rushed past in both directions. Afternoon rush hour.

“Some things need to be done in person, Spike.” Twilight nodded politely at the castle guards as she passed the gates. “And it’s been a while since we visited. Who knows, maybe there’s been some kind of magical disaster since last time we were here.”

Spike snickered. “This isn’t Ponyville, Twilight. How many years did we live here without seeing any disasters, magic or not?”

Twilight glanced back at him, still walking. “Well, there was my magic exam…”

“Okay, but that’s just—”

“And then there was Discord…”

“That doesn’t count. Discord was everywhere.”

“And Cadance and Shining Armour’s wedding…”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but—”

“Does Tirek count?”

“If Discord doesn’t count then why would Tirek?” Spike shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. You’re right. If we’re here, odds are that something’ll go wrong.”

The castle was surprisingly quiet given the activity on the streets outside. Guards stood at doorways, still and silent enough to be mistake for decorations, but the halls were otherwise empty. Twilight and Spike arrived at the entrance to the throne room. It was empty. There were usually dozens of ponies lined up here on a given day, waiting to present their cases to the princess. The doors to the throne room were closed.

Twilight approached a guard standing to one side of the door. “Is… is Princess Celestia not holding day court?”

The guard bowed. “The Princess has announced that the Court shall be closed today, your highness.” He spoke by rote, his expression like stone. While they were far from effective at actually guarding anything, Canterlot’s guards were famed for their discipline. “She has retired to the conservatory.”

Princess Celestia did not cancel court often, but even she took vacations occasionally. Twilight nodded to the guard, then turned and headed for the nearest staircase.

“Why don’t you meet me at the Archives, Spike. I might be a while,” she said over her shoulder.

Two floors up and on the far east side of the castle, Twilight paused in front of the open door of the conservatory. Warm sunlight spilled out into the hall. Twilight peaked her head inside.

Celestia sat by one of the conservatory’s windows, looking out. Without turning, she called out, “How are you, Twilight?”

Twilight hesitated before stepping into the room and sitting next to her. “I’m well, Princess, thank you.”

Celestia turned to look at her. “Is this a social call, or can I help you with something? You look worried.” The Princess looked serene, like always.

“Worried?” Twilight didn’t feel worried… Well, maybe now she did. “No, I’m fine. I do have something to ask you, though. I was preparing...” No, Celestia didn’t need to hear all that. “Um, how much...” She should have figured out what she was going to say on the train! “What I mean is—how does ascension work?”

Celestia smiled. “Don’t you know? You are one of the few ponies to have ascended.”

“Uh…” That was true. She had ascended. But… “I have, but I still don’t understand the magic behind it. How can a pony become so much more powerful with just a spell?”

“There is much more to being a princess that spells, as I’m sure you realize,” Celestia said. “You have come a long way these past years. Do not worry.”

Twilight felt pride swelling in her chest. She forced herself to speak evenly. “Thanks, Princess. I couldn’t have done any of it without your help.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Twilight. You were destined to rule. I knew since you were a foal. Honestly, I always thought you looked a bit funny without wings.” Celestia winked at her.

Twilight chuckled, and the two of them turned to look out the conservatory window. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed, then Twilight blinked. Wait.

That hadn’t helped at all. The Princess had misunderstood her. She definitely should have prepared her questions beforehoof.

“Sorry, Princess. What I meant was—”

“You don’t need to call me princess, Twilight. We are equals now,” Celestia interrupted gently. “By addressing Luna and I with honorifics, you will make yourself seem subservient to us in the public’s eye.”

“Oops.” Celestia was right. Better to nip that particular problem in the bud. “Sorry, Prin—I mean, uh, Celestia.” It felt strange to say her name on its own like that. “I have to do so many things differently...” Buck, it sounded like she was complaining aboutbecoming an immortal princess!“Not that I’m ungrateful, of course. I just meant that there are parts of...” Of course Celestia knew that there were undesirable consequences of being royalty! She had ruled for thousands of years. “Uh… I mean…”

Celestia didn’t react to Twilight’s meltdown. “Like stocking your library? I heard that you placed an order with HalterCollins.”

Twilight nodded and took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, unfortunately the castle’s library didn’t come with books to match.” She coughed out a half-hearted laugh. Celestia was smiling.

“I know that you don’t want to abuse your position, Twilight, but the good of your subjects comes first. Ponyville needs a functional library. The next time something like this comes up, please do not hesitate to write to me.”

“Don’t worry, C-Celestia, I won’t. That was actually one of the reasons I came to Canterlot.” What had been the other reason, again?

“Now,” Celestia continued, “let me teach you how royalty orders books.”

Twilight grinned and settled in. She had missed lessons like this.

Twilight left the conservatory on tingling limbs an hour later. She always felt better—more confident—after talking with Celestia, although she wished they had moved from the floor at some point. She arched her back as she walked and heard a series of cracks. She was definitely due for another spa appointment.

She found Spike chatting with a young unicorn mare in the Canterlot Archives. Apparently he’d made a friend while she’d been gone. She left him to his conversation and headed for the natural science and magic section out of habit.

Ah, she missed this library. She’d spent more time here than anywhere else back when she lived in Canterlot, both before and after becoming Celestia’s student. While streets were rerouted and buildings were renovated, this bit of Canterlot hadn’t changed a bit, and she made a point of visiting whenever she was in town.

Twilight sighed contentedly and ran her gaze over the shelves around her. A label caught her eye. Pony Magic—Pegasus. It marked a small collection of books—no more than a dozen—wedged onto the end of the Pony Magic—Unicorn section which occupied the rest of the shelf and two more rows below it.

Twilight squinted. She didn’t claim to have a perfect memory, but she was pretty sure those same twelve books had been there when she was a foal. In a stroke of curiosity, Twilight pulled a beaten red paperback from the shelf. An Overview of Weather Control. She flipped open the cover and checked the publication date. Twenty-three years ago. She put it back and checked another. Thirty years ago. Another. Aha! Last yea—oops, that was the edition. First published… nearly two hundred years ago.

It was relatively common knowledge that there wasn’t much research on pegasus magic. Unicorns were the only race that could really investigate magic, hence the rows upon rows of books on unicorns, but their ability to interact with the magic of other ponies was very limited. While earth pony magic was straightforward enough to be understood philosophically, the nature of pegasi was subtler and continued to elude even the keenest modern scholars.

Twilight knew all that, of course. Still, seeing that gulf of knowledge in physical form was disheartening. She returned the ancient book to its spot, and then noticed its neighbour. Its spine was tight and laminated in the modern style. Its title was written in a clear, neat font. Pegasus Flight in Context. The cover depicted a pegasus foal staring longingly up at the sky. She checked the copyright page. 1004 PD. This year.

She walked toward the entrance, the book floating behind. She knew what she was going to read on the train ride back to Ponyville. It was her duty as a scholar to keep up with the state of knowledge, after all. Plus, as an alicorn, magic…

Twilight paused. Oh, right. Alicorn magic. Had Celestia… huh. Celestia hadn’t answered her question. Had Twilight forgotten to ask? That wasn’t good. Friendship between fellow princesses only went so far, and Celestia was a busy mare, after all. Twilight couldn’t pester her with every inane question that crossed her mind. But even less was known about alicorn magic than pegasus. The sisters had always been secretive about their nature, always sidestepping questions about their magic.

There was nothing to be done now. Twilight trotted out into the archive’s lobby. Spike was still talking with the same mare.

“Spike,” Twilight whispered as she drew near, “time to go.”

Spike shrugged at the other mare. “I’ll see you around, Pepper.” He hopped off his chair and followed Twilight out of the room.

They were halfway across the archive’s entrance when a familiar door caught her attention. The Star Swirl the Bearded wing. The iron cell door was locked, but she was a princess now. She flagged a guard over—thankfully not the same stallion who’d spotted her when she’d last ‘visited’ the archives. He unlocked the door, bowed, and marched off.

The Star Swirl Wing was as impressive as ever. Piles of ancient scrolls and worn tomes loomed up around her. Right. She had meant to sort this place at some point. Apparently the Canterlot librarians of old had wanted to respect Star Swirl’s typical organizational standards. Namely, none at all.

Twilight walked past the time spells and, strangely enough, biology treatises. Star Swirl was mostly remembered for his magic, but he had dipped his hoof into most of the arts and sciences toward the end of his life.

“Twilight? What are we doing here, exactly?” Spike asked as he hurried to match her pace. “I thought we were going back to Ponyville.”

“I just want to find Star Swirl’s spell book. You know, his masterpiece.”

Spike blinked. “You mean the alicorn one, right?”

“Yes, Spike,” Twilight nodded. “We all agreed that it would be safer here. But I need it for some research. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The piles of knowledge only became taller and denser the further into the room she went, and the sorting became even more random. There were shelves filled with books stacked upon scrolls rolled around maps written in languages that had been dead for centuries. Twilight couldn’t help but feel that the archives were sucking her in.

Rounding a particularly tall pile of loose paper, she found her prize. An ornate door, much like the one that had protected the elements of harmony years ago, was built into a smooth, bare wall. Twilight placed the tip of her horn into the slot in its centre, and a moment later the door slid upward to reveal a single plain-looking lectern, and a flimsy, star covered tome resting upon it. Right where she’d left it.

Lifting the book with her magic, Twilight turned back toward the entrance, the door sliding shut behind her. If any knowledge of alicorn magic existed in writing, it was probably in this room. Unfortunately, her chances of actually finding such writing were slim at best, and the next train to Ponyville was leaving in mere minutes.

Spike was laying on his front, reading a book, when she returned. “Find it?” he asked as he idly flipped a page.

“Yup. Got it right here.” Twilight trotted closer. “What do you have there, Spike?”

“Meh,” Spike closed the book and dropped it onto a nearby pile. “Something about ‘hereditary traits’ and ‘predisposition’. I think I managed to find the least interesting book here, somehow.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

The evening train to Ponyville rumbled along its tracks, silhouetted in warm orange by the setting sun. Twilight sat in one of the rear compartments—technically reserved for royalty, though most of the train’s compartments were empty by this time anyway. Spike was sitting beside her, his head propped against the corner of the seat and the wall. He was sure to be fast asleep by the time they got to Ponyville, if he wasn’t already.

Twilight looked down at the book propped open on the table before her. As tempted as she was to investigate Star Swirl’s spell book first, she recognized that this probably wasn’t the best place to probe ancient, unpredictable spell forms. Pegasus Flight in Context, however, made for perfect light reading. Very light reading.

Pegasus magic shares a vast number of consistencies with established magical science, Twilight read silently. While it is not as accessible as unicorn magic, nor as intuitive as earth pony magic, pegasus magic appears to be as grounded in science as either one.

Twilight groaned under her breath. Did a pony have to be born with the ability to speak without saying anything of value, or could it be taught? Either way, whoever had written this book had clearly been an expert. She began to close the book, then reconsidered. They were still another hour from Ponyville, and a useless book was better than no book. She flipped forward a few chapters.

Pegasus developmental disorders are observed to have myriad causes.

Twilight perked up. This might actually be helpful.

Historically, however, only a few have ever been recognized. Ancient pegasi would declare late flyers ‘weaklings’, assuming that their disability was caused by a general frailty of body. These weaklings rarely survived into adulthood for various reasons, and understanding of pegasus flight impairment has been delayed greatly as a result.

That was interesting. Perhaps she had misjudged this author. She checked the spine. Sky Chaser, Ph.D.. A unicorn, if she remembered correctly. She had written a thesis paper in response to his book on pegasus social politics while she’d been in school. Even she had found that particular assignment a bit dry. She read on.

As tribalism disappeared in the mid-classical era, society began to treat the disadvantaged much more kindly. Though classical medicine was still somewhat primitive, several significant developments were made regarding pegasus disability in general, the foremost being a comprehensive understanding of the anatomy of the pegasus wing. This resulted in recognition of wing-localized muscle weakness and tissue damage as causes of flight impairment. Most grounded pegasi suffer from these physical aberrations of the wing’s natural structure.

Twilight glanced at her own wing, shifting her primaries self-consciously. She made a note to study up on wing anatomy, now that she had a pair of her own.

The book continued on through over two hundred years worth of pegasus history, covering details such as pegasus hearts and lungs, the density of their bones, and the evolution of their spines. Twilight thought of Scootaloo. None of that was likely to apply to her. She seemed quite healthy, aside from her flying problems.

Pegasus magic has only been formerly acknowledged by general science recently.

This sounded more helpful. Scootaloo’s inability to stand on clouds made Twilight think that she might have a magic problem.

The discovery that pegasi use their own form of magic soothed tensions between unicorns and pegasi immensely, and lies at the root of several major discoveries. In 870 AE, Cloudsaleian doctor Ostler Aviary found that a small number of grounded pegasi—much less than one percent—also experienced difficulty with weather manipulation, leading him to conclude that pegasus flight is dependent upon their innate magic—an obvious conclusion in light of modern aeronautics, but a ground-breaking discovery in its time. Deficits in pegasus magic appear to manifest in a similar way to deficiencies in other races’ magic.

She leaned back in her seat, letting her eyes drift up to the roof of the coach. So her suspicions were right. Probably. Scootaloo had a magical condition; one that was rare enough that a general doctor might not recognize it.

Twilight winced. What to do now? She had a feeling Scootaloo’s parents wouldn’t appreciate an unsolicited medical diagnosis, even if it was coming from a princess. She glanced back at the book, then flipped forward a few pages. Maybe Sky Chaser mentioned the cure. That could make all the difference.

Ah. Twilight smiled. Known Treatments. She looked down to the Modern subheading, then skimmed over several paragraphs which covered physical abnormalities before a small footnote at the bottom of the page drew her attention.

Just as in unicorns, there is no known treatment or cure for significant afflictions of a patient’s innate magic that affect flight.

She sighed, then closed the book and slipped it back into her bag. Maybe she’d read through it more thoroughly later. She glanced over at Spike, then out the window.

Twilight spent the last half-hour of the trip in silent contemplation, alternating between staring at the two volumes in her saddlebag and out the window. She had a lot to chew on. And she hadn’t even started going through Star Swirl’s spell book. She suspected that it would hold even fewer answers about alicorns than Sky Chaser’s book had about pegasi.

A chime rang out, and the train began to slow. She nudged Spike awake, then lifted him onto her back as she heard the hiss of the train’s doors opening.

Ponyville was sleeping. Twilight returned to the castle and put Spike to bed, then went up to her study.

Unlike the laboratory, this room came fully furnished when the castle grew, and those furnishings were, naturally, crystal. Papers and books were stacked several feet high to either side of the desk, and there was a clear space large enough for a single pony to work in the middle. Twilight dropped her saddlebags off her back and levitated the thicker of the two books into the air. She slid onto the chair and set the book down in front of her.

Star Swirl’s spell book. She was very familiar with the last page, but most of the rest of the volume was a mystery. She flipped to the back and reread Star Swirl’s formerly incomplete masterpiece.

From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's destiny singled out alone, fulfilled.

Twilight smiled. “From all of us together, together we're friends. With the marks of our destinies made one, there is magic without end,” she recited to herself, careful to keep her voice down. She took a moment to relish the swell of memory and pride those words evoked. Then she paused, squinted, frowned, and scanned over Star Swirl’s spell again.

From one to another, another to one. That made sense in the context of cutie marks, but what did that have to do with ascension? One race to another? Spells with vocal components were usually extremely exact, and Star Swirl’s were legendary for their complexity. Something so pithy seemed… out of place.

Destiny… fulfilled. Not only had her friends been completely unfulfilled when their cutie marks were switched, but this version of the spell hadn’t affected her at all, while her version… magic without end.

Twilight stared at the words before her, trying to force them to make sense through sheer willpower. It was apparent after a few seconds that it wasn’t working. She idly flipped back a page and read the first line.

Blue is the mother. The father is red. Those in yellow mark nature’s cruel stead.

It seemed like a fairly simple spell, though Twilight had no idea what it might do. She glanced around until her eyes landed on a plain, round paperweight on top of one of the piles that surrounded her. She floated it into the air, then recited the spell.

The stone was obscured by a sudden flash. Twilight blinked away the after image. The rock looked like it was covered in yellow paint. She prodded it with a hoof. It still felt like stone. The yellow began to fade to its natural dull grey as she watched. She dropped it back onto the pile of papers.

So Star Swirl created a spell to do… what? Dye random objects? That seemed a bit mundane for him. Why the ‘mother and father’ bit? Did the spell also work on ponies? She felt the urge to check, but fought it down. Her friends had made it very clear that they did not like being the subjects of her experiments.

She skimmed through the rest of the page. Each spell was only a sentence or two long, and they all rhymed, though the scheme seemed random for the most part. She was about to close the book when the last paragraph on the page caught her eye.

Tear the web and save the thread. Sort the strands, blue, yellow, red. Gather them until together re-spun. Stand alone, another to one.

Another to one. She flipped forward and stared at Star Swirl’s unfinished masterpiece. One to another, another to one. Huh. And there was the reference to colours again. She turned the page back, and another spell, midway down the page, jumped out at her.

Stow the spool, the material redundant. Kindle the fuel, its power abundant. Mind the channel, on pain of death. Guard the mind, for deep are its depths.

More allusions to… sewing? Again, that was a weirdly mundane thing to create such intricate spell forms for. As she scanned over the page again, she began to notice more connections. Spells would begin with the last few words of the spell above it. Themes emerged—sewing, colours, madness, and death, mainly. She started moving through the book, looking out for repeated words and common expressions.

She leaned back, her eyes fixed to the wall, staring at nothing. Star Swirl’s entire spell book was self-referential.

She moved toward the middle of the book and tested a few spells. They all produced simple, immediate effects. One created a faint, floating arrow in the air that always pointed north no matter how she turned it. Another seemed to suck all the light out of the room, leaving her in near perfect darkness. Yet no matter their effects, their structure was the same. Vague, lyrical, and related to other spells in the book. She noticed that the further toward the front of the book she read, the longer the gaps were between connected spells. She tried to follow those connections, but she soon found herself hopelessly lost. It didn’t help that most of that those connections were sometimes distinguished from another by only a word or two’s difference.

Twilight recalled the note that had been attached to the book when it had been sent to her. Star Swirl’s unfinished masterpiece. That last spell was hardly a masterpiece. How could a few words strung together possible be considered a masterpiece for someone of Star Swirl’s intelligence? No. The entire book was the masterpiece. The last spell was the just the unfinished part.

The words started to blur before her eyes, and she squinted out the window. The sun was starting to rise, and she needed to catch as much sleep as she could before morning. She closed the book and began to set it to the side, then reconsidered.

She walked over to one wall of the study which was dominated by dozens of crystal cabinets and drawers, some transparent, some opaque. She pulled open a large drawer and dropped the book inside. Satisfied, she slid the drawer closed, cast a quick warding spell, then trotted out into the hallway, careful not to make too much noise.

As she made her way to her room, the words of Star Swirl’s spells swirled around in her head, forming and breaking connections with each other constantly. Some ponies had considered Star Swirl insane. Twilight was starting to understand why. She carefully closed the door to her room, and stumbled over to the bed.

She passed out the second her head hit the pillow.

Twilight crashed through the under-brush of a dark, sinister forest, the fronds whipping her legs and belly as she raced to keep up with the flickering orange shape ahead. She had to get to her before… Twilight slammed head-first into a tree. She sprawled onto her back, the blurry, shifting trees becoming somehow even less distinct.

She groaned, then rolled to her feet and turned to face a towering dragon. It roared, and the void around her reverberated in time with its thundering words. Twilight stumbled backward, trying to focus her spinning vision. The dragon opened its jaws and let loose a blinding gout of searing fire. Twilight slammed her eyes closed and tried to shrink in on herself. She burned.

It could have been worse, though. She stared at the charred remains of the library—her home. So many memories, gone up in flames. She looked down, at Spike, at Owlowicious. They were fine. She was fine. They could move on. The burning seemed to dwindle and cool, until everything went dark.

Twilight looked around. At least, she thought she did. She was standing—floating?—in a featureless void. The air was cool, like fresh night air.

“Twilight Sparkle!”

Twilight turned to see a transparent blue alicorn walking toward her.

“Luna?”

Luna nodded her head as she stopped in front of Twilight. “I apologize for invading your dreams so, but my sister has been distracted of late, and I had no other means of contacting you.”

Twilight blinked. “Wait, this is a dre-”

“Do not think of it, or you shall awaken. I do not wish to subtract from your sleeping hours.”

Great. Now Twilight had to focus on not thinking. “What can I do for you, Luna?” She tried to sound enthused.

“Am I correct in believing that you visited the Star Swirl wing of the Canterlot Archives yesterday?”

Twilight nodded. Where was this conversation going? Had she done something wrong? Stone walls rose up, and tables and chairs grew all around, turning the featureless void into what appeared to be one of the classrooms at Celestia’s school.

Luna turned her head and took in their new environment. “Fear not, Twilight. It is well within your rights to visit the archives. We… meaning I, personally, am merely curious about your endeavours. Are you experimenting with temporal magic again? I have heard of your history in this regard.”

“Hehe...” Twilight ducked her head. “No, no more time magic.” She pawed at the darkness beneath her, then looked up at Luna with renewed interest. “Actually, you might be able to help.” Luna raised an eyebrow.

“I went to Canterlot because I wanted to ask Princess Celestia some question. I guess I… I guess I never got around to it. But you probably know the answers!” Twilight stepped closer.

“What kind of answers were you seeking?”

“Answers about alicorns. How does ascension work? What happens to our natural magic?” Twilight’s voice raised in pitch and volume as she continued. “Can anyone become an alicorn? What are the prerequisites? How did you two ascend? Am I immortal? If not, then what’s the difference between you and me?” She leaned forward, her nose inches from Luna’s. This was the perfect opportunity! If only all her dreams were this productive.

Luna retreated a couple steps. “We...” She blinked a few times. “We do not know the answers to many of your questions, Twilight. The nature of ascension is as great a mystery to us as it is to you.”

Twilight’s spirits fell, and she rocked back on her hooves. Then she realized how close she’d gotten and sheepishly moved away to give Luna some space.

“I will do what I can to help you, regardless, but bear in mind that I have been absent for many years. You are likely better versed in the academic than I, presently. I will also inquire with Celestia.” She smiled. “Fear not, for I shall not forget.”

Well, that was better than nothing. “Thanks, Luna.”

“Nay, thank you. I have struggled to find ways to occupy my scant spare time, and your research seems an interesting project. I shall—“ Luna glanced around. “… ehm, perhaps I shall contact you by letter. Dreams are an unstable medium, I find.”

Dream? Oh, right. As the thought crossed her mind the uniform blackness they stood in started to warp and shift around her.

Twilight stomach lurched. Don’t think about the dream don’t think about the dream don’t—

And then everything faded away.

Chapter Three

Twilight opened her eyes to find herself on the floor of her bedroom. She strained her neck to look over at her bed. The covers were ruffled, but in place. Right, she hadn't even made it into bed the night before. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the attached bathroom.

After cleaning herself up a bit, she headed downstairs. Well, down a flight of stairs, anyway. She was still on the third story of the castle. She found Spike at work in the kitchen. The sweet smell of breakfast filled the air, waking her up a bit. He turned as he heard the clip-clop of her hooves approaching.

"Morning, Twi'." He turned to the stove and shifted a pan. "Hungry?"

Twilight sat at a nearby table and levitated a pancake over. "Very much. Thanks, Spike."

As she ate, she tried to recall her dream. She knew she'd had one; this dream wasn't as mercurial as most. She remembered that Luna had been there, and the conversation they’d shared. It was good to hear from Luna. Twilight wished they talked more often. She had strong relationships with the other two princesses, after all. It seemed wrong to stay a stranger with a co-ruler.

“Are we going anywhere today?” Spike asked.

Twilight shook her head, swallowed, then replied, “Nah. I’ll probably do some reading, then I guess I’ll see what the girls are up to. You’ve pretty much got the day for yourself.” She stood and levitated her dish into the sink, then turned, heading for her study.

She heard Spike belch behind her, and a flash of green light filled the edges of her vision. She turned back.

“Letter for you,” Spike coughed, holding out a rolled paper. Twilight floated it over and unrolled it. Maybe it was from Luna. She had said something about a letter last night.

Dear Twilight,

It’s come to my attention that you borrowed Star Swirl’s final spell book from the Canterlot Archives. I’m sorry to say that I must discourage whatever research you’re conducting. That spell book contains arcane knowledge beyond even my understanding, and it’s caused no small amount of havoc in the past. Please understand that I do trust you, and I’m thrilled with your continued interest in advanced magic, but I must insist that, for your safety, you return Star Swirl’s spell book immediately. You may send it to me via dragonfire, and I will ensure that it finds its way back where it belongs.

Sincerely, Princess Celestia.

Twilight rerolled the scroll, her heart pounding. Return the spell book? Dangerous? But Celestia had been the one to send it to her in the first place. Stupid, Twilight, stupid. Just because she sent the spell book didn’t mean that Twilight had permission to waltz up and take it without asking!

“Anything important?” Spike asked over his shoulder as he turned his attention back to the kitchen.

Twilight stared at the letter for a second, trying to figure out how badly she’d screwed up.

She took several deep breaths and read the letter over again. Celestia was just worried about her. Twilight did, after all, have a history of blowing things up in her own face. She may have become an alicorn, but she was still a child next to the Princess. That was the context she was missing. This was just a gentle warning not to play in traffic.

She exhaled, forcing all the air from her lungs, and smiled. Everything was fine. She just had to apologize to Celestia for being irresponsible, and then she could carry on with… her…

… research. Right.

Well, she could shift her focus to Scootaloo’s… thing.

“Twilight?” Spike asked again.

Twilight shot her gaze up to meet his. “Wh-what?”

“Anything important?”

Twilight blinked. “Oh, ah, no… not really. But,” she glanced over her shoulder, toward her study, “I might need to head back to Canterlot, quickly. Could you take a letter?”

Spike rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, returning moments later with a piece of parchment and a quill. “Go ahead.”

“Ahem. Dear Princess Celestia,” she paused, searching for words. She had to try to make this up to Celestia somehow. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I didn’t realize Star Swirl’s spell book was such a dangerous artifact. I’d hate to inconvenience you further, so I think I’ll return it myself. Canterlot’s not a long flight from Ponyville, after all.”

Spike finished writing and looked up at her. “Is that it?”

Was it? She grimaced. She couldn’t think of anything else she could do. “Yes, that’s everything.”

Spike nodded, then signed the letter with a flourish and breathed a jet of green flame over it, sending it on its way.

Twilight plodded back to her study. She found the spell book exactly where she’d left it. She dug it out of the drawer, along with the notes she’d taken the night before. She paused, considering the loose paper for a moment. Would Celestia mind if she kept her notes as well?

She shook her head vigorously, trying to banish the thought from her mind. That kind of thinking was what got her into this mess. She floated her saddlebags over from where she’d left them the night before and swapped the book on pegasus flight with the spell book and her notes, then dropped it onto her back.

“You’ve got the castle to yourself for the day, Spike!” Twilight called as she passed the kitchen. She heard a muffled shout in response. He’d probably heard her.

She stepped through the castle entrance and took off into the cool morning air, aiming herself toward the great mountain city in the distance.

One of Twilight’s perpetual problems was her inability to stop thinking, which was why she enjoyed flying, and also why she didn’t do it often. The concentration needed to keep herself in the air and moving in the right direction was enough to occupy her mind for hours, or it would be, if her wings could ever last that long. She worried that if she became a better flier and the movements became natural, the exercise might lose its meditative effect, and so she only flew when teleporting or walking weren’t options.

With all of that in mind, and the weight of a heavy, hard-cover spell book and a binder full of notes slung over her back, Twilight herself was surprised that she made it to Canterlot at all.

It may not have been an overly long flight, but Twilight was no Wonderbolt, and so by the time she arrived in Canterlot proper the sun had already passed its zenith. The afternoon heat hadn’t made the last few miles of the flight any easier. She sat at a small café down-town and sipped at a tall glass of ice water in an attempt to rehydrate.

The trip had calmed her a bit, and as she sat and her mind started to churn again, she realized that she may have overreacted a bit. She nudged the saddlebags beneath her table with a hoof. This trip was probably just a waste of her time and energy. Celestia had asked her to return the book by dragonfire—the fastest method of transportation ever discovered, which was created expressly to deliver letters and small parcels over great distances. Parcels such as books. Instead, Twilight had flown. Why hadn’t she at least taken the train? It would have been hours faster. The thought struck her that she was also testing Celestia’s patience. She should have stayed around the library long enough to see if the princess had replied.

She looked up at the hill upon which Celestia’s school and the Archives were built, then down at the glass in front of her. She was still wasting time. She pulled a few bits from her bag and dropped them on the table, then set off at a brisk pace toward the Archives.

Twilight’s pace slowed considerably once she crossed the Archives’ entrance hall, passed the guards, and stepped into the Star Swirl the Bearded wing. She glanced from side to side as she passed the towering shelves, hoping she wouldn’t see Celestia down one of the aisles. It wasn’t an absurd fear. There were only a few ponies who had access to the wing, and even fewer who had any interest in its contents. Thankfully, Twilight seemed to be alone.

She found the empty lectern at the back of the wing exactly as it had been the day before. She quickly put Star Swirl’s spell book back in its place and turned to leave. She felt some of her anxiety drain with every step she took away from the book. As she left the Archives, her heart, and saddlebags— now containing only a few hornwritten notes—felt light as feathers.

… Oh right. The notes. Her mood sinking in an instant, Twilight turned and started for the castle.

Twilight slipped out of Princess Celestia’s chambers and closed the door behind her. Court was in session, so she’d been able to quickly drop off her notes and get out without ever encountering another pony. She glanced out one of the castle’s many stained glass windows. Late afternoon, as far she could tell. Time to head home. She was definitely taking the train this time.

She set off down the spiral staircase, eager to be out of the castle. She wondered whether it was wrong of her to be avoiding her mentor. They’d been slowly drifting apart ever since she’d moved to Ponyville, and she sometimes worried that the Princess was enjoying the distance. Twilight was glad for her new life, of course, but she couldn’t help but mourn the casualties of the transition. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned, slowly making her way out of the innocuous labyrinth of Canterlot Castle. The halls glowed in the late day sun. The silhouettes of the windows cast long shadows on the floor.

A breeze rolled over her. Or she thought one did, anyway. Her mane and tail hadn’t moved. She glanced around.

One particular shadow caught her eye as she turned a corner. She could have sworn that it had just—

“Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight jumped, then exhaled, trying to calm herself. The shadow seemed to ripple, distorting until a blue alicorn emerged from within. Or maybe Twilight just hadn’t noticed her. The equine mind worked in strange ways.

“I apologize,” Luna said, approaching with a grace that Twilight envied, “it seems I am always startling you of late.”

“Luna,” Twilight shook her head, her heart still pounding. “Er, Princess Luna, I mean.”

Luna grinned. “Do not concern yourself overly with titles, Twilight. You will come to find their usage increasingly comical as you age. We—Celestia and I—use them only as farce.” Luna lit her horn, and Twilight noticed the small, bound notebook Luna held beneath one wing. Luna levitated it up between them. “I have found something that may bear relevance to your research.” She gestured at the book with a hoof.

Twilight took a step back. “Sorry, Luna, but I…” of course she would find a way to accidentally waste both sisters’ time in a single day, “I’m letting that one lie. Apparently I was sticking my nose into some dangerous stuff.” Oh, and Luna had even said that she didn’t have much spare time to waste, hadn’t she?

“Oh?” Luna didn’t seem too mad. Or even annoyed really. “Dangerous?”

Twilight nodded sadly. “Princess, ah—C-Celestia sent me a letter this morning, asking me to hold off on anything to do with Star Swirl’s magic. She said that even she didn’t really understand it.”

Luna frowned. “Such is hardly characteristic of our sister. Did she offer any particular details?” Her frown deepened when Twilight shook her head. “Well...” she squinted at the floating book. “I do not believe this book to contain any spellcraft.”

“Then...” Twilight surrounded the book with her own magic, moving it closer so that she could have a better look at it. “What is it?” It was small enough to be, as she knew from experience, mildly infuriating to write in, and was tightly bound in thick brown cloth that was torn and worn away toward the edges. Against her better sense, she let the cover fall open and squinted at the first page of hornwritten script. “Luna,” Twilight looked up at her, “this isn’t Equestrian.”

“Nay,” Luna grinned, “it is. I believe this to be one of Star Swirl’s personal journals. I knew him to keep such records during our acquaintance.”

Twilight looked back down. Every word was an unpronounceable mess of letters, none bearing even a passing resemblance to actual vocabulary. “A cipher?”

A few light-hearted chuckles escaped Luna’s mouth. “Are you surprised?” She gently closed the book’s cover with her magic. “I found it in a pile of reading material I gathered from the Archives after my return. I have not had a chance to attempt to penetrate it yet, but you are certainly capable.”

The book, and the promises it held, were positively alluring. Twilight ran a hoof across the cover, imagining the insights that were sure to lie within. Then she remembered why she was here in Canterlot in the first place. She snatched her hoof away as if the book might bite.

“I don’t think—”

“It is fine, Twilight.” Luna seemed to have guessed Twilight’s thoughts. “My sister’s warning was about magic, not knowledge.” She pulled her lips into a grin, baring her teeth. “Besides, you should push back against your mentor on occasion. There will come a day when you are forced to emerge from her shadow.”

The thought of defying Celestia sent chills down Twilight’s spine. And not in a good way. She started to move the journal back toward Luna, hoping she would take it back. She hadn’t moved it more than a foot before she met resistance. Luna was pushing it back.

“Think of it thusly, Twilight. You are one of the few able to recover these pieces of the past. It would be...” Luna pursed her lips as she searched for a word, “anti-intellectual, to let this opportunity pass.”

Twilight winced. Luna’s aim was impeccable. There were many accusations that Twilight could bear stoically, but anti-intellectualism was not one of them. She sighed, then unbuckled her saddlebag and dropped the journal inside.

“Thank you.” Luna started to turn, then stopped. She fixed Twilight with an intense gaze. “We must add that this research you are conducting… it is larger than you.” Luna broke eye contact and looked down, concealing her expression. Her next words came out softly. “If we had known more of our own nature, perhaps… perhaps the Nightmare would have been more easily restrained. Perhaps my banishment could have been avoided.” She looked back up, intensity renewed. “And perhaps there would be more than the four of us.” Luna forced a grin and cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps even a stallion or two?”

Multiple kinds of embarrassment warred in Twilight’s stomach. After a moment, personal embarrassment won out. “I’m sorry, Luna.” She hung her head. “I’ve been treating this like a pet project. You’re right. This is bigger than me.”

Luna smiled. “Do not worry yourself with thoughts of such gravity. My words were meant as encouragement.” She started to move away again, and again stopped. “Oh, and one other thing.” Her horn flashed, and a green flame danced in the air between them for a moment. A dragonfire signature. “I would appreciate it if you kept us informed of your progress. Merely keep my waking hours in mind.” She looked down the hall at the lengthening shadows. “Dusk would be an optimal time, I think.”

Twilight nodded and committed the signature to memory. It wasn’t a complicated process. Luna stepped back into the shadow. Her dark coat grew darker and darker, until Twilight could barely see her at all. Princess of the Night indeed.

With her sense of purpose rekindled, Twilight set off down the hall, eager to get home and get to work uncovering the secrets of Star Swirl the Bearded at long last.

Twilight hurried through the quiet streets of Canterlot, doing her best to keep her wings tucked in tight and her head tucked low. Ponies stared anyway. She was glad that there were only a few blocks between the castle and train station. How many ponies had seen her earlier, while she’d been too busy panicking to notice?

As she neared the train station, the piercing whistle split the air, and a crowd of ponies spilled out of the train station’s entrance. Twilight’s ears splayed. She’d missed the train. She pulled her wings in closer and began to work her way through the crowd, ignoring the gasps and awkward bows as she passed. She would have to find a better way of getting around in the future. Hopefully one that didn’t involve employing a personal sky-carriage.

She settled onto a bench on the platform and curled her legs in. If the train had just left, then, according to the normal schedule, she’d be waiting for the better part of an hour. The thought was made all the worse by the growing crowd around her bench. It seemed that nopony was quite brave enough to sit next to her, but the cramped station gave them little room to work with, and within moments a tight perimeter had formed around her. She glanced at the large clock mounted on the station wall.

Only fifty-two minutes to go.

She glanced around at the gallery of anxious, excited, and occasionally vapid expressions directed at her, and sighed, then slowly stood up. “Excuse me,” she said, her head held low. “Pardon.”

It took her nearly five minutes to work her way back out of the station, but it was more than worth it. Of all the places to spend an hour in Canterlot, the train station was one of the poorer choices.

Back on the street, she glanced around, trying to recall her mental map of the city. She could always go back to the archives, or even find a nice restaurant. She blinked, and a smile crossed her face as she thought of a better idea. She set off toward the castle with renewed enthusiasm. She turned left a few few blocks, winding her way around the city. She looked down a side street lined with resplendent mansions, all built in obvious imitation of the royal palace. She turned and trotted down the street.

The houses became slightly less grand the further north she went, slowly turning from giant four-story manors to large two-story residences. Eventually she came to a sedate blue house nestled in the middle of its block. Four cutie marks were embossed onto the rich wooden front door. Three small stars rested above the image of a crescent moon. Just below them, a blue and purple shield was flanked by a large, six-pronged star. She smiled and raised a hoof to knock. Hopefully they were both home.

She didn’t have to wait long. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged white mare. Her mane was parted precisely above her horn, just as Twilight had always done it.

“Hi mom,” Twilight closed her eyes as her mother’s eyes lit up, and the older mare darted forward, wrapping both forelegs over Twilight shoulders. “You know, this was a long easier when we were the same height.” Twilight heard her mom giggle over her shoulder.

“Velvet? Who is it?” A dark blue stallion stepped into view. Twilight smiled even wider. His jaw dropped open, first in shock, then in cheer. “Twilight?”

“It’s good to see you both.” Twilight gently stepped out of her mother’s hug and into her father’s. “It’s been a really… hectic week.”

Night Light chuckled, then turned and gestured. “Well, come on inside, princess.”

“… so then Pinkie realized that we’d been trying so hard to emulate Yakyakistan that we’d forgotten to actually make the yaks feel at home here in Equestria.” Twilight paused her storytelling for a second to grab a biscuit from the table in front of them. She munched on it for a second, then continued, her mouth still filled with crumbs. “Onshe we leth Pinkie do what she doeth best—” she cut off as Velvet glared at her pointedly. Twilight swallowed quickly and nearly choked on cookie dust. “Ahem, sorry about that. Once the party started, Prince Rutherford declared our two countries friends for a thousand moons, and that pretty much sums up the Pony Summit.”

Silence filled the room as Twilight finished her tale. After a few seconds, Night Light suddenly jerked upright, blinking rapidly. “Oh, that, uh… very interesting.” Both Twilights glared at him. “I mean…” he winced, “I’m glad to hear that you’re acclimatizing to your royal… obligations, so gracefully.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow, doing her best to keep a straight face. It took a lot to knock her father off-balance, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it while it lasted. “Really? And to which obligations are you referring, exactly?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother giggling into her hoof.

Night Light froze, then he glanced from his daughter’s barely controlled expression to his wife’s quiet chuckling. He relaxed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, your majesty.” He sank back onto the couch. “As interesting as political summits are, don’t forget that you used to come home and tell us stories about dragons and demons, and that was before you got wings.” He caught Velvet’s gaze. “I’m happy that your life has gotten slightly more boring recently.”

Her panic earlier that morning rose to mind. She sighed. “Yeah, boring.”

“And to think,” Velvet added, “ we were worried about Shining when he joined the royal guard, and we were thrilled when it looked like you’d settle into a nice, safe magic career.” Night Light snorted in agreement. Velvet fixed Twilight with a stern look. “Desperately tearing through newspapers to make sure our children are okay isn’t how I expected to spend retirement.”

“We know that you’re both very busy,” Night Light said, “but it would be nice if you could visit every now and then. Just so that we know that you’re healthy, and happy, and—”

“Sane?” Velvet asked dryly.

Night Light’s ears flicked back. “Well, you never know,” he grumbled back. “Your grandfather had Alicornia Discordia, and my side of the family is rife with moon-madness.”

Twilight brightened. “Oh, how’s Grandpa Glint doing?” A pang of guilt wormed its way through her chest. “I haven’t visited him in…” Years, but she didn’t want to say it aloud.

Night Light gave her a sympathetic look. “You know how it is. It comes and goes. He was calm when I visited him last week, but…”

“The nurses say he probably doesn’t have long,” Velvet said quietly. “He’s always muttering about ‘the legions of darkness’ and ‘the curse of the moon’.” She shook her head sadly. “You should see him if you have the time.” She didn’t voice the subtext that everypony heard. Even though I know you won’t. Twilight dropped her gaze to the floor.

Night Light coughed. “Well, I suppose you don’t need to worry about inheriting any of that yourself,” he said, gesturing to her wings.

“Yeah,” Twilight muttered, “I’m pretty sure alicorns are immune to disease. Normal diseases, anyway.”

“Immortal and you never get sick?” Velvet shook her head in mock outrage, clearly trying to dissipate the somber atmosphere that clouded the room. “That’s just not fair.”

“Just think of Shining, dear. First he fell in love with an alicorn, then his sister sprouted wings out of nowhere. The poor stallion is surrounded by immortal ponies.”

Velvet rolled her eyes, then looked back at Twilight. “Speaking of your brother, I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him recently?”

Twilight frowned. “No. Not since last Hearth’s Warming.” The room fell silent for a moment. “I’m sure he’d visit if he had the time.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Velvet said. She and Night Light exchanged nervous looks.

Twilight squinted at them. “Why? Is something there something I should know?”

Velvet laughed. “Oh, no. We just worry sometimes. You know how your brother is. He’d freeze to death before complaining about the cold.”

Twilight managed a little chuckle. “I think I understand. Running a place like the Crystal Empire would be enough to drive somepony crazy.”

Her mother’s laughter trailed off. “How do you mean, dear?”

“Uh…” That caught Twilight off-guard. “I-I mean that holding together a kingdom that’s been through as much as the Crystal Empire has would be a lot of work.”

Her parents shared another look, and Twilight shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you two so worried about Shining all of a sudden?”

Night Light sighed. “You’ve both been through so much lately, and Shining doesn’t have thousands of years to recover.” Velvet glared at him, but he continued anyway. “I’m glad he and Cadance are together, but… does he have any friends up north?” He shook his head sadly. “He’s investing his entire life in Cadance, and—”

“That’s enough, Nightie,” Velvet interrupted. “Twilight has enough on her plate right now.”

Twilight slid to her hooves. “I should probably be going, anyway. Thanks for the cookies, mom.” She gave them both quick hugs. As she stepped through the door, she turned back at Night Light. “I’ll visit Shining sometime. Maybe I’ll convince him to come home for Hearth’s Warming this year.”

She started off down the street.

Her dad had a point. As far as she knew, Shining didn’t have any friends apart from Cadance in the Crystal Empire. Then again, he’d always made friends more easily than she, so maybe he had new ones by now.

Twilight made it back to the train station in time to catch the second to last train to Ponyville. The comfort was worth the occasional hushed whispers and sideways looks that always surrounded her in public, and the compartments reserved for VIP passengers were well isolated. She had the journal out of her saddlebags and on the table in front of her as soon as she sat down. She licked her lips. Finally! Real, first-hoof accounts about Star Swirl the Bearded, by Star Swirl the Bearded!

A brief inspection proved that the words were definitely encrypted. She tried some basic cipher-breaking techniques, hoping that Star Swirl had chosen a simple, antiquated cipher that relied on regular letter replacement, but none of her efforts bore fruit. She flipped through the journal in case Star Swirl had slipped or given up on the encryption toward the end. No luck there. The old wizard upheld his reputation for thoroughness. She looked around, wishing she had some paper to write on. Then she could have analyzed the cipher properly.

After a few hours of puzzling at the elusive hornwritting, Twilight found herself running her eyes along each line aimlessly, fantasizing about their potential meaning . By the time the train slowed and the conductor knocked on her compartment’s door, she had scanned every page twice, and her neck and back felt as though they were coated in a layer of rust. Several of her vertebrae cracked loudly as she walked out of the train. She didn’t care.

She had to force herself not to bounce like Pinkie Pie as she walked through the empty streets of Ponyville. It was well after midnight, and not a soul stirred. Twilight would hate to accidentally wake anyone up.

One careful step at a time, Twilight slipped through her castle, careful not to make a noise for fear of waking Spike. Her bedroom was exactly as she had left it that morning—her bed conveniently still made. The journal, which she realized was still floating next to her, she set on her bedside table. It wasn’t a very… respectful place to leave an artefact of such enormous cultural and historical importance, but leaving it in her study felt wrong for some reason.

She tossed and turned for a few minutes. She could almost feel the journal. It pulled at her in a way that only the thrill of discovery ever could. After half an hour she rolled out of bed. Wrong or not, she wasn’t going to get any sleep with the book next to her. And she needed to catch up on sleep, or else her schedule would start to look like Luna’s.

She eyed the deep drawer that had housed Star Swirl’s spell book earlier that day. No. This journal wasn’t a secret. There was nothing dangerous about it. She placed it on her desk where anypony could see. She shivered with excitement as she returned to her room and slid back into bed.

She settled into the welcome warmth of her sheets, and, despite her nerves, sleep enveloped her in moments.

Chapter Four

There was a knock at the door.

Huh? Twilight blinked her eyes open, only to be greeted with a closeup view of her pillow. It felt as though her head were stuffed with cotton.

“Twilight, it’s, like, noon. Aren’t you gonna get up?”

She poked her head up and twisted. Spike stood in the open doorway with an apron on and a spatula in hand. She squinted against the glaring sunlight streaming through the window. A beautiful day, probably. She squirmed, trying to think of a way to get down to the kitchen without having to physically move. In the end she overbalanced and slid out of bed, landing face-first on her bedroom floor for the second morning in a row. She let out a low moan.

“Well,” Spike’s voice was choked, as if he was holding back laughter. “That’s sort of ‘up’, I guess.” She heard the patter of his feet down the hall as he left.

It took her a few minutes to will herself to move again, and a several minutes more before she was prepared to venture outside her room. What had happened to all her energy from the day before? Oh, right! The journal! The thought sent a jolt through her. She could get started on it today! She almost tripped down the stairs in her hurry to get breakfast out of the way.

She cantered up to the kitchen table. The scent of spice and egg filled the air. “Morning, Spike.” She yawned. “Thanks for waking me up.” Spike waved over his shoulder, his attention focused on the stove. Twilight hesitated, remembering her conversation with Luna the previous day. Breakfast smelled good, but… “Do you have a minute?”

He turned, an exasperated expression on his face. “I suppose.” He kept shooting glances back at the skillet on the stove. “What do you need?”

“Can you take a letter?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you make it a short one though? I don’t want the omelet to burn.” He left the kitchen and returned with pen and paper. He looked at her expectantly.

“Dear Princess Luna,” Twilight began. “I—”

“Luna?” Spike said. “Really?”

“Yes. Why?”

Spike scratched out something at the top of the paper, considered it for a moment, then tossed it onto the counter-top. “Gimme a sec.” He left the room again.

He walked back in with fresh paper. “Right. Dear Princess Luna,” he repeated. “Okay…”

“Ahem. I haven’t gotten a chance to take a look at Star Swirl’s journal yet, but rest assured that I will uncover his secrets. In the meantime, I thought that you’d appreciate having Spike’s dragonfire signature, hence this letter. Feel free to contact me for any reason. Sincerely, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

Spike’s pen hand stopped, and he looked up at her. “Okay, where am I sending this?”

Twilight lit her horn and conjured the green flame that Luna had shown her. Spike leaned forward and flicked out his tongue, tasting the smoldering air. He swallowed a few times, then pulled his lips back and let loose his usual green fire over the letter. The smoke billowed, then slowly dissipated.

Spike patted his hands together a few times, then turned back to the stove. “Anything else?”

“Nope.” Twilight sat down at the table. “Thanks, Spike. Enjoy your omelet.”

He snorted. “Uh huh, sure, my omelet.” He slid a plate of steaming egg in front of her. Scrambled, as she preferred. She beamed back at him, and then tucked in.

Twilight was halfway through her breakfast when she heard a restrained knocking sound—a hoof against crystal—come from somewhere below them. Twilight sighed. Technically, the castle was a public building, but everypony was too polite to enter her living space unannounced, which meant that visitors always wandered in a few rooms until they felt they were intruding, then started knocking on doors and walls until either she or Spike went down to see them. She took one more look at the remains of her breakfast, then pushed her chair back and trotted for the stairs.

It took her three tries to find the source of the knocking, eventually narrowing it down to somewhere near the council room. She pulled the large wooden door open and was met by a wide smile.

“Twilight!” Rarity beamed. “My, it feels like it’s been ages! Wherever have you been all of this week?” Twilight opened her mouth to respond. “Ah ah! I won’t hear a word of it. We’ve got the picnic all set up on our hill, and I know the rest of the girls are all simply dying to hear from you. Pinkie Pie brought lunch.”

Twilight wasn’t really hungry—she could still taste breakfast on her tongue. “Sorry, Rarity, but I—” A blue glow filled Twilight’s vision, and she found her mouth being gently pressed closed.

“Come along now, dear. I’m sure that whatever you were working on can wait a few hours.” Rarity turned and trotted off toward the Whitetail Woods, releasing Twilight’s muzzle from her magic.

The sun was directly overhead. The green grass shone in the warm sunlight. As much as Twilight wanted to begin her attack on Star Swirl’s journal…

She was the Princess of Friendship, after all.

Surrounded by the chirping of birds and the laughter of foals, Twilight allowed herself to relax. The sensation of warm grass beneath the checkered picnic blanket made for a comfortable seat. She had yet to touch the piles of food Pinkie always brought to these gatherings, though from the speed Rainbow and Applejack were digging through them she doubted they would go to waste.

“Sweetie Belle…” Rarity raised an eyebrow at her sister who had her hoof extended toward a plate of cookies. Sweetie gazed up at her with pleading eyes. Rarity shook her head. “No, you’ve had plenty. Go play.” Sweetie sighed and ran off toward the other two crusaders.

The six of them had begun holding weekly picnics soon after Twilight had moved to Ponyville, as a way of keeping in touch. In those days it hadn’t really been necessary. She was so thrilled to have discovered friendship that she usually spend some time with all of them every day. Now, however, they had settled into their friendship, and they had each found their responsibilities growing.

She had grown wings, and while she didn’t have many official royal duties, just learning about all that would be expected of her consumed hours and days. Rarity found that while the new Carousel Boutique locations in Canterlot and Manehatten increased her exposure and profit tenfold, they increased her workload by the same. Rainbow struggled to maintain both her regular weather duties and the mandatory Wonderbolt training for reservists. Applejack’s harvest had only gotten bigger over the years, and now Sweet Apple Acres was almost twice what it was when Twilight had arrived in Ponyville. The impossible task of dealing with Discord fell to Fluttershy.

And Pinkie… Twilight had no idea what Pinkie did with her time, actually.

Anyway, these picnics had become very important to all of them during the past few months, and, now that Twilight was here, she was glad Rarity had dragged her along. She didn’t want to risk becoming a shut-in again, no matter how much more time it would allow her for research…

“You still with us, Twi’?” Rainbow asked through a mouthful of bread and assorted veggies.

Twilight jumped. “Huh?”

Rainbow swallowed and grinned at her. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought.”

“Is something bothering you, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked. “You know we’ll help if we can.”

“Oh, no.” Twilight shrugged. “I was just thinking about a project I’m working on. Nothing important.”

Rarity tilted her head. “Is that what you’ve been doing these last few days? Working on this project?”

Pinkie bounced over to her and started to circle the blanket. “'Cause we noticed that you weren't around yesterday. And the day before. And I wondered where you were and none of the other girls knew and I said that maybe it was a princess thing that you couldn't tell us about for our own safety, but Rarity said that was silly and that you were probably just really really busy.” Pinkie was suddenly very close to her. "So is it?"

Thanks to her years of interacting with Pinkie, Twilight managed to not recoil at her sudden closeness. “Uh… is it what?” She looked around and saw only blank expressions. None of the others seemed to know what Pinkie was talking about either.

“I don’t know.” Pinkie moved her face even closer. “Is it?”

“Um… no?”

Pinkie stepped back. “Oh. Well, what is it then?” Twilight blinked. She had completely lost the thread of conversation.

“Your project, dear,” Rarity said. “We’re curious.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rainbow yawned. “It’s probably just boring sciency stuff.” She reached for another sandwich.

Twilight chuckled, feeling strangely caught off guard. “Yeah, it’s nothing really. Just some alicorn stuff.”

Rarity perked up. “So it was a… royal affair, then? A social project, perhaps?” She leaned forward, eyes filled with excitement. “A matter of politics? Of intrigue?”

“No, I’m not allowed to make policy yet. It’s just a technical thing. Not interesting at all.”

Rarity must have heard defensiveness in Twilight’s voice. She frowned. “Darling, if you can’t tell us then simply say so.” Rainbow stopped chewing. Applejack turned, dropping a sandwich she’d just picked up back on the plate. Pinkie stopped bouncing, and Fluttershy gave Twilight a sympathetic look.

Twilight shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t like she wanted to keep secrets from her friends, she just… Actually, why was she trying to keep her research a secret? Celestia hadn’t told her to hide her findings from anypony, and Luna had told her that Star Swirl’s journal was harmless. Deciphering the journal would probably take a day or two, and analyzing it would probably take several more. Trying to hide—

“I know that look,” Applejack said, snapping Twilight out of her thoughts. “Something up ‘tween you and Celestia?”

“Huh?” Twilight squinted. “What do you mean?”

“I reckon the last time ‘ya looked this panicked was back when you were rantin’ ‘bout being tardy, and we all know how that turned out.”

“Ohmygosh you’re right! She kinda does have that crazy eye thingy going on! Don’t worry, Twilight, Celestia said we don’t have to write those friendship reports anymore. Unless you forgot about some really important princess thing which you can’t tell us about for our own s—”

Twilight stuck a hoof in Pinkie’s mouth. “It’s not a princess thing. It’s an alicorn thing. And the Princess—err, Celestia—has nothing to do with it.” Everypony stared her. She took her hoof away from Pinkie’s face. “Sorry about that, Pinkie Pie.”

“That’s okay!” Pinkie said. “Your hooves taste like ketchup.”

Right. She hadn’t washed up after breakfast.

“Sorry, girls. I’ve been a little bit stressed lately.” She sighed, then explained how she had come to find Star Swirl’s spell book and journal, and what she hoped to learn from them.

“Oh yeah, I remember that explosion in the castle. You shot lightning out your horn, right?”

“So you’re investigatin’ how to make alicorns? Well that sounds mighty important.”

“Please, tell us more about your arrangement with Princess Luna. I’ve been simply dying to get her in for a fitting. Her colours are very ‘in’ right now.”

After a few minutes, the conversation turned away from her research. Twilight relaxed back, letting their discussion of whether or not Luna was ‘as cool as the night’ wash over her.

A small cough behind her drew Twilight’s attention. “Hey, uh, Twilight?” Scootaloo said. “Did you mention something about pegasus magic?”

Twilight winced as she recalled her avid, academic interest in Scootaloo’s case. She’d completely forgotten about the little pegasus in the wake of Celestia’s letter. “That’s right, I did.”

Scootaloo pawed at the ground nervously. “Did you figure anything out about, ya know,” she shifted her wings, “about me?”

Twilight swallowed. What could she say to that? Sorry, Scootaloo, but you have a birth defect and will never fly? That no doctor will ever be able to help because unicorns know nothing about pegasi? She blinked. Wait…

“Twilight?”

Wait… She was a unicorn who knew something about pegasi. If she tried to… feel Scootaloo’s pegasus magic, maybe she’d be able to understand it. Maybe she’d be able to see how to fix it. Her mind whirred with everything she knew of pony magic as she tried to figure out how to diagnose the filly.

“Uh, Twilight? I’m sorry if I bothered you. I’ll just—”

“Rainbow Dash! Fluttershy!” Twilight called. “I need to borrow you.” She let a slightly devious smile play across her face. “There’s science to be done!”

Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Scootaloo stood in a line at the top of a nearby hill. Twilight stood in front of them, occasionally lighting her horn or shifting her wings.

She paused as Rainbow spoke up. “I don’t get it. What are you actually doing?”

Twilight pursed her lips. “Hmm. Give me a second.” She needed to figure out how pegasus magic actually felt. She fanned her wings, trying to channel some weather magic—something she’d never had to do before.

Rainbow glared at her. “We’ve been standing here for, like, five minutes already!”

“I’m sure Twilight knows what she’s doing, Rainbow,” Fluttershy said, touching Rainbow’s shoulder with a wingtip. “We might be able to help Scootaloo.”

Rainbow sighed and dropped her glare. “Fine. But I’d really like to know what’s going on in that egghead of yours, Twilight.”

Twilight crossed her eyes, looking up at her horn, then back at her extended wings. “Me too…”

“Umm,” Fluttershy squirmed in place and glanced back and forth between Twilight and Scootaloo. “Are you… um… sure this is safe?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Twilight said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you. I’ll just, you know, poke around a bit.”

Fluttershy whimpered.

“Do you really think this’ll help, Twilight?” At least Scootaloo seemed excited. “Will I be able to fly?”

They stood in silence for a moment. Rainbow’s expression was tight and worried. Fluttershy just looked sad. Some of the light started to leave Scootaloo’s eyes.

“Maybe,” Twilight said. “Well, not today, definitely. But maybe.” She shifted her wings again. She was as ready as ever. “Rainbow. Do some pegasus magic.” She was answered with a blank look. “Just… I don’t know, flap or something. Hover.”

Rainbow snorted, but spread her wings and gave two powerful down-strokes, lofting her into the air. Twilight frowned. Nothing. She hadn’t felt anything out of the ordinary.

Rainbow touched back down seconds later. “That do it?”

Twilight was missing something, she was sure. She needed to be more sensitive. Could she try to… actively search out pegasus magic? She could with unicorn magic. Unicorns were extremely sensitive to their own race’s magic, and had to learn to tune it out as they grew older.

“One more time, Rainbow,” Twilight said. “Could you try to stay in the air for a bit longer this time?”

Again Rainbow took to the air, her hooves never more than a metre from the ground. This time, Twilight lit her horn and felt the area around Rainbow. Again, nothing. Darn. She was about to tell Rainbow to stop when she felt the base of her wings tingle. She paused, then redoubled her search.

“Find anything?” Rainbow asked, still in midair. She was barely flapping—somehow hovering with wings outstretched.

“Keep flapping!”

Now that Twilight knew to pay attention to her wing-bones, she could feel the magic pouring off of Rainbow in waves. It seemed to be emanating from every inch of the pegasus’ body. She delved deeper, moving with her unicorn magic but navigating by the sensations playing across her plumage and resonating within her bones. Rainbow’s magic pulsed like a tiny sun. Every bone, every blood vessel, every organ in Rainbow’s body shone with ethereal power.

“…Okay, you can stop.”

As Rainbow landed and folded her wings, Twilight tried to process what she’d just witnessed. This was original research, all right. Ground-breaking research. Research that could change the way modern medicine thought about racial magic. She eyed Scootaloo’s wings. Wait. She needed a control group. She looked at her third subject. Fluttershy would have to do.

“Fluttershy, you’re up.”

“Oh, um…” Fluttershy fluffed her wings a bit. “I don’t think I can hover like Rainbow did for very long.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just fly upward a little bit. Just for a few seconds.”

Fluttershy gathered herself and jumped into the air, her wings flapping furiously. Twilight immediately lit her horn and felt for weather magic. It took her a moment. Fluttershy wasn’t as stationary as Rainbow had been, making it hard for Twilight to stay focused. She soon adjusted though. Fluttershy’s magic was dimmer, more of a gentle hum than the surging tide Rainbow’s had been. Again, though, it permeated and surrounded her entire body evenly.

“Thanks, that’s good.”

Fluttershy dropped back down to earth, her breathing slightly uneven.

“Is it my turn?” Scootaloo piped up, her wings twitching with excitement.

Twilight nodded. “Just get as much lift as you can. It doesn’t matter how high.”

Scootaloo frowned, a look of intense concentration on her face. She buzzed her wings and jumped. Twilight lit her horn and flared her wings. She would only have a few seconds. Scootaloo’s hooves cleared the ground by inches. Twilight felt… nothing.

“Again,” Twilight commanded. Scootaloo jumped again.

As hard as Twilight searched, she couldn’t—wait. Was that a breeze, or—no, that was definitely pegasus magic. It was faint enough to be mistaken for background noise, but it was there. Scootaloo had some magic, at least.

“Did it… whew… did it work?” Scootaloo panted as she sat on the grass.

Twilight frowned. As exciting as the discovery was… now that she thought about it, this really only confirmed what she already knew. Rainbow was a powerful flier, and Fluttershy was a weaker flier. Scootaloo had a magical deficiency, and was therefore incapable of flight. Come on, Twilight! There had to be some way of actually using her newfound senses. Scootaloo seemed to be catching her breath.

“One more?” Twilight asked.

Scootaloo nodded, her face set.

Twilight found Scootaloo’s magic the instant the filly left the ground. It was a flickering flame—half-kindled. Acting on instinct, Twilight poured some of her own—she honestly couldn’t say which kind of magic it was—onto that sputtering little spark.

“Aaaaaah!”

Scootaloo fell from the sky and landed in a heap. Shouts of concern filled the air as Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy crowded around her. Twilight felt terror rising in her gut. What had she done?

She stepped between the two other mares. Scootaloo’s wings were twitching, and her eyes were lidded and unfocused.

Rainbow Dash rounded on Twilight, her face twisted in fear. “What did you do?”

Twilight could only stare and shake her head. She should get someone. A doctor. A nurse. Someone who could fix whatever Twilight had done.

Scootaloo lifted her head, blinking. “I’m… I’m okay, I think.”

Twilight’s heart skipped a beat. Thank Celestia!

Scootaloo slowly rolled back to her hooves. “I feel…” she bounced back and forth on her hooves, “lighter.” Scootaloo tilted her head back to look at the empty blue sky. She moved her wings in slow circles.

“Uh… Scoots?” Rainbow said, squinting. “What’re you doing?”

Scootaloo stared at the sky. “Flying…” she whispered. She sprinted past Twilight and leaped off the hill, her wings flaring out. Twilight could see it. Scootaloo’s wings catching the air. An orange streak through the sky, twisting and climbing and diving like her idol. The shine in the filly’s eyes as she landed in front of her house, never bound to the earth again.

THUNK!

Fluttershy bolted down the hill toward the orange dent in the grass.

“I’m okay!” Scootaloo called.

Rainbow chuckled. “She means it.” Then she paused and turned to shoot a suspicious glance at Twilight. “What did you do to her?”

“I… I honestly don’t know, Rainbow. What I just did—whatever just happened—has never happened before.” Twilight paused, considering. “Probably.”

“Are you saying that you used Scoots as an experiment?” Rainbow’s eyes were narrowed dangerously.

Twilight had never known her to be so protective. “I didn’t mean to. It was an impulse thing. I’m sure you understand.”

Rainbow sighed. “I guess. Just… be more careful, okay?”

Twilight held back a snort of laughter. Oh, the sweet irony. Maybe Rainbow was growing up after all.

Once Fluttershy was convinced that Scootaloo was ‘fine, really’, the filly ran off to rejoin the other two Crusaders. Twilight, Rainbow and Fluttershy returned to the picnic to find the others packing everything up. Apparently they’d been on the hill for far longer than Twilight had thought. Twilight said her goodbyes and returned to the castle, her mind sloshing with ideas and theories. Her discovery today could be the beginning of years worth of experimentation. Twilight had never imagined herself as a medical doctor, but perhaps…

She walked aimlessly through the halls of her castle. If she wanted to gather more data, she’d need pegasi, and she’d already processed the two obvious candidates. She began to compile a mental list of Ponyville pegasi as she stepped into her study and used her magic to clear a space on her writing desk.

She heard a muted thud as something heavy toppled off the side of the desk. The journal. She’d completely forgotten about Star Swirl’s journal! Now she was torn between continuing her pursuit of pegasus physiology and deciphering Star Swirl’s lost knowledge. It was like a second Hearth’s Warming!

It only took her a few seconds to make a decision. The journal could wait. She picked it up and put it on a side table where it was prominently displayed. She wouldn’t forget about it again. She prepared a long scroll and a quill and set about turning her mental list of pegasi into a physical one. This, she thought, was what being a scientist was all about.

Twilight dropped her tenth completed scroll onto the small pile next to her. She’d done far more than create a list potential test subjects. Her notes documented everything she knew or suspected about the manifestation of pegasus magic in light of her new discovery. On their own, they were worthy of academic acclaim. Once she expanded her study, she wouldn’t be surprised if her findings eventually overshadowed her role as the Element of Magic, and possibly even as a princess.

She stretched in her chair and glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to fall. She glanced at the checklist balanced precariously on the corner of her desk. She floated it over and scanned over its contents. “Organize research time, check. Record details of initial discovery, check. Collate reference material, check. Prepare a list of follow-up experiments, check.” She leaned back. Every item was checked and accounted for, and she had hours left before sunset.

Finally.

She levitated Star Swirl’s journal over from across the room and dropped in on the desk. She prepared some fresh paper and got to work.

Three hours and several crumpled pages of notes later, she had ruled out every form of simple cipher Star Swirl was likely to have known about, and several that hadn’t been invented until years after his death. She’d tried simple word examination, then math, then simply guessing the key. None bore fruit. Either Star Swirl was a mathematical genius, or Twilight was nothing more than an amateur cryptographer in the first place. Twilight snorted. A little of Column A and a little of Column B, maybe.

She dropped her head back and gazed up at the crystal ceiling. How could any cipher be so impregnable? The key would have to be as long as the text itself, which…

Twilight’s head impacted the desk with a dull thud. Which was entirely possibly, considering who she was dealing with. She groaned. She would just have to tell Luna that this puzzle was beyond her, and then, once the embarrassment had died down a bit, maybe she could poke around the Star Swirl wing a bit more. The old wizard had excelled at many things, but his memory had been terrible, hence the sheer amount of loose paper and scratchings that filled his wing of the archives. He had written down almost every thought he’d ever had. If the key to deciphering his journal was longer than a word or two, he had to have written it down somewhere.

She lifted her head and squinted at the page in front of her. She could feel a headache coming on, blurring her vision and splitting her focus. She shifted in her chair, preparing to close the book and contact Luna early the next morning when something on the page drew her attention. Not the words, but the white spaces.

She rubbed her eyes with a hoof. Pattern recognition was something she prided herself on, and there was definitely something familiar about the composition of the page in front of her. She sat for a moment or two as her exhausted brain churned through the past several hours of reading material in search of whatever connection had just been sparked. She’d seen this layout before.

She flipped to the front of the book and glared at the first page. Again, something tickled her mind. She flipped to the last page. Same thi—same thing!

Twilight jerked upright. This was it. The very last paragraph, although as incomprehensible as the rest of the journal, shared a very telling detail with the very first. They had the exact same number of lines, and… she whipped her gaze over the words as she counted, then flipped back to the front—yes, the same number of words. The first words had three letters and—she flipped back—so did the last. The last page was the first page, backward! And if the key was as long as the text, then…

If she was right…

She shook her head. For all Star Swirl’s brilliance, his poor memory had seriously compromised the security of his journal.

She levitated a quill and scratched out the last paragraph onto a scrap of paper, then flipped to the first page again. She shifted the first letter of the journal by the last, and got ‘n’. The second gave her ‘o’, and the third… ‘w’.

“Now,” she whispered.

She’d cracked it. Now all she had to do was go through the entire book, letter by letter, and decode it. She looked over at the silver moonlight streaming through the window, and then at the six hoof tall stack of blank parchment beside her.

Who needed sleep anyway?

Chapter Five

“Twilight?”

“Gah!” Twilight jerked upright. She couldn’t see. Panic started to rise before the taste of paper registered on her tongue. She lit her horn and pulled the drool-covered parchment away from her face. She’d fallen asleep at her desk. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. The surface of her desk was completely obscured by piles upon piles of notes, all filled from margin to margin with ink.

“Sorry, did I startle you?”

Twilight craned her neck and looked over her shoulder at Spike, who was standing in the doorway. “What time is it?” she croaked.

“Eh, not that late, don’t worry.” Spike turned to leave. “I was just checking if you were alive in here.”

Twilight groaned. Her back throbbed, and her legs were deadened. Sleeping in a chair was not ergonomically sound. She placed a tentative hoof onto the floor and shifted her weight, only for the floor to slip out from under her. She sprawled off the chair and into the piles of parchment that seemed to fill the entire room. How much had she done last night?

She lay there for a second and let feeling return to her extremities. She twisted her head and caught a glimpse of a page of notes beside her.

… Luna seems skeptical, but Celestia is proving a most willing participant in my project…

The words rang a bell, but she’d been so focused on deciphering the text that she hadn’t taken the time to read it before passing out. She rolled to her hooves and looked around. Where was the journal itself? Her desk was completely covered in notes, and the floor—she kicked a hoof, sending loose paper flying into the air—if it was on the floor, it would be a while before she found it. Had she finished deciphering it? She didn’t think so.

Well, she wasn’t going to get anything done while her study looked like this. She glanced at the window—she really had to set up a clock in here—and guessed that it was still early morning. Maybe Luna was still up?

She carefully picked her way over to the door and headed down to find Spike. It was far too early for breakfast, so she checked his bedroom, the throne room, and two different sitting rooms before she found him sitting in one corner of the library with a stack of comic books next to him.

He looked up as she entered the library and snickered. “Oh, wow. You actually got up.” He squinted at her face. “Not much sleep, huh?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “No, not really.” She yawned. “Can you take a letter?”

He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, don’t move an inch.” He leaped to his feet and scurried around behind her. She felt his hand on one of her hind hooves, and she kicked the leg in question reflexively. She felt something slide against the frog of her hoof. He ran back in front of her with a piece of blank parchment in hand. “You brought some parchment with you.” She stomped her hind hoof a bit. Right, that hoof had felt weird.

Spike ran over to the library’s check-out counter, reached over-top, and returned with a quill. He brushed the back of his hand against the parchment, then looked up at her. “Dictate away, Princess.”

Twilight sighed, cleared throat, and began. “Dear Princess Luna.” She raised an eyebrow at Spike, whose jaw was clenching.

“That…” Spike sighed. “That was my second guess.” He walked back over to the counter and returned with another sheet of parchment.

“You really shouldn’t assume you know what I’m going to say, Spike.”

Spike grunted. “Yeah, sorry. Continue.”

“Dear Princess Luna,” she resumed, “I am excited to tell you that I have discovered the secret of Star Swirl’s journal, and am partway through deciphering its contents. It appears to be a logbook for a particular experiment of his. I was unfortunately too busy decoding the journal to actually read the majority of the text, but rest assured that my next letter will be accompanied by transcriptions of the deciphered plain text for your reading pleasure.” She smiled. “Signed, Princess Twilight Sparkle.” Spike rolled up the parchment, opened his mouth, and inhaled deeply.

“You remember Luna’s signature, right?” Twilight said before he exhaled.

Spike choked, coughed, and spluttered as the dragonfire caught in his throat. He massaged his neck with one hand and glared at her.

She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Spike sucked in a few breaths. “Yeah,” he grumbled, “I remember her signature.” He engulfed the journal in green flames. “Can I go back to reading now?”

Twilight nodded. “You and I both.” She turned and trotted back to her study. “Thanks, Spike!” she called over her shoulder. She just barely heard him mutter something under his breath. Oh well. He’d had the last few days off, mostly. He shouldn’t complain.

Her study was exactly as she’d left it: an absolute maelstrom of loose paper. She tiptoed over crumpled parchment and empty inkwells to her desk, and slid into the chair. Hopefully she’d kept the beginning of the journal on top of her desk somewhere. Luckily, it seemed that Star Swirl had dated each entry, so as long as she kept looking for earlier dates… ah. This one seemed like a start.

June 5th, 5608 CR

Now that my “students” have learned to pursue their own interests, I finally have time to return to my study of pony physiology. Progress is slow, naturally. Studying things thousands of times smaller than the pony eye can see presents numerous challenges no other mage has had to face before. It will all be worth it if I succeed though. It would be shameful for a unicorn to admit their desire to fly like a pegasus, but to be an alicorn… that is a worthy goal indeed.

Twilight blinked. Become an alicorn? Right, that’s what his masterpiece had done… she hadn’t even considered why Star Swirl would have made a spell like that in the first place. And pony physiology… Star Swirl was famous for his contributions to magical science, but the rows upon rows of his work on natural science that filled his wing of the Canterlot Archives made her wonder where his interests had truly been. She shifted some papers around and found a page with two entries that were dated only a weeks later.

June 25th, 5608 CR

Blast! I was greeted by a pounding headache this morning, and now I can’t even levitate a test tube steadily. But I’m close—so close!—to a breakthrough! I can’t write the day off. I’ll need to figure out some means of performing experiments without magic.

How in Equestria do earth ponies go about their days like this? They must have magic hooves or something.

She giggled despite herself. Race relations between the three tribes hadn’t been quite as civil as they were today. Star Swirl had been radical in his compassion for pegasi and earth ponies in his time, and some of his work on pony magic had led to the discoveries of earth pony magic in his own lifetime. Magic hooves, indeed. She moved to the next entry.

August 16th, 5608 CR

It turns out that necessity is the mother of invention. Hmm. I rather like the sound of that, actually. Perhaps I’ll use the phrase in public a few times, spread my genius around a bit.

Anyway. Yesterday, as I struggled to conduct an extremely small scale experiment using only these confounded hooves of mine, I invented another tool of science. I found that my spectacles just weren’t quite enough, so I gathered a few lenses and built a more powerful pair. The contraption is sitting on my workbench at the moment, just waiting to be used to view the smallest, most micro of experimental scopes ever! I think I’ll call this invention…

Super-spectacles. Yes, that sounds perfect.

Twilight suppressed a face-hoof. “Super-spectacles, really?” It sounded like Star Swirl had invented the microscope almost five hundred years before it was rediscovered by science at large, albeit with a much less suitable name. She smiled as she read on.

Using a combination of dye and other alchemical mixtures—whose contents I must remember to record somewhere—I managed to isolate specific threads within pony cells. What these threads signify has thus far eluded me, but I will learn their secrets in time! Based purely on speculation, I suspect that they are related to the pattern of a pony—the diagram of how they grow. Such a revelation would surely revolutionize the way we see… well, the entire field of biology, for a start. Perhaps it would even reveal some of the secrets of alicorn nature.

But now I’m getting ahead of myself. Empirical data first, sweeping change to the scientific norm second.

Twilight’s heart started to hammer. Threads? Dye? Colour? She thought back to her examination of his spell book. Was this… could this journal describe the creation of his masterpiece? She fumbled at the stacks of paper around her, looking for the next relevant entry. Come on… come on… Half of her notes were just copies of the backward text that she’d used to decipher the real journal, and they seemed to be all she could find. She dropped to the floor and shifted through the thick layer of papers below. Aha!

October 9th, 5608 CR

After I acquired some small—and truly, they were small, no matter what Luna claims—tissue samples from various subjects, I made significant headway. I am thus far unable to see any major differences between the threads (I really must invent a more appropriate name for them) of the three pony races. All share similar topography so far as my magic and super-spectacles indicate. The outlier, however, is the alicorn tissue sample. The alicorn cell’s threads were much more plainly visible in certain areas of the cell than unicorn, pegasus, or earth pony samples. Whether this is an important discovery on its own is a question I must investigate further.

So Star Swirl had involved Luna in his research? Why hadn’t Luna told her? Had she not understood what Star Swirl’s project had been about? The snippet she’d noticed when she’d woken up that morning crossed her mind.

“Luna seems skeptical, but Celestia is proving a most willing participant in my project…”

Celestia had known as well. Twilight mentally kicked herself. Of course she’d known. They had both been students of Star Swirl. So why had Celestia lied to her? Or had she? Twilight thought back on her discussion with the princess three days ago. Had Twilight forgotten to ask, or had Celestia… had Celestia been avoiding the subject?

Twilight shivered. Something felt wrong about all this. She grabbed another page. Oh, this one seemed to come next.

October 10th, 5608 CR

I seem to have reached the limit of what I can do with alchemical mixtures—Curses, I never did write down what those mixtures actually were, did I? That doesn’t matter anymore. It is time for the true experimentation to begin. Alongside this journal, I have prepared a collection of spells that I have designed to react with these chromacords—oh, yes. I named the threads, by the way. Chroma, because I initially discovered them by their colour, and cord because they look like corded rope. Etymology at its finest!

These chromacords seem to be mostly identical in every cell of a given subject, and almost identical between two subjects of same race. I have, with some of my most recent spellwork, found some discrepancies between cells belonging to different races, though the depth of those changes remains to be seen.

The closer I look at the alicorn samples, the less different from normal samples they seem. The only consistent deviation is that a single chromacord appears contorted or twisted in alicorn cells. I haven’t been able to determine whether this chromacord in particular is important, or if they are interchangeable. Perhaps I need to look into manipulating these chromacords in living cells somehow. If I can do that, then I might be able to more precisely determine their functions.

At the very bottom of the page, Twilight had left herself a little note.

Note: Refer to journal, page 35, for diagrams.

Twilight bit her lip. And she’d thought her ‘discovery’ about pegasus magic had been ground-breaking. The implications of Star Swirl’s research were staggering. On a biological level, of course, but also on a political level. If alicorns only different from normal ponies by a tiny, microscopic change in their cell structure, then maybe anypony could become an alicorn. Twilight realized her teeth were clamped tightly down on her lower lip. She winced and relaxed her jaw, tasting blood. She found another page of plain text.

December 3rd, 5608 CR

I gathered up a group of volunteers—well, presumably volunteers; I didn’t ask—and began testing my ability to interact with chromacords in living cells. The results are promising! I managed to split one chromacord in half in one subject, and merge two chromacords in another. I’m no closer to understanding the functions of these threads, but I certainly have the tools to begin to find out.

So Star Swirl was trying to change ponies into alicorns on a cellular level. Twilight’s skin prickled. Was that what had happened to her? There was a second entry on the page. She read on.

February 18th, 5609 CR

Eight months of research, and I believe that I have finally determined the purpose of at least one chromacord; it is what facilitates magic. Since all races share this thread—to a shocking degree of similarity—it would be logical to conclude that both pegasi and even earth ponies wield magic much as unicorns do. This of itself is a startling discovery. Far more interesting, though, is that this particular chromacord seems to be the only major difference between mortal pony and alicorn cell composition. I suspect that the root of alicornhood is in these minuscule structures.

Twilight gasped. Star Swirl had discovered pegasus magic as well. Was… could her discovery the day before be connected to his ancient research? She tore through the rest of the entry.

In light of this information, I am presented with two challenges. Firstly, I must find a way to transform pony chromacords into those of an alicorn. I am well on my way to overcoming this hurdle. The second challenge is much more prominent. Through my experimentation, I have tweaked the chromacords of individual cells hundreds of times. The cells are changed, but that change is not reflected in their neighbours. Unless I can find a way to alter every cell at once, alicorns will remain a rare phenomenon. And I will remain mortal.

Twilight tripped through the piles of notes. She lifted a stack with her magic and flipped through them in seconds, looking only at the date. These were dated too early. She grabbed another stack. Too late. She felt sweat drip down her face. She growled. Her horn flashed and every piece of paper was lifted up into the air. The cyclone of paper revolved around her, each note turning to face her as it passed. She grabbed one and held it still while the rest continued to spin through the air like an inky hurricane.

May 22nd, 5812 CR

I recreated a perfect alicorn cell weeks ago. I am ready to face the second challenge.

This will require spell work more complex than anything I’ve ever considered, and, thus, probably the most complex spell ever written in the history of magic.

There is no time to waste.

Twilight’s body was tense, her stomach tight. Her heart was racing. She grabbed another piece of paper out of the storm. The date was years later.

January 30th, 5822 CR

Finally! The spell—my masterpiece—is complete! The power source stumped me for months, but the answer was right under my nose. The Elements of Harmony. Their power is legendary, and with the final words of the spell, I will be able to harness that power. Everything is in its place. Ah, the ink is just about dry on the last page. My time has come. When next I write within these pages, I will have a new pair of wings at my sides.

Continued

It… failed. I passed out after I cast the spell and woke up only minutes ago. My spell did nothing! What did I do wrong? I’ve tested and retested every phrase, but I’m the same unicorn as always! I need to… I need more time. I will revise the entire spell until I succeed, even if it takes the rest of my life!

Twilight began to calm. Of course it hadn’t worked. Star Swirl hadn’t understood friendship, so the Elements of Harmony failed him. She had known that, though in her rush to read the journal she had forgotten. She let the storm of paper die down around her. A single sheet floated past her. She caught it in her magic. It wasn’t dated.

I am dying. I can barely levitate the quill to write this. I know what ails me. I inspected some of my cells. They appear to be corrupted, twisted. Wrong. I did this to myself. My spell is incomplete. Dangerous. I have given it to Celestia so that she can destroy it. Once I am finished this entry, I will encrypt this entire journal. Hopefully, some day in the far future, when ponies are wise enough to read these words without trying to recreate my folly, it will be discovered, and the world will know of the downfall of Star Swirl the Bearded.

It is a good thing I created that cipher spell all those years ago.

- Star Swirl the Bearded, Wizard Extraordinaire

Twilight fell back on her haunches. The date of Star Swirl’s death had been… just weeks after last dated entry. This must have been the last thing he’d ever written. Her eyes stung, and her vision was blurred with tears. She wasn’t sure if she was crying for Star Swirl, or for herself. Why would Celestia have sent her this spell? Why was she trying to hide the truth from her?

What was she going to do now?

“Twilight!”

She looked up as Spike ran into her study. His eyes widened as he took in the state of the room and her tear streaked face. He hesitated, then held out a rolled paper.

“I just got a letter from Celestia.” He paused. “I’m sure it’s for you.”

Chapter Six

“I just got a letter from Celestia,” Spike said. “I’m sure it’s for you.”

Twilight sat on the floor of her study, breathing deeply. She lit her horn and pulled the letter toward her.

“Are… are you okay?” Spike asked.

Twilight unrolled the scroll and read.

Twilight Sparkle,

When I said not to dig into Star Swirl’s spells, I meant it. They are dangerous, and I will not see you harmed by your own curiosity. I took a very calculated risk when I sent you his masterpiece the first time, and the last thing you should be doing is tempting fate. Return his journal to me immediately. Rest assured that I will have some very stern words with Luna for giving it to you in the first place. I know that it is in your nature to ask questions and seek answers, but I can’t allow you to put Equestria’s well-being in peril so that you can play scientist. So, again, return the journal, and we can all just put this behind us.

- Princess Celestia.

Twilight read the letter over once. Then again. And again. She let if fall to the floor.

“Twilight?” Spike stepped toward her, worry in his eyes.

She didn’t move. Her throat felt tight. Her gut twisted with a mix of anger and terror. She stared at the ground in front of her. A calculated risk. Celestia had been using her all along. She had sent Star Swirl’s spell book, hoping that Twilight would beat the odds and ascend instead of wasting away like Star Swirl had. And why? Did Equestria really need another alicorn that badly? There had already been three, two of which had ruled peacefully for thousands of years, and the third was well on her way.

Twilight felt something warm wrap around her chest. She looked down at Spike, whose arms were stretched as far around her as they could reach.

“Spike…” Twilight shifted.

“You look scared.” He pulled back and looked at her. “What did the letter say? Is everypony alright?”

Twilight glanced at the letter. Spike reached down and lifted it up to his eye level.

Spike looked back up at her. “What does she mean ‘ put Equestria’s well-being in peril’? What have you been doing?”

“I found out why she doesn’t want to talk about alicorn magic.” Twilight struggled to her feet. “I found out the real reason she asked for Star Swirl’s spell book back.”

“And what does that mean?” Spike asked.

“It means…” Twilight hesitated. What did it mean? She couldn’t change the past, and although there were still several years worth of entries in Star Swirl’s journal that she had yet to read, she doubted there was anything there that would matter to her right now, so she had no real reason to keep the journal. It would be easy to just send the book back to Celestia and forget that she had ever learned any of this. Well, it would be easy to pretend to forget. She looked around at the layer of paper that covered the floor of her study. She had a feeling that she would remember the last entry of Star Swirl’s journal for the rest of her life. “I’m not sure what it means.”

What did Celestia want? She could go to Canterlot and ask, but… Celestia had lied. Twice, now. Had she intended for Twilight to cast the spell wrong? Had she known what would happen to her friends? If the spell killed Star Swirl, then why did it only swap her friends’ cutie marks? Then again, Star Swirl hadn’t died right away. It took years.

She felt a chill creep through her. Were her friends wasting away right now? She had no way of knowing.

“Twilight?”

She blinked and glanced over her shoulder. Spike was standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“I… uh, I gathered everypony. They’re waiting downstairs.” He paused. “I figured that you’d want to talk to them.”

Twilight squinted at him. “Wha– How? Why?”

Spike shifted nervously. “You’ve, uh, been standing there for, like, twenty minutes. Just staring at the wall since the letter came.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t felt like twenty minutes. She shook her head. “Thanks, Spike.” She looked back at the letter lying face-down on the floor, then back through the door. “Let’s go, then.”

Spike led her through the second floor of the castle and past the staircase that led to the council room. He stopped at a door to one of the castle’s many sitting rooms. Twilight could hear hushed conversation from within. She took a breath and pushed the door open.

The room was small, warm, and welcoming—the opposite of most of the castle. Hardwood had been laid over the crystal floor, and the walls were decorated with paintings, banners, and ornaments. Five mares sat on the simple furniture in the centre of the room. They all turned as she stepped through the door.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you all.” Twilight suddenly felt very self-conscious. What could any of them possibly do to help? This was a waste of their time.

“Nonsense,” Rarity said, eyes wide. “We’re your friends, darling. Now, what’s the matter? Forgive me, but you look like you haven’t slept in days, and Spike seemed very worried.”

Twilight shook her head and stepped forward, settling into an unoccupied chair. “I’m okay. I just… well, remember what I told you about Star Swirl’s spell book and Celestia’s letter?”

Everypony nodded.

“I managed to crack Star Swirl’s journal.” She took a minute or two to explain the contents of the journal and the letter she’d just gotten.

“So I’m trying to figure out what to…” she swallowed, “what to do about all this.”

Silence. She looked around. Rainbow was hovering just off her seat, her nostrils flared and her teeth bared in anger. Next to her, Applejack ground her teeth, looking almost as angry. Fluttershy had shrunk back against the couch, her ears pressed flat against the sides of her head. Rarity’s face was drawn in a look of intense concentration. And Pinkie…Pinkie sat, smiling, looking completely unperturbed.

The silence persisted for a moment or two.

“Well, go over to Canterlot and ask Celestia what her bucking problem is!”

All eyes turned to Rainbow Dash. She blinked and looked around at everypony’s shocked expressions. “What? If somepony put my life on the line without telling me, I’d friggin’ call them on it.”

Twilight winced.

“Rainbow Dash,” Rarity began, “you can’t seriously—”

“I agree with Rainbow, actually,” Applejack interrupted. “Princess Celestia is supposed to be a role model, right? The shinin’ example of what a pony ought to be?” She looked around. Nopony replied. Applejack continued. “If what Twilight says is true, and I’d bet my hat that it is, then Princess Celestia’s been lyin’ to everypony, includin’ her sister, for years. That’s just not right.”

“Um,” Fluttershy said, her ears still flattened, “I’m sure that Celestia had a good reason for doing what she did, Twilight. And… she sounded really angry in that letter. Maybe… maybe you should just do what she says. I mean—” she cut off as she noticed everypony looking at her, then found her voice again. “I mean… nopony got hurt in the end, right?”

“Yeah! You got wings, and so far you haven’t died even a little bit!” Pinkie exclaimed. “I mean, sure, you could have died slowly, with no idea what had happened to make you sick until you expired, weak and scared on a hospital bed, but everything turned out fine!”

Everypony glared at her. Pinkie kept smiling.

Rarity sighed. “Twilight, dear. What about Cadance? Or Luna? Are they in on this, somehow?”

Twilight jumped as somepony addressed her directly for the first time since Rainbow had started talking. “Uh…” Twilight thought about it. “No, actually. I don’t think either of them know.”

“Well, why don’t you tell them.” Rarity stood and paced in front of the couch. “Going against Celestia directly would be foolish. She’s thousands of years old, and everypony loves her. What you need,” she pointed a hoof at Twilight, “are allies.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to fight Celestia.”

Both Rainbow and Rarity pouted, before noticing the other and straightening their expressions. Applejack chuckled quietly.

“But I should talk to Cadance. She deserves to know what’s going on. And maybe I can contact Luna again.”

Her friends stayed for a few minutes more, but eventually they all excused themselves and left. It was the middle of the work-day, after all.

Twilight trotted up to her study and, from underneath mounds of wrinkled parchment, pulled out fresh paper. She found a working quill and a half-filled inkwell, and set the feather’s tip against the clean white page. Dear Princess Celestia, she wrote. Then she crumpled the parchment up and started again. Celestia, she began. I am sorry for disobeying you. I didn’t realize that was what I was doing. Your warning was undeniably vague and, ultimately, useless in informing me of what not to read. Enclosed is the journal. Sincerely, Princess Twilight Sparkle. With any luck, Celestia wouldn’t realize that Twilight had already copied the entire journal last night.

She trembled slightly as she tied the letter to the journal and conjured a blast of dragonfire. There. Now, to contact Cadance.

She pulled another sheet of parchment free. Dear Princess Cadance… she paused, then added and Prince Shining Armor, I hope this letter finds you well. It has been far too long since last we’ve seen each other. I hope the pregnancy is coming along well. Twilight paused. How could she go from pleasantries to panicked warnings and pleas for help? She grabbed another new page. Dear Cadance and Shiny, I need help. I think that Celestia has been manipulating me for years, and I don’t know what to do about it. Please respond as soon as you are able. I’m sorry for causing such a fuss, but I really am scared. She read over her letter. That seemed right. She signed, then… oh. Cadance didn’t know how to send and receive dragonfire. Twilight would have to send the letter through the post. It would take at least a day for it to reach the Crystal Empire, and another for their response to get back to her, at the very earliest. She ground her teeth. There was no other way to contact them.

Twilight rolled the letter up and trotted down to the castle entrance and out into Ponyville. The town post office was open and bustling. For once, Twilight appreciated her status as the crowd cleared and she was given an open path to the front counter. She mailed the letter as quickly as she could, extracted herself from the socially required small-talk with the clerk, and galloped back to the castle. She made her way to her bedroom and flopped onto the bed.

It was only ten o’clock in the morning, and she already wished the day was over. She rolled over and felt the tension starting to drain from her limbs. She normally hated to nap in the middle of the day, but after the last few hours…

There was a knock at the door. Twilight groaned. More bad news, probably. “Come in.”

The door swung open and Spike peaked his head inside. He looked worried. “Another letter from Celestia.” He took a step inside. “Do you want to read it?”

For the first time in her life, Twilight found herself debating whether or not to read one of Celestia’s letters. In the end, she lit her horn and lifted from Spike’s hand. She unrolled it, steeled herself, and read.

I know that you deciphered the journal, Twilight. Send me your notes, or I will have no choice but to intervene directly. Do not force me to that.

That was it. It wasn’t signed, or even addressed. The lettering, unlike Celestia’s usual, gracefully curving hornwriting, was sharp and jerky. For years, Twilight had gotten letters from her mentor. This one, though, might as well have been from a random stranger. She was about to toss it onto her bedside table when a thought struck her. How did Celestia know that she’d already deciphered the journal? In fact, how had Celestia known that Luna had given her the journal in the first place? She thought back to Celestia’s first letter. It had been right after…

“Spike, can you show me Luna’s dragonfire signature?”

Spike jolted in surprise, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, like this?” He opened his mouth and let loose a thin stream of green fire. Twilight extended her magic. It was the same signature that Luna had shown her in Canterlot Castle. Did Celestia have some way of intercepting dragonfire? If so, then… how long had Celestia been spying on her? On her sister? Twilight frowned. She had to do… something. Anything was better than sitting around and waiting. She started for the door.

“What’s going on?” Spike ran after her. “Twilight?”

Twilight turned. “I’m going to Canterlot.”

Spike’s eyes widened, then he forced his surprise down. “Take me with.”

Twilight shook her head. “I’m not taking the train.” She lit her horn. It was time to see how much power an alicorn could harness. She formed her normal teleportation spell, and focused on her destination.

Everything disappeared.

Twilight’s senses caught up to reality a second later. She was lying on her back. The sky above was blue and cloudless. She shifted against the hard, chizelled stone ground. She breathed in. Canterlot air. She’d made it.

She rolled over and pushed herself to her hooves. She was exactly where she’d meant to end up: the plaza near the train station. A few passing ponies shot her suspicious looks as they passed. She supposed that seeing an alicorn materialize on her back in the middle of downtown was a strange sight, even for a city of unicorns. Hopefully, news wouldn’t reach Celestia until she had what she needed.

She set off toward the Archives. Again.

Although she hadn’t read them very closely, Star Swirl’s journal had contained countless entries describing his research in depth, including several references to his other work. If she wanted to better understand his ‘master-piece’ she needed to do her homework. That meant tracking down some of his work on the natural sciences, and, more importantly, recovering his spell book.

She turned just before reaching the Archives and wound her way around to the back, intentionally choosing deserted roads, alleys, and even teleporting across busy streets. The fewer ponies who saw her, the better. The rear of the Archives building was a plain brick wall. No doors, windows, or even signs. Twilight brought to mind a mental map of the interior. If she teleported forward, say, thirty feet, and about five to the right… she lit her horn.

She teetered as the world fell into place around her and fetched up against a bookshelf. A small stack of scrolls wobbled, tipped, and slipped from their shelf. She caught them in her magic before they could hit the ground, looked around at the disorganized mess of literature she’d appeared in, and allowed herself a quick, silent celebration. She would make a pretty competent cat-burglar.

She crept through the labyrinth of knowledge on silent hooves, casting her gaze around in search of the aisle she’d found the other day. She rounded what appeared to be an archway made of books and smiled. Bingo. At the end of the aisle lay the lectern upon which Star Swirl’s spell book…

Wasn’t. It wasn’t there. She trotted up, stealth forgotten, and looked around. The spell book was nowhere to be seen. She ground her teeth. Celestia must have kept it close to her. She rolled her eyes. Obviously. Why would she put it right back where Twilight could get to it?

Twilight turned and wandered back through the Archives, grabbing books and scrolls as she passed. Most she returned to their places, but some, whose titles and introductions seemed relevant to Star Swirl’s experimentations, she brought with her. As she walked, her mind churned. She needed that spell book if wanted to keep digging into alicorn nature, but she couldn’t just waltz into Canterlot Castle and search Celestia’s tower.

She stopped walking. She couldn’t search the tower if Celestia was there, obviously, but… if she managed to slip in while Celestia was away, guards probably wouldn’t stop her. While technically nopony—including Luna, Cadance, and Twilight—was allowed within Celestia’s chambers without direct permission from the princess herself, she doubted the guards would try to stop her. Twilight’s heart hammered as she contemplated a plan. She could haunt the stairwell outside of Celestia’s study and wait for her to leave. If she teleported away quickly enough, she should be able to get in and out without Celestia noticing her presence. She looked around at the various items floating behind her, then placed them all in a small pile in a corner. She could come back for them later. She licked her lips, then lit her horn again.

Darkness. Twilight felt around blindly with one forehoof until she touched a corner. She pushed, and light streamed into the cramped space. She poked her head out and glanced left and right, then stepped cautiously out of the closet and tiptoed down the hall. Teleporting around like this was useful, but she didn’t want to know what would happen if she aimed for a closet that had been converted into, say, solid wall. Thankfully, she knew Canterlot Castle like the back of her hoof. She peaked around a corner and saw a passing group of guards. She shrank back against the wall, and was about to teleport past the intersection when she remembered the light from her horn. Whoops. She had to figure out a way of masking her aura when she used magic.

Sort out this mess first, she reminded herself. Then she could start to experiment with her absurdly potent new abilities. The last of the guards stepped past the hallway, and she quickly turned left, left again, and down another hallway. The spiral staircase leading up to Celestia’s tower lay before her. She hesitated. She had no way of knowing whether this would work. She trotted up a few steps, then closed her eyes and lit her horn. She extended her magic and felt, just like when she had tested Scootaloo’s magic the day before. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for. As she kept pushing outward she felt a ripple, like water flowing around a stone. Two ripples, side by side. Guards? She pressed further, and she felt an immense weight drag at the invisible wave of her magic. She pulled back quickly. That had to be Celestia. With any luck, she hadn’t noticed Twilight’s magic brushing up against hers.

Twilight took a few more steps, plopped down on haunches, and extended her magic again. Now, she waited.

After what felt like an eternity, Twilight felt something shift. She jerked to her feet and wobbled as the blood drained from her head. Her concentration broke, and her spell faded. She heard hoofsteps at the top of the stairs. Two ponies? Three? She couldn’t tell. She took a breath—hopefully there were three—and teleported straight up.

She spun around the second her vision cleared, desperately hoping there wasn’t a disapproving white alicorn standing behind her. The room was empty. She exhaled, took a second to let her heart rate slow, and looked around. Celestia’s study always reminded Twilight of dawn. Tones of orange, blue, and scarlet dominated the office and connected bedroom. A solid wooden writing desk was pressed to one side, and bookshelves containing a massive collection of both art and science lined the walls.

Once she had collected herself, Twilight trotted over to the desk. A lone inkwell sat to one side, a quill rested in the dark black ink. A small pile of envelopes sat on the other side, most of them opened. In the centre of the desk, half unrolled, was the letter Twilight had sent only a few hours ago. She glanced over the envelopes, then started shuffling through Celestia’s desk drawers. She found sealed inkwells, paper, a few more opened letters, and an entire drawer full of extra quills, but no spell book. She turned and eyed the bookshelves. They were all completely filled, with no empty spaces between the volumes. She walked over and ran a hoof along the spine of one. It came away covered in dust.

Twilight frowned. It was entirely possible that Celestia had hidden the spell book somewhere here. If one were trying to hide a book, where better than surrounded by other books? She took a step back and turned. While Celestia’s study was themed toward dawn, her bedroom was slightly darker, with more powerful colours. Like dusk. Like twilight.

She moved quickly through the threshold. Celestia was gone, but she could be back at any time. Her plush, round bed sat before a cold fireplace. A door to one side let to a balcony that overlooked the city. There were no obvious hiding places, besides… Twilight chuckled. Besides under the bed, like a filly hiding her diary. She turned, absently levitating the bed into the air as she looked for—huh? She turned back to the fireplace. Under the shadow of the floating bed lay a dark, spiral bound tome. Star Swirl’s masterpiece.

Twilight’s eyes teared, and a laugh burst free from her muzzle. Okay, under the bed it was. She snatched the book and walked over onto the balcony. Beyond the soft, nighttime glow of Canterlot, a smaller light lit the Equestrian countryside. She squinted, and could just barely make out the branching spires of The Friendship Castle. Then she looked down at the tiny steeped roof of the Canterlot Archives far below and lit her horn.

She didn’t worry about subtlety this time. The moment her senses caught up to her new location, she started walking. She really was getting much better at long-distance teleportation. She made her way back to the little pile of books and scrolls she’d dropped in the corner, and focused on Ponyville. She teleported—

—and something very hard and very fast slammed into her, sending her flying backward. She hit the ground back first. Her hind legs kept moving for a moment, leaving her balanced precariously on her neck before gravity caught up she flopped onto her side. She lay there on the dirt road for a moment. Maybe her destination of ‘right outside Castle Friendship’ should have instead been ‘safe and secure inside Castle Friendship’.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” Somepony called from behind her. “Watch where you’re going next time!”

Twilight grunted, then rolled back onto her feet. She shifted her shoulders, glad that bruises didn’t tend to show under purple coats. She ignored the curious looks of her neighbours as she picked up the books that lay scattered around her and headed toward the castle entrance. This day really needed to end.

Chapter Seven

Twilight sat at her desk with Star Swirl’s spell book beside her. She flipped a few pages, and stopped on a random spell. She ran a hoof over the page, feeling the indentations of the quill marks and thinking of the eccentric mage who made them. Her pages of deciphered journal were still completely disordered and unlabelled. She would have to organize them as she went. She gathered all the loose paper in her study into a tight pile, which she set next to her on the desk. She took a deep breath and dove in.

Star Swirl’s inability to come up with clever names apparently extended to poetry. While his spells rhymed, as most incantations did in Star Swirl’s days, their meter and word choice was all over the place. The main purpose of each spell—most of them, anyway—was to tie together different portions of spellwork. The first few chapters contained mostly utility spells with very basic functions, many of which were typical of verse spell construction. Two phrases, usually in iambic pentameter, though Star Swirl flouted that particular rule constantly. Connected verses rhymed, and sometimes carried over bits of meaning through simple word association. However, the further into the book she read, the more spells there were which only tied different sections together, leading to some truly ridiculous couplets like ‘the nest of reeds wrapped within crowning cocoon; from shattered magic, ascendance balloons’.

If not for the journal, Twilight wouldn’t have been able to follow the bouncing internal logic of the spell book for more than ten pages or so. As it was, her notes were becoming distressingly similar to Star Swirl’s in their disorganization. She found herself marking two or more lines in the spell book along with an annotation from the journal, followed by personal comments, all crammed together in a tiny paragraph to one side of the page.

Even after filling up several pages worth of notes, and reading through the spell book cover to cover twice, Twilight was still only slightly closer to understanding the spell book’s construction than she had been after her first glance through it days ago. The few spells that actually did things weren’t distinguished in any way from all the spells that combined and guided them, and, even in his personal journal, Star Swirl hadn’t bothered writing down what each utility spell did. As the shadows grew longer and longer across the floor of her study, Twilight’s curiosity started to give way to exhaustion. She started miscounting letters as she flipped back and forth to find the cipher key, and even screwed up the basic algebra to decipher it more than once. She reached the back cover of the spell book again, and let the book fall closed.

She stretched out a hoof and slid off the chair, barely pulling the rest of her legs in before she hit the floor. She stumbled for the door, intent on getting an early night, for once. A pile of papers toppled as she pulled the door open, and something hard landed on one of her fetlocks. She blinked her bleary eyes at the offending… biology textbook. Oh, right. She’d also grabbed some of Star Swirl’s other work. She lifted the book up in front of her and paged through it. As she ran her eyes over the lines of careful hornwriting, she felt her exhaustion start to drain. She turned the page, and her eyes shot open as the word ‘chromacord’ leaped out at her a few paragraphs down. This was exactly what he’d been looking into before writing the spell. Maybe she’d been starting in the wrong place? She poked her head out of her study and glanced longingly down the hall in the direction of her bedroom, then turned around and walked back to her desk.

She set the book down and started at page one.

This book contains the results of almost ten years of research and experimentation. I have facts, hypotheses, and pure speculation. Unlike many of my contemporaries, I do not claim to understand even half of my subject of study. None of the leads presenting in the following pages have been fully explored, and few are even demonstrably relevant. Despite my ignorance of the finer details of this new field, what information I have to present is dense and abundant.

Twilight grinned. This was what she loved. No ciphers, no cheap rhymes. Just her and a bunch of knowledge made tree-flesh. She shifted on her hard wood chair and she turned the page.

For the most part, this book only confirmed what she already understood from reading Star Swirl’s journal, but the exact phrases he used… the terminology he created…

She looked at the closed spell book. Maybe… maybe she should take another crack at it. She flipped open the very first page and read the first spell.

Rend the mundane, bring power to surface.

Right, that was common in Star Swirl’s era. She read the next.

Within the mind’s eye lies magic’s purpose.

Okay, she could work with that. A scrying spell. A lot of primitive teleportation magic had used spells like these to lock onto a destination. She kept reading.

Transient thought reveals patterns of grey. Drifting apart, but connected they stay.

Twilight groaned. And she was lost again! What did patterns have anything to do with…what did he call them… chromacords? They were threads, not patterns. Or… wait, were they…

Twilight lifted the biology book and flipped around a bit. Star Swirl hadn’t been generous enough to include a table of contents, an index, page numbers, or headings of any kind, so navigating the book was a challenge unto itself. She eventually found a few paragraphs describing chromacords.

While at first glance chromacords appear to be the most fundamental building blocks of pony heredity, further study has revealed that they are in fact composed of even smaller particles. My current hypothesis is that each of the thirty-two chromacords are composed of different combinations of these strands. A particular chromacord’s composition appears to be ubiquitous across all cells of a subject’s body.

Twilight frowned. So the chromacords themselves were made up of specific combinations of smaller threads? And if every pony cell had identical chromacords with identical weaves, then a pattern detection spell could be modified to lock onto every identical chromacord in a pony’s body. She looked back at the spell book, her face slowly lifting into a wide grin. The next two spells were simple little couplets, each of which seemed to describe a different pattern. One unicorn chromacord and one alicorn? The scanned down the rest of the page. The rest of the spells either invoked other simple effects, or built off of the first few, combining and qualifying them. She read forward a page or two. They all merely modified the spells on the first page, so far as she could tell. If Star Swirl had only prepared the spell for it to be used by a unicorn… well, obviously, only a unicorn could cast the spell, but it raised the question… how could this spell be turned outward? Cast by somepony on somepony else? She shook her head vigorously. She had to unravel the mystery of the spell book before experimenting with it. She shivered as she thought again of Star Swirl’s final journal entry. If she could ever raise the nerve to experiment with something as dangerous as this!

The further she delved into the journal, the more intricate the spell combinations became. Star Swirl may not have been an poet, but he had certainly known how to pack as much into two rhyming phrases as he could. Some spells spun half a dozen or more previous spells together, and others applied strange alterations and transformations on those already tenuously connected effects. Despite her advanced knowledge of magic, and her extensive reading of works by the greatest minds in Equestrian history, she couldn’t help but marvel at Star Swirl’s ability to develop a spell so complex in such an inefficient medium. She was almost scared to imagine what he might have been capable of if given access to modern inventions like spell matrices and runic incantation.

As she neared the end of the spell book once again, she still didn’t truly know the evolution of Star Swirl’s masterpiece, but she felt that with enough time, and patience—lots of patience—she’d be able to truly grind down into the mechanics of the spell, and perhaps even apply some of it to…

She shook her head. She had a decision to make, and all the studying in the world wouldn’t prepare her for it. She could either turn all of her notes over to Celestia and let all of this fade away, or…

She tapped her hoof against the floor a few times.

“Or what?”

Sometimes, decisions are hard. In retrospect, Twilight had a tendency to fixate on difficult decisions.Sometimes, decisions are hard. In retrospect, Twilight had a tendency to fixate on difficult decisions.

A rhythmic tapping echoed throughout Castle Friendship as Twilight’s hoof beat against the crystal floor of her bedroom. She knew everything she needed to know, so why did it feel like a storm was brewing beyond her control? Why did she feel like a filly crouched in a closet, hiding from her parents even though she knows that she has to face them eventually?

She had tried reading. She had tried sleeping. Even pacing had failed to quell the hysteria rising in her throat. So here she was, curled up against the side of her bed. Tapping.

How long did it take for a letter to get to the Crystal Empire and back? She did the math in her head. She liked math. Math was simple. She frowned. Her letter should have gotten there by now, and, if they had written back immediately, which she was sure they would have, then it should have shown up hours ago. But the mailmare had already passed, and no such reply had arrived. If only Cadance was powerful enough to cast dragonfire.

Twilight gave up tapping with a forehoof, rolled over onto her back, and resumed tapping with a rear leg. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

She should be doing something. Coming up with a plan to deal with Celestia if she really was crazy. Reading further into Star Swirl’s spell. Fighting a monster from the Everfree. Something other than laying on the floor like a foal before a visit to the dentist. But the thought of getting up, of just ignoring the alicorn-shaped shadow that loomed over her, sent a cold shiver through her.

She was fine. Everything was fine. She just had to think things through. That was why she’d come up here, after all. To sit down and think. And tap, apparently.

Tap tap tap.

So Celestia had sent her Star Swirl’s spell book, all those… well, months ago—it felt like a lot longer—knowing that Twilight could die if she messed it up, and now that Twilight was close to the truth, Celestia was trying to… what? Scare her into giving up her research? Twilight frowned. That didn’t sound right. Celestia wasn’t vain. She wouldn’t go to such extreme lengths to cover up a mistake. Although… As far as Twilight knew, Celestia didn’t make mistakes. How many other things had Celestia censored over the years to maintain her image?

Twilight decided that the floor was too hard and too cold and that tapping was boring and she needed to pace now. She rolled to her hooves and started trotting in a tight circle, her legs tingling and her joints popping but she didn’t slow down.

Censored. Star Swirl had made huge medical breakthroughs thousands of years ago, and Twilight was the first to rediscover them. That was bad. She wasn’t a doctor, or even a scientist, really. She was a princess, and a student before that. How many ponies had pursued this sort of knowledge before her? The Star Swirl the Bearded section of the Canterlot Archives were locked to all but a very select few, all of whom were personally connected to Celestia. If Star Swirl’s work were common knowledge, she was sure the Pegasus Magic shelf in the library would be much bigger. Probably the Earth Pony shelf too. Even in her admittedly half-panicked state, Twilight could imagine two or three entire branches of study based on the contents of Star Swirl’s journal alone.

All of that lost because of Celestia. So why?

Crack!

Pain shot through her head and neck as she stumbled away from the wall, leaving a horn-sized scratch in the crystal. She fell to her haunches and swayed as she waited for the stars to clear. Maybe she wasn’t quite as good at pacing as she thought. She need to get out of here, to do something. She was almost tempted to teleport right back to Canterlot and just ask Celestia to explain this whole mess away. Still, Rarity’s advice had been good. She should wait to hear back from Cadance. Ugh, waiting. She should have just taken the train right to the Crystal Empire. Letters were inefficient. Heh, maybe she could just fly there right now.

She was eyeing the window and shifting her wings when the dull throbbing in her skull reminded her that she had a still very potent horn. Why fly, when…

“Spike!” she called, hoping her voice would carry all the way through the castle, “I’m going out. Be back in a few hours, okay?”

She didn’t hear a reply, but Spike was used to her heading out on sudden adventures anyway. He’d probably be thrilled to have the castle to himself.

The Crystal Empire was almost a thousand miles away. More than four times the distance to Canterlot.

Twilight lit her horn and focused on North. On the cold caress of snow on her ankles. On the crisp, fresh air. On the dazzling lights cast by an entire city of crystals.

A flash lit her bedroom, and she felt the familiar sensation of the world dropping out from under her.

Her eyes shot open as a blast of freezing wind slammed into her, and she stumbled sideways. She struggled to catch her balance, then looked around at crystal buildings, shimmering in the cold afternoon light. Apparently she’d made it. The towering spire in the centre of the city was all the direction she needed from there.

After a few minutes of trotting and another few minutes of ‘mandatory security screening’ by vaguely terrified palace guards, Twilight found herself in a warm, thankfully non-crystal sitting room with a cup of tea before her. She sat back and took a sip, grateful for the warmth and relative dimness. Just as her chills faded and her headache began to ease, the tall double doors across from her opened, and a familiar pink alicorn stepped through, followed by an even more familiar white stallion.

“Twily!” he shouted, dodging past his wife and pulling Twilight into a hug. Twilight grinned despite herself and returned the embrace. She glanced over Shining’s shoulder and caught Cadance rolling her eyes and smirking. Shining Armor pulled back after a second, though he was wearing a grin to match Twilight’s own.

“What brings you, Twilight?” Cadance’s voice wavered as if she was suppressing a laugh. Her eyes wandered back to Shining, and her lips twitched upward again. She looked back at Twilight. “It’s not like you to drop by unannounced.”

“Equestria isn’t in danger, is it?” Shining asked. There was genuine concern in his voice.

Twilight shook her head. “No, no. Nothing like that.” It was probably a bad sign that ponies thought the world was ending when she showed up unexpectedly. Maybe she should visit more.Although… “Actually, now that you mention it, I’m not… uh… this isn’t a social call.” Twilight winced. It hadn’t sounded much better in her head, either. “I’m glad to see you both, of course, but…” She paused, brow furrowed. “Wait a minute… did you not get my letter?” They both shook their heads. Huh. Weird. It definitely should have arrived by then. “Well, no matter. I’m here now. And I could really use…” She trailed off as Shining and Cadance shared a look. It was hard to tell with them looking away from her, but Twilight was pretty sure they were smirking. Great.

“Of course. How can we help, Twilight?” Cadance asked smoothly. She and Shining settled onto a love-seat opposite Twilight’s chair.

There was a moment of silence as Twilight gathered herself. She had discovered a lot in the past few days, and the jumble of half-connected thoughts still raging in her mind didn’t suggest a good place to start. Her audience seemed patient, though, so… Right! Star Swirl’s spell. That’s were all this began. She had stumbled across it while… no, she’d gone looking for it, because Celestia was avoiding her questions about alicorns. Questions which had yet to answered, now that she thought about it. That was fine, Star Swirl had probably figured it out at some point.

Twilight took a deep breathe, and then, “Celestia wants to take my book away.”

That didn’t come out right.

“I’m, uh…” Cadance’s face twitched, her eyes visibly watering. Twilight appreciated her restraint. “I think—”

“Dark magic again?” In stark contrast to his wife, Shining Armor was as serious as ever. “Twilight, I know you have wings now, but you’re still a young mare. I’m sure Princess Celestia knows best—”

“No. No to both—let me try that again.” She set herself. “Celestia is hiding something from me. From everypony. But I figured it out.” She glared at them. “And what she’s hiding is a book. That’s what I meant.”

A moment passed. Cadance’s smile slowly fell. “A book?”

“Star Swirl’s spell book. His masterpiece. And one of his journals”

“Spell book? The one that you rewrote before your ascension?”

Twilight grimaced. “Well, yes. But I didn’t rewrite it, I finished it. And it wasn’t before my ascension—it was my ascension.”

Cadance winced visibly. Twilight hadn’t meant to sound quite so defensive.

“Okay,” Cadance began slowly, “so what is it about Star Swirl’s book that Princess Celestia is trying to hide?” Cadance was using her foalsitter’s voice—kind, patient, indulgent. Twilight hated it when she did that. A few words in that voice could make her feel like bumbling filly again. Not this time, though. She wasn’t being a foal. This was serious.

“Star Swirl discovered a new aspect of pony biology. All of the cells in our bodies contain the exact same thirty-three tiny threads. Star Swirl named these threads ‘chromacords’.” Twilight stood and started to pace. There wasn’t much room between the coffee table and her chair, so she had to squeeze her shoulders in every time she passed in front of them. Still, pacing helped. She kept her eyes on the floor. They hadn’t interrupted her yet. “A pony’s chromacords seem to be connected to their overall physiology in ways that I don’t understand yet.” She finally looked up. Cadance and Shining Armor stared at her in rapt attention. She continued. “Star Swirl recorded all of this in a coded journal that Celestia has been hiding in her study for years. Probably millenia.”

Shining Armor licked his lips, then asked, “So… how did you get your hooves on it?”

Cadance gasped. “Twilight! You weren’t rooting around in Auntie Celestia’s study, were you?” She sounded horrified. Twilight frowned at that. Sure, it was rude to snoop, but Twilight had never gotten the impression that Celestia’s study was off-limits in particular.

“No, I didn’t do any rooting around. Luna did,” Twilight answered, resuming her pacing. “She heard from Celestia that I was digging into Star Swirl’s masterpiece, and she gave me the journal. She found it a year or so ago, after we defeated Nightmare Moon. I took it back with me to Ponyville and deciphered it.”

Shining squinted, his jaw tight in concentration. “Okay, so Princess Celestia hid one of Star Swirl’s journals from you. I understand why you’re angry but…” he glanced at Cadance as if seeking support, “don’t you think you’re blowing this all out of proportion a bit?”

Twilight stomped a hoof. “No. You don’t understand. I’m not being idealistic. If I published the breakthroughs in that journal, it would revolutionize modern medicine overnight! And that’s just the start! How do you think I got these?” She flared her wings dramatically, the purple plumes stretching out past either end of the coffee table. “Star Swirl knew how to manipulate chromacords so well that he wrote a spell to create alicorns.”

Cadance leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Alicorns? You mean… more than one?”

Twilight paused. From what she knew about Star Swirl’s spell, the fundamental building blocks could be adapted for just about anypony. The bits at the end about the elements of harmony, though… those might not work for anypony who wasn’t a bearer. She met Cadance’s eyes and nodded. “Not right now, but with a bit of work… probably. Although,” Twilight bit her lip, then continued, “Star Swirl miscast the spell, and it killed him. I don’t know if I could ever feel confident enough to try it on another pony.”

Cadance swallowed. “Well, I think Aunt Celestia was perfectly justified in hiding a book like that. Can you imagine what could have happened if you had miscast the spell?”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “Yes, because I did miscast the spell,” she growled. “Don’t worry, I was fine. For some reason it didn’t affect me at all. My friends, on the other hand…” She trailed off, leaving the possibilities to hang in the air. “Celestia sent me that spell book and encouraged me to attempt Star Swirl’s final spell. It could have killed me. It could have killed them. And now that everypony is safe and sound, she’s doesn’t want me to understand the spell I cast, even though it could do so much for ponykind.” She looked at her brother. His ears were flat, his eyes wide. “That’s why I’m angry.”

There was a moment of silence. Twilight glanced down and realized that she had her front hooves planted on the coffee table. She cleared her throat and awkwardly stumbled back into her chair.

“Are you sure?” Shining asked. He was breathing deeply, purposefully. “Because if the Princess really did risk your life—” his nostrils flared, “without even warning you…”

A pink hoof pressed against his shoulder, quieting him. Cadance’s eyes were narrowed, and she peered at Twilight coolly. “I know Celestia, and so do you, Twilight. She’s kind, and generous, and compassionate. Do you really think she’d do something like this?”

Twilight shuddered. “I don’t know. Maybe this is all some big test? Maybe I’m just crazy.”

Her ear twitched, and both she and Cadance turned to look at Shining. He was staring past her at the wall, breathing strained, shallow breaths. “Uh, Shiny?” Twilight said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her, isn’t it?” he rasped, his eyes wide and wild. “She’s back. As Celestia this time. It all makes sense.”

It took a moment for Twilight to realize who he was talking about. She gulped. Could it be?

Cadance rolled her eyes. “Not this again, Shining.” She shifted so they were side to side and draped a wing over his broad shoulders. “We’re fine. I’m fine.” She glanced back at Twilight. “He’s been obsessed with the changeling queen ever since the wedding,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

“She’s still out there, Cady,” Shining muttered. “You know that she’s going to try again someday.”

Cadance sighed and returned her attention to Twilight. “Why don’t you go and ask Celestia about this?” Cadance said. She was trying to do her foalsitter voice, but the words came out a bit too strained. Too desperate.

Twilight imagined a white alicorn standing before her, the downy wings that had comforted her as a filly looming up and around her like a cage of feather and bone. She imagined Celestia’s serene expression twisting with rage and fear into a grotesque parody of the regal princess.

“Because I’m scared,” Twilight whispered.

Cadance gave her a gentle smile. “Of Celestia?”

“What if she’s as perfect as ever? What if the problem’s me?” Twilight hung her head. “Or what if she never was perfect? What if I see through it all?”

“Or what if it’s her…” Shining whispered.

A nova of green light lit the room, startling all three of them. Shining shot to his feet, crouched and ready for battle. Cadance whipped her head around, before settling her attention on the loose roll of paper that slowly floated to land on the table between them. Twilight almost laughed. She levitated the letter up to read it.

Twilight. Celestia’s in Ponyville. She’s looking for you. I don’t know where you are, but she seems really mad.

-Spike.

Twilight’s blood boiled. She dropped the letter to the table, and Cadance levitated it up and stared at it.

Cadance frowned. “Twilight… you have to talk to her,” she said, passing the letter to Shining beside her.

He stared at it for a moment, then jerked his head to look at Twilight. “She won’t hurt him, right?” he asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Shining!” Cadance exclaimed. She stared at her husband askance. He didn’t turn from Twilight.

Twilight was staring past them, her eyes unfocused. She let out a shaky breath, relieving a bit of the tightness in her chest. “No,” she said, starting for the door, “she won’t.”

Cadance jumped up from the couch and rushed in front of her, wings splayed. “Slow down, Twilight. You’re not thinking. Spike is fine.”

Twilight glared. “Have you ever seen Celestia mad?”

Cadance pursed her lips, then slowly shook her head.

“Can you even imagine it?”

She shook her head again.

“Well, I can, and I’m not going to leave it alone with Spike.” Twilight lit her horn and physically lifted Cadance out of the way, dropping her roughly back onto the love-seat. Twilight shoved the door open and stepped into the hall.

“You used to worship Celestia!” Cadance called from behind her. “What happened to you?”

Twilight turned around. “You’re right. I did.” She eyed Cadance for a moment, taking in her carefully preened wings and gleaming horn. Thirty-two. She looked at Shining. Thirty-three. “If you fear something for long enough,” Twilight reached out toward Cadance with her magic, “you’ll eventual grow to resent it.” There they were. Thirty-one normal pony chromacords, and one large, twisted alicorn chromacord. “Maybe that’s not really fair,” Twilight said, reaching out now toward her brother, “but now I realize,” thirty-two little threads glowed in her mind, “I’ve been afraid of Celestia for a long time now.” She was about to turn away when something about Shining’s chromacords caught her mind’s eye. In the space between his fourteenth and fifteenth chromacord, a tiny filament of magic seemed to dance, connecting the two threads. It almost looked like an alicorn chromacord.

“Twilight?” Shining asked, taking a step back. “What are you doing?”

Twilight blinked, then turned back to the door. “Leaving. Sorry for wasting your time.” She took a step beyond the threshold before remembering just how she’d gotten here in the first place. Lavender light spilled from her horn, and she vanished in a blinding flash of light.

Chapter Eight

Estimating the power draw of a particular spell was easy. Almost boringly easy. In fact, many ponies held that if a third of the population had access to magic, the least it could do is be as mysterious and otherworldly as it was in the storybooks. Twilight, on the other hoof, rather appreciated that magic worked by the same rules as any other part of nature. It was much easier to actually perform complicated magic if you could describe it with a formula beforehand.

It stood to reason that, since Twilight had teleported from her bedroom to the Crystal Empire without any difficulty, a jump from the Crystal Empire to Canterlot would be even easier, given the relative distances. It was quite the unpleasant surprise when instead of the subtle pop of her new location melting in around her, she was met with darkness and a sensation similar to slamming full speed, muzzle-first into a brick wall. If that had been the end of it, Twilight would have assumed that she’d accidentally teleported herself inside of a very literal brick wall. Her stomach lurched as she rebounded. The feeling of gravity pressing against her was not a good sign, as teleportation didn’t—or at least shouldn’t—involve any kind of physical movement. Then, almost as suddenly as everything had gone wrong, things stopped going wrong.

Twilight groaned. She felt as though her entire body had been beaten by an angry hardwood staircase. She tried to roll over onto her front but found nothing to roll over on. She was floating, or possibly dead. She brought a hoof up to touch her face, and was heartened to find that she did still have both a hoof and a face to touch together. That made death a significantly less likely explanation.

“Identify thyself!” boomed a voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.

Twilight swallowed. “Luna?”

There was a gasp. Twilight shivered as her senses returned. The darkness faded and was replaced by a cramped room with unmarked gray walls and a low ceiling. Luna’s worried face peered down at her.

“Twilight? Why art thou teleporting into our sister’s abode?” Her horn glowed, and Twilight was lifted gently onto her feet. “Celestia has declared that even I may not enter her chambers unannounced.”

Twilight looked around. Now that she was standing, she could see the room’s furnishings. Small hooks protruded from the walls at around shoulder height, and chains dangled from one or two. Behind Luna was a metal door with far more locks than any normal door should need. A wooden structure that could only be described as a cross between a table and a coat rack crouched in the corner: Twilight couldn’t guess how it functioned, but its purpose was clear.

Apparently some social cues transcended time and culture. “We are deep within Canterlot Castle,” Luna explained. “These halls are remnants of a more suspicious age, when my sister had a healthy collection of spies. I repurposed these rooms upon our return.”

“Into what?” Twilight said, although the answer was obvious.

“My personal holding cells and interrogation chambers, of course.” Luna tisked. “I was truly dismayed to find Canterlot without a spy master upon my return, and it is a duty I look forward to resuming.” A shadow fell across her expression. “It is very troubling that you are the first intruder I have caught. Please, Twilight. Under what circumstances do you trespass upon my sister’s quarters?”

With considerable effort, Twilight pushed aside the implications of Luna’s ‘interrogation chamber’. She eyed the door behind Luna like a sleep-deprived student eyes her bed. She wanted to dive toward it, but knew it wouldn’t help her in the end. How had Luna caught her? Teleportation magic was undetectable. Twilight’s head sank. “Do you remember our conversation a few days ago?”

Luna nodded. “My sister forbade you from investigating Star Swirl’s magic, and I gave you his journal that you might study it instead.”

Twilight sighed. “Right. Well, a lot’s happened since then. You got my letter about breaking Star Swirl’s cipher?”

“Nay. Apparently a large number of confidential documents found their way into the public mail service. All government correspondence has been redirected to Celestia’s office for inspection, including all mail addressed to or from royalty.” Luna grinned. “Blueblood wrote a strongly worded complaint to our sister about the disruption of his post. Or, I assume it was strongly worded. It has not been read, as it now sits in a pile in Celestia’s office along with all of his other mail.”

“But I sent my letter by dragonfire.” Although that did explain why Cadance hadn’t gotten her letter. There was a chance that there actually had been an information leak, but it seemed more likely that it was all Celestia’s doing.

“Dragonfire?” Luna frowned. “You are certain you used the correct signature?”

“Yes.” There was no way both she and Spike had used the wrong signature. Something was interfering with Luna’s dragonfire. “Never mind.” Twilight peered at Luna in what was probably a rudely obvious way. How much did she know? Were she in on Celestia’s plans, or was she oblivious? “The journal you gave me was about…alicorns.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “Alicorns? Oh, you refer to the notes he maintained during the creation of his masterpiece. I am aware of its relation to alicornhood.”

“And you gave it to me anyway?” Twilight said. “Even though you knew Celestia didn’t want me studying it?”

Luna gasped. “Why, Twilight! You merely told me that Celestia forbade you from investigating Star Swirl’s spell book. If I had known that you were told not to study Star Swirl’s thoughts on the matter…” Luna shrugged. “Perhaps I would have acted differently.”

Twilight had always been the smartest pony in class, so she knew when somepony was making fun of her. “Seriously?”

“No more so than the situation demands,” Luna replied with a twinkle in her eye. “So, were the journal’s contents illuminating?”

Twilight dropped back onto her haunches. It didn’t really make sense to keep Luna in the dark, but she had hoped to confront Celestia before the adrenaline from Spike’s letter wore off. “Basically, there’s a lot wrong with the spell I cast, and Celestia knew it.” Twilight froze. “And so did you.”

“Did I?” Luna said.

“Star Swirl involved both of you in his research—got samples from you.”

Luna screwed up her face in concentration. “Yes… I do remember something like that. Star Swirl was never very compassionate to his subjects. I did my best to avoid his scientific attention. Celestia, on the other hoof, she was very interested in that particular project. They spent hours together, puzzling over a plucked feather or a drop of blood. I thought it was good for her. She was dreadfully serious back then, and quite boring. No hobbies, no friends besides myself…Sometimes I wonder how I was the first to go mad.”

Well, if Twilight had suspected that Luna shared Celestia’s goals before, she was sure of it now. But why give her the journal? Was she working against Celestia to the same end? Twilight was getting tired of all these complex mental gymnastics. “What’s your angle?” she asked.

Luna dropped her head and let out a chuckle: the kind of chuckle that was equally at home on a good-natured friend as on a charismatic villain. “Angle? Must I have deeper motivations than a simple desire to help?”

Twilight tilted her head violently. Her neck let out a wince-inducing crack. “Really? You don’t want to rip my wings off? Or usurp the throne? Or turn Equestria into an authoritarian regime? Are you saying that you’re not possessed by a malevolent spirit that’s plotting to bring about eternal night?” Twilight was relieved to feel a second spike of adrenaline. She had missed the feeling. “There’s no conspiracy? Nopony is scheming or plotting or otherwise planning malevolently? Are you saying it’s all in my head?”

Luna took a step forward, her eyes wide with concern. “Are you well, Twilight? You appear somewhat…unhinged.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” For all the twitchy energy bouncing inside her, most of which she was channelling into her all but vibrating wings, Twilight was strangely calm. Mentally. For some reason the panic wasn’t hitting her like usual. “Honestly, I think I’d be almost disappointed. I came here to finally put an end to this little crisis, and if it turns out that I was jumping at shadows for an entire week then I’ll feel like a bit of an idiot. It’s like that time I sent myself into a panic by travelling back in time—did I tell you about that?”

Luna’s mouth hung open. She took a step back, then reconsidered Twilight’s expression and took another one. “We…I did hear of that incident, yes.”

Twilight sighed. “I just really don’t want this to be a repeat of that. I was too embarrassed to talk to Pinkie Pie for a week afterward. To Pinkie! And I’ve already talked to Cadance and Shining, so now they’re probably worried, and all of my friends probably think I’m losing my mind. Spike… Celestia only knows what Spike’s thinking. Literally. Celestia knows because she’s in Ponyville, looking for me, while I’m sitting here babbling to you. Celestia probably put off dozens of important duties to deal with my latest break-down, and now you’re looking at me like I’ve gone completely moon-mad.” Twilight swallowed because her throat was getting dry and took a few shaky breaths. “And now that I think of it, maybe I should get myself checked. I mean, I passed all the tests right before I moved to Ponyville, but that town isn’t exactly easy on a pony’s mental health, if you know what I mean.”

Luna stepped forward and laid a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “You are not insane, Twilight,” she said. “Trust me. Madness is a matter with which I have much personal experience.”

Twilight returned her smile and took a few more breaths, slower this time. “That’s… more reassuring than it should be. Thank you.”

The hoof fell away and Luna’s face hardened. “Now, I am sorry to press you on this, but I must. Why did you attempt to infiltrate Celestia’s tower? Is your relationship truly in such dire straits that you cannot enter honestly?”

She couldn’t trust Celestia. Probably. And no matter how friendly Luna seemed, Twilight was going to assume she was equally untrustworthy until she was proven otherwise. In the end, Twilight said, as if it answered everything, “Celestia’s in Ponyville.’

Luna raised an eyebrow. “I am aware. She expressed concern for your well-being and delegated all of her duties for the next two days before she departed.”

Twilight shrugged. “Well, I’m starting to feel like an idiot all over again.”

“Did you imagine Celestia disappeared from court without ensuring the safety of her subjects? She ruled Equestria alone for one thousand years, and it has flourished under her reign. She is not one to shirk her responsibilities.” Luna peered at her. “And you know all of this better than I.”

Twilight’s face burned, and she jerked her gaze away from Luna. It landed on the wall behind her, and for a moment Twilight allowed herself to take in the details.

The room was well-lit, and there wasn't a speck of dust in sight, nor even one tiny scratch on the walls. Everything about it suggested that it had never been used, and everything Twilight knew about Luna suggested the same. And yet, the room was here, ready to plunge Equestria back into the dark era of violence and shadow under Discord that even the frankest history books described with dreadful restraint. Because Luna’s judgement was in many ways still one thousand years out of date.

What difference would it make if Celestia buried Star Swirl’s revelations for another thousand years? Equestria had flourished without them. What did it matter that there were once again torture rooms in the bowels of Equestria’s capitol? They would never be used. And yet…

“Tell me, honestly. Do you know what Celestia’s planning?” Twilight asked. “About the spell,” she added as Luna opened her mouth.

“About the spell? I imagine the two of us will together decide its proper place. We do trust you, Twilight, but you are not prepared to handle the subtleties of ruling a kingdom,” Luna said. Her face softened. “Would it assuage you if I swore to confer the details of our decision to you?”

“Really? Has Celestia asked your opinion once in the past four days?” Twilight said from between her teeth. The answer was plain on Luna’s face. “She is planning something. And whatever it is, it’s big, and we deserve to know.”

“I will not hold you here. You are a princess, and your judgement must be allowed to grow,” Luna said. “However, I beg that you do not trouble Celestia unnecessarily. Her mind and heart are heavy, and your investigation of Star Swirl’s knowledge has only added to her worries.”

Luna stepped to the side and turned the door’s latch with her magic. Twilight took a few breaths. She wasn’t sure if she’d lost her nerve—it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between terror and confidence. She nodded to Luna and stepped out of the room. It would be rude to teleport away after Luna opened the door for her.

She walked a short distance down the hallway. Dozens of identical doorways lined the walls on either side, stretching for hundreds of yards. She idly wondered whether there were enough holding cells here to contain the entire population of Ponyville, and eventually decided that yes there was, with room to spare.

She stopped and glanced back to make sure Luna was out of sight, then closed her eyes and quietly disappeared.

Celestia’s quarters were silent and empty when Twilight arrived, everything as neat and orderly as always. In contrast to the rest of the castle, the princess’ tower was awash with organic colours. The floor was made of soft, honey coloured wood, its surface worn by a thousand years worth of hoofsteps. The walls were covered by bookshelves, paintings, and other personal touches that hid the cold white marble of the castle beyond. The door to Celestia’s bedchamber was ajar, and through it Twilight could see a luxurious bed atop a frame of stained wood and gold trim. It looked untouched, and it was, because Celestia never used it. Before the fireplace lay a plush cushion, easily big enough to accommodate five adult ponies lying side by side—or one alicorn and a little filly, curled up together before a gently flickering fire on a cool autumn night. The fireplace was cold and dark now, and the cushion was mussed and lumpy. Twilight pulled the bedroom door closed with a small magical tug. The latch slid into place without a sound, and Twilight breathed a bit easier in the solitude of the study.

Though she had been in this office hundreds of times, dozens of little details caught her eye that she’d never noticed before. Each bookshelf was filled from end to end, every book’s spine even with its neighbours. A picture-perfect library. Yet when Twilight took a closer look at the shelves, their order seemed completely random. She was no stranger to… inventive shelving methods, but these books weren’t arranged by title, author, publication date, or genre. During their lessons, Celestia had always requested books from the Canterlot Archives, and Twilight couldn’t remember there ever being a single book out of place on these shelves. She thought again of the dust that coated their perfectly persevered bindings. How long had these tomes been here?

The dozens of envelopes and scrolls that had been Celestia’s desk the day before were gone. In their place lay several sheets of paper, wrinkled and covered in small, careful black hornwriting. Her notes on Star Swirl’s spell book. A layer of red ink occupied the tiny margins, written in similar, though not identical hornwriting. A pang of terror shot through Twilight, and her eyes darted to the top of the page, expecting an uppercase letter and a circle. She scowled and suppressed a growl. She wasn’t Celestia student anymore. There was much more at stake than poor grades. She slid the notes aside and pulled a fresh piece of paper out of a drawer. Celestia’s quill flew from its inkwell and pressed against the page.

Celestia,

This has gone on for long enough. I am waiting in your study in Canterlot.

-Twilight Sparkle

She didn’t bother to roll or tie the letter. It disappeared in a wash of green flame, and the lingering smoke drifted through the gap between the balcony doors. Twilight glanced around the room, then back at the tiny, squashed writing that covered her notes. She could make out a few solitary question marks, and a single ‘how?’. She stood and turned from the notes. Clearly Celestia didn’t know any more than she did.

The seconds dragged by. No enraged white alicorn appeared. No disappointed blue alicorn came to scold her. Twilight fidgeted and looked around for a place to sit. Her eyes fell on the closed bedroom door. Dread knifed through her. She gulped, then her horn flashed to life, and she stepped forward, closing the door behind her.

The room was just as cold and lifeless as before. The stale air caught in her throat, and chills broke out along her sides. She stepped forward. The clicks of her hooves against the wood floor resounded in the silence. There were two healthy logs in the fireplace. Twilight didn’t light them. She walked up and prodded the cushion with a hoof. It was as soft and plush as ever. She settled onto her stomach, sinking into the cold fabric, and closed her eyes. In the dark, she could almost pretend that nothing had changed.

And had anything changed, really? How easy would it be to let it all go? To nod along to whatever explanation Celestia gave her? She had never stood up to her mentor before, even as a foal. She’d had a rebellious phase, like any teenager, but around Celestia she had always been agreeable and cooperative. She didn’t know if she could behold Celestia’s ire without crumpling.

There was a crash from inside the study, and the darkness of the bedroom was interrupted by a pulse of golden light from under the door. Twilight opened her mouth, but her words caught in her throat. Loud hoofsteps walked around the study, then slowly approached the bedroom. The door glowed gold, then swung open, pouring light over Twilight’s prone body. Fear boiled in Twilight’s chest, and she looked up into Celestia’s eyes.

Her multi-hued mane billowed in the still air, framing her flawless white coat against the warmth of the study. The glinting gold around her neck and hooves shone in her radiance. She stepped closer, peering down at Twilight. Her eyes were kind, indulgent, and her mouth was quirked into a carefully maintained half-smile.

“You’ve been a very difficult pony to find, recently,” Celestia said, her voice overflowing with playful warmth.

Twilight glanced away. She hadn’t changed a bit. Her fear curdled, and before she knew it she was on her hooves, glaring up at her former teacher. “I’m not the one who needs to explain herself, Celestia.”

Celestia flinched back as Twilight said her name. She quickly regained her composure. “I didn’t ask for an explanation. I’m just glad you’re safe.” She moved forward and extended a wing, reaching for Twilight’s shoulder.

Twilight stepped to the side, keeping her eyes fixed on Celestia. “Forgive me if I’m not quite as th-thrilled to see you.”

Celestia’s ears flattened, her eyes widened, and she became the picture of a wounded angel. “T-Twilight, I just—”

“No,” Twilight growled, “we are not doing this again.” She stomped a hoof. “I am going to ask my questions, and you are going to answer them!”

The pretence drained from Celestia’s face all at once. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and, for the first time, Twilight saw past the teacher that she knew, leaving only the ancient monarch of Equestria before her. When she spoke, there was no anger in her voice, only frost. “I gave you warning after warning. I tried to distract you. I tried to command you. I even tried to scare you.” Celestia flared her wings, and Twilight shrank back against the cushion. “You ignored me. So, what are you going to do with your newfound knowledge?”

Twilight shuddered, then whispered. “More than you ever did.”

A half-laugh rose and died in Celestia’s throat. “Don’t try to lecture me, Twilight. I didn’t hide Star Swirl’s work without reason, nor did I send it to you on a whim.”

Twilight licked her lips, gathering her nerves. “So tell me!” she demanded. “Why hide it? And don’t say ‘because it’s dangerous’. We both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?” Celestia’s gaze shifted past Twilight’s face to rest on the wings folded against her sides. “Only two ponies have ever attempted to cast that spell. One died, and the other became an alicorn. Either way—dangerous.”

The scientist in Twilight snarled. “A spell that spans an entire book, and a sample size of two,” she all but spat. “Over a thousand years and all of the resources in Equestria at your disposal, and you never did a single repeat experiment?”

Celestia rolled her eyes. “Twilight, your own modifications to the spell prove that the Elements of Harmony are—”

“Are the power source!” Twilight shouted. “Nothing more! There are dozens of magical artifacts that come close to the Elements in terms of raw energy, none of which require the same kind of attunement.”

Celestia tutted and scowled in disapproval. “Twilight, I need you to calm down.”

Twilight trembled, but held her tongue.

“Good. Now, my letters may have seemed a bit… curt, over the last few days, and I’m sorry.” Celestia reached out and laid a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “I made this so much harder on you than it had to be.”

Twilight swallowed. The urge to press forward and complete the embrace was hard to resist, but she didn’t move. She tore her gaze from the Princess’ forgiving eyes. What had Twilight been mad about, anyway?

“You’ve always shouldered more than your fair share. Nightmare Moon should have been my responsibility, but you stood up and saved the day. Discord, Chrysalis, Tirek… I have failed so many times, and you have always been there to protect Equestria in my stead.” Celestia knelt, bringing her level with Twilight. “Forget Star Swirl. You more than earned those wings on your own.”

And the anger was rekindled. Twilight knocked Celestia's hoof from her shoulder. "Earned?" She gestured to Celestia's desk, where her notes still lay. "Really? And what if I had gotten it wrong? What if I had failed, just like Star Swirl? Would that have been earned?" She leaned in closer. "Would that have been a fitting reward for a hero of Equestria?"

Celestia sighed. “Twilight, listen to yourself.” She withdrew a few steps. “You’re angry that I didn’t reveal Star Swirl’s work to the public, and you’re also angry that I shared it with you? Isn’t that contradictory?”

“You know what I mean!” Twilight pursed her lips. She sounded like a foal. “You could have at least warned me! Mentioned that the last pony who tried to cast the spell killed himself!”

“And what difference would it have made? You succeeded. No harm befell you or your friends.”

Twilight stomped a hoof. “You couldn’t have known that, though.” She let out a long, shuddering breath. She had to stay calm. “But you’re right. I survived, and now there are four alicorns instead of three.”

Celestia brightened, a small smile returning to her face. “Exactly. Don’t worry, Twilight. The golden years of Equestria lie before us, not behind.”

“And now that I’ve completed Star Swirl’s spell,” Twilight continued carefully, “who knows what other applications it might have…”

The smile disappeared, and Celestia growled. “No, Twilight. Tampering with that spell is still dangerous, as you just said. Best to let it lie.” She forced the smile back to her face. “Besides, I can think of nopony else so worthy of ruling as you and Cadance. More princesses would just make the politics more complicated.” She finished with a convincing chuckle.

Twilight stared at her for a moment. “There’s a pegasus filly in Ponyville. Her name is Scootaloo.”

Celestia stared at her. “What—”

“She can’t fly. All her classmates can. Her parents can. She can’t. Their family doctor says that its a rare condition. Unknown cause, no known cure.”

Celestia licked her lips. “That’s… terrible, Twilight, but—”

“I know why she can’t fly. It’s written plain as day. Star Swirl stumbled upon the answer over a thousand years ago, while searching for the secret to immortality.” Twilight stepped forward, flaring her wings. It looked impressive when Celestia did it, so perhaps the same would work for her. “But you wouldn’t know, would you? Nopony knew, because you were scared! Scared of what, I’m not sure, but you’re too smart to have not seen the possible applications of his research. So why?”

One of Celestia’s rear legs crept backward, leaning her entire body away from Twilight slightly. “Even if that were the case, there must be just as many harmful applications.”

“Thanks to that book, I might be able to cure a filly’s disability!” Twilight shouted. “After less that a week of studying it! Imagine if doctors had known about this for even a year. How many lives could have been saved?” She was starting to breath heavily, her heart pounding with fury. “You’re Princess Celestia! How could you let innocent ponies suffer like this?”

“How dare you?” Celestia hissed. She drew in on herself, crouching like a cat about to spring. Her eyes blazed. “You have no idea how long I’ve planned this. How long I’ve waited to find somepony worthy of Star Swirl’s folly. I chose you among hundreds of thousands, and you presume to judge my wisdom?”

The fireplace flared to life, the logs crumbling to ash in the intense heat of sunfire. The hot air swirled with the breeze coming in from the balcony. The flames cast harsh shadows over half of Celestia’s face, painting her in red and black like a creature from Tartarus.

“What are you talking about?” Twilight asked, aghast. She jumped as the floor suddenly heated up, singeing her hooves. She cursed, then cast a quick temperature spell on the air around her. She sighed as the scalding ceased, then glared. “Celestia, I need you to calm down!”

Celestia blinked and glanced around at the raging fireplace, then at the nearly invisible refractive bubble surrounding Twilight. Celestia took a few deep breaths, and the fireplace went out with a hiss. After a moment, Twilight let her spell fade. They stared at each other in silence.

Celestia cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was.”

Celestia winced. “Haven’t I earned the benefit of the doubt by now? After all these years?”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt by coming here in the first place. I gave you a chance to explain yourself, and, so far, all you’ve given me are excuses.” Twilight grimaced and shifted gingerly. “And burnt hooves.”

Celestia dropped her gaze to the floor. “I apologize, Twilight. It isn’t like me to lose my temper like that.”

Twilight stared at her. “No, it isn’t.”

Mood swings.

“Are you feeling alright?” Twilight asked.

“I am fine. I know the last few days have been trying for you, Twilight, but they’ve been no easier for me. I’m a bit on edge.” She chuckled.

Twilight squinted at her, then took a chance. “Just because of Star Swirl’s work? Is it really that big of a deal?”

Celestia’s face split between surprise and outrage for a moment, and then the room darkened as Celestia spread her wings, looming over her. “Of course it is!” Her eyes were wide and wild. “You read it! Studied it! How could you possibly fail to see its importance?”

Twilight swallowed and did her best not to grin. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking.” She knew that she wasn’t a good actor, but Celestia seemed to buy it, leaning back and fluttering her wings uncomfortably.

“No, no, I…” Celestia shook her head. “Do not apologize, Twilight.” A careful grin crossed her lips. “One would think that after almost two thousand years of politics, I would have learned to control myself.”

Twilight shuddered. “Well, we all have certain subjects we’re sensitive about, I suppose.” She eyed Celestia. Her face slowly relaxed, her wings folded. Reset. “Still, it’s a shame about the journal.”

“What do you mean?” Celestia asked.

“Oh, it seems like the cipher is unbreakable. The key must be almost as long as the journal itself, and unless you know what that key is…”

“B-but” Celestia stuttered, “you deciphered it. You know how he died!”

Twilight tittered. “Lucky guess. Besides, the spell itself is archaic. Useless, probably.” Celestia’s jaw fell open over the course of several long seconds. “What?”

“It can’t be.” Celestia whispered, her eyes darting back and forth. “How could you…?”

Twilight shrugged. “Can you believe that I used to revere Star Swirl? The daft wizard wouldn’t be able to get published in a university journal if he were alive today.”

“Why are you lying?” Celestia roared, her eyelids and jaw clenched shut as if she were in pain. “Star Swirl was a genius! I know that you broke his cipher, and you were just arguing about the applications of his spell!”

Twilight stared at the her mutely for a moment. Celestia’s legs were twitching, her tail whipping, and her wings spasming in the air beside her.

“You’re moon-mad,” Twilight whispered.

It took a few seconds before Celestia reacted. She glowered. “Excuse me?” She rasped. “Fixative Paranoia Disorder?”

Twilight stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “It all fits.”

Celestia collected herself, pulling her wings in tight. She sighed. “Twilight, alicorns are immune to disease.”

“Really?” Twilight snapped. “Then why is it named after Luna?”

Celestia rolled her eyes and opened her mouth.

“It runs in my family, you know? My dad’s side,” Twilight interrupted. She began to absently circle Celestia, who twisted her neck around to follow. “I did a bit of quick testing before I came here. I know that you’re not as familiar with Star Swirl’s work as I am, but my dad’s chromacord—you know chromacords at least, right? Anyway, his chromacords show similar, though not identical, deviations to those of alicorns. So do Shining’s.” She stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “I wonder what my grandfather’s chromacords look like. He was diagnosed with Chronic Fixative Paranoia Disorder over twenty years ago.”

“Where are you going with this?” Celestia asked.

Twilight paused. She turned back to Celestia. “You know the rumours about moon-madness?”

“What, that the ponies who served Nightmare Moon—”

“Yes. Do you believe them?”

Celestia squinted. “N-no, of course not.”

“Why not? What if the same ‘nightmare’ that haunted Luna really infected all her loyal subjects?”

“That’s not—”

Twilight scowled. “What do you think happened to your sister? That she was overcome with jealousy?”

Celestia blinked in confusion. “I… yes?”

Twilight snorted. “So jealous that she transformed into a literal nightmare? And what about you, just now? Do you usually snap back and forth between anger and calm like a cat in spring?”

Celestia just stared, her ears flat against her head.

Twilight sighed and glanced away. The tension drained from the room. “You know what? Forget it.” She licked her lips. “I’m going to go publish all this. Then maybe—”

Her sentence died in her throat as the balcony doors slammed shut, the glass vibrating from the sudden impact, followed almost immediately by the crash of the bedroom’s door rattling in its frame. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the amber glow of Celestia’s horn.

Celestia leaned down, and a crushing wave of magic pressed against on Twilight, forcing her to the floor. “You will do no such thing!” she roared. Her eyes were wide and wild, her mane whipping as though in a wind storm. She bared her teeth and hissed. “Those secrets will remain with us, even if I have to keep you here for a thousand years!”

Twilight gasped for breath. The weight on her chest was immense, and she felt as though her spine was about to fuse with the floor. She choked out a laugh. “I think I know your personal… fixation.” Celestia blinked. The weight eased up slightly. “Even my grandfather isn’t this volatile. It takes a lot of coinciding factors to trigger one of his episodes.” Celestia flinched back, and the light from her horn died, leaving the room pitch-dark. The weight vanished, and Twilight slowly rolled to her hooves. She magically pulled the bedroom door open, letting light spill in.

Celestia sat quietly, staring at the floor. She shivered. “No. I’m right. You are… something is wrong with you,” she murmured. “But I have everything planned out perfectly. With your notes and the journal…”

Celestia swallowed, her throat clenching, her eyes squeezed shut. Her lungs heaved great gasping breaths. “I can’t be insane. It all makes sense.”

“Of course it makes sense to you,” Twilight said kindly. “I think you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t tell anypony else because they’d see through it. The half-truths. The false premises.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. Just the thought of disappointing you used to be enough to set me off. You were never upset when I made mistakes as a foal, but I still so certain that one tardy friendship report would ruin everything.”

Celestia peered at her. After a moment, her eyes widened in realization. “You mean…”

Twilight nodded. “It all fits.”

“So I’m…”

“Like I said. Moon-mad.” A bittersweet laugh escaped Twilight’s muzzle. “Look on the bright side—you have something in common with Luna other than your age, now.”

Celestia shivered again, but she let out a reluctant chuckle. “I suppose you have a p-point.” She swallowed and looked around. “So… what happens now?”

“Uh…” Twilight stared dumbly for a second. “Where are Star Swirl’s books?”

Celestia blinked. Her lips started to pull back, then she froze. “I… I left them in Ponyville.” She stared down at her hooves as if the world was crashing down around her. “I forgot to bring them.”

“Okay…” Twilight said, slowly stepping around Celestia until her back was to the doorway into the study. “Then I’ll just grab my notes, and—”

“Twilight.” Celestia looked up at her with focused eyes and strength in her voice. “We cannot just pretend this all never happened. We are unwell!” She gestured around. “All three of us. Perhaps even Cadance.” She fidgeted on the spot, still sitting on her haunches. “We can’t be trusted to run Equestria if—”

“Princess,” Twilight interrupted. Celestia snapped her eyes to look at Twilight. Twilight raised a hoof. “Breathe.” Celestia exhaled shakily. “Okay. Good.” Twilight backed out of the room, never taking her eyes off of Celestia. “Now, you’re right. We can’t just ignore all of this. But for the time being, we need to relax, stay calm, and figure out what to do together.” Twilight smiled. “After all, you’ve managed to run Equestria for over one thousand years without… too much going wrong.”

Celestia started to chuckle, then froze. A horrified expression settled onto her face, her eyes flicking back and forth.

Questioning every decision she had ever made.

Twilight retrieved her notes from Celestia’s desk. “In the meantime, maybe go and talk to Luna?” Twilight smiled ruefully. “She can probably relate to you right now.”

Celestia nodded and clambered to her hooves on shaky legs. She trotted stiffly for the door. She turned back to Twilight once she reached the doorway. “I suppose I’m not really in a position to ask you for favours right now, but,” she hesitated, her muzzle twisting, “please don’t publish those notes. At least not right away.” Twilight nodded mutely, and Celestia turned and trotted down the stairs.

Teleporting to Ponyville felt as natural as breathing at this point. Twilight glanced around the dimly lit mess of a study. Papers were still scattered across every inch of floor space, and cupboards and drawers were left hanging open as if they’d been subjected to a small hurricane. She carefully made her way over to her desk. Star Swirl’s journal and spell book sat side by side, just as she had left them that morning. She dropped her notes on top of the spell book, and grabbed every loose piece of paper in the room with her magic, arranging it into a random, but exceedingly neat stack which she dropped onto the floor next to her desk.

She slid the chair out and plopped herself down. A small magically light appeared next to her as she slid her notes to the side and cracked open the cover of the spell book once again.

All four princesses would have to meet and discuss how best to lead Equestria going forward. There would have to be redundancies, fail-safes. Maybe even a restructuring of the government itself. But for now…

Twilight sat and read. It had taken Star Swirl years to write his final spell. She was sure it wouldn’t take her nearly as long to reverse engineer it. Maybe a year. Two, at most. She opened a drawer and produced a fresh sheet of parchment. A quill hovered in the air above it.

As she reread the first few passages of the spell, she let herself imagine what the future might look like with this kind of magic—this science—rediscovered. How far could she go? She smiled. After all, who would stop her?

Epilogue – Four Years Later

A crowd of ponies gathered in a small park in the centre of Ponyville. At the heart of the crowd, Scootaloo pawed anxiously at the grass beneath her hooves.

Twilight sat off to one side, carefully studying her work.

She had developed a good system for casting these long, interconnected spells. It was much more efficient than Star Swirl’s method, but it still required a lot of preparation. She glanced up over the cover of her note binder at the fidgeting filly before her. Twilight sighed, then snapped the binder closed and stood. A murmur spread through the crowd, followed by almost absolute silence.

Scootaloo perked up. “Are—” her muzzle snapped shut as her voice echoed past the silent onlookers. Every eye was turned toward the young pegasus. She ducked her head, and continued in a whisper. “Are you ready?” Her wings fluttered nervously. She gulped. “Because I’m ready.”

Twilight tried to smile reassuringly. “Absolutely. Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

“What do I need to do?” Scootaloo asked, her confidence betrayed by her shivering feathers.

“Just stand still, and I’ll take care of everything else,” Twilight said. It didn’t actually matter whether or not Scootaloo held still, but she found that giving patients something to focus on made them much easier to work with. Twilight lit her horn without fanfare, and began to weave spells together.

She began with updated versions of the first spells in Star Swirl’s masterpiece. She was vaguely aware of Scootaloo shaking out of the corner of her eye. Twilight focused her attention on the task at hand, casting the first spell of her own invention—the first of dozens. Her wings twitched and ruffled, feeling for the lingering traces of pegasus magic deep within Scootaloo’s cells. She cast the next spell. And the next.

The clearing was still and silent but for the occasional pop and sizzle of magic and the wind whispering through trees. Twilight worked her way through a vast web of facts and ideas, numbers and sensations. This was the sixth time she'd tried something like this, and she was casting all the same spells in the same order.. It should have been routine, but each treatment felt profoundly different.

After five minutes of meticulous spellwork, they were in the home stretch. Twilight could feel every chromacord in Scootaloo’s body as if they were her own. Holding her breath, she cast the final spell, the most taxing by far.

Scootaloo gasped and toppled to the ground, her legs twitching and her eyes squeezed shut. Twilight fixed every iota of her concentration on ensuring this final transformation went smoothly. That tiny chromacord, number fourteen, began to glow all throughout Scootaloo’s body. The familiar weight settled around Twilight’s skull, greater than any other spell she’d cast since her ascension. She gritted her teeth and, with a final burst of light, it was over. The clearing was still and silent once more.

“Scootaloo?” a voice called from Twilight’s right. She looked over to Scootaloo’s parents. The small green earth pony stared at Scootaloo, then at Twilight. His hoof was tightly entwined with his wife’s. Her eyes were wide and frantic, but her wings were still and her jaw didn’t tremble.

“It’s done,” Twilight said, and the couple bolted forward. Scootaloo’s father crouched down and ran a hoof through Scootaloo’s mane. The filly shivered, her eyes still squeezed closed.

Her mother hovered next to her daughter. She shot a panicked glance at Twilight. “Is she okay? What happened?”

“Don’t worry, Scootaloo is fine. This is a very normal reaction.” Twilight strolled forward, her vision slightly blurred from the strain of spell use. “She’s just in a little bit of shock right now. In a few hours, she’ll be as healthy as ever.”

Her father frowned, eyeing Scootaloo’s tiny wings. “She doesn’t… look any different.”

Twilight smiled. “Her wings were never the real problem. Once she’s feeling up to it, get her try flying again. She should be able to, now. Her wings will grow rapidly over the next few months.”

The pegasus mare zipped over to Twilight, crowding Twilight’s face. “Will that hurt?” she asked. “Will there be side-effects? How long should she wait before flying? Is—”

“There might be some growing pains, but otherwise Scootaloo now has the magic of an average pegasus. None of my other patients have exhibited any negative effects so far.”

“D-dad?” Scootaloo groaned. “I feel… weird.” She twisted around on the ground, her hooves kicking lightly.

Scootaloo’s mother nodded thankfully and flew over to her daughter. “Come on, Scoot. Let’s get you home.”

Twilight turned and started walking back to the castle. The crowd parted around her and slowly dissipated, except for one pony.

“That was amazing, Twilight!” Nurse Redheart trotted next to her, bouncing slightly on her hooves. “I’ve read all of your papers on it, but seeing it myself…” she trailed off, still keeping pace with Twilight. “This may be a second enlightenment! All of the diseases we thought were incurable, solved in one fell swoop!”

Twilight nodded. “Yes, well, I’m only one pony. But there’s more to come. I’m sure you’ve heard that Princess Luna is founding a facility in Canterlot specifically for treating patients with genetic disabilities. Once we’ve trained enough doctors and can open the hospital properly, cases like Scootaloo’s should be easy to treat.”

“Oh, of course!” Redheart exclaimed. “I simply can’t wait to…” Twilight smiled and nodded, tuning out Redheart’s babbling and keeping up her pace as they passed Ponyville’s centre.

In the years that she’d been working to understand Star Swirl’s research, she had gotten used to the immensity of the discovery. Without Celestia chasing her down, it had all come down to numbers, patterns, and spell forms—the minutiae of the work didn’t hold quite the same excitement. But now that Equestria was on the cusp of such a huge medical development, she found herself looking to the future. After all, Star Swirl hadn’t developed his masterpiece to cure diseases.

She said goodbye to Redheart at the door to the castle and made her way up to her study. It had grown since she had started her work. What had been a glorified office now occupied half of its floor, with a connecting lab, library, and magic isolation chamber. The original room was still there, though. Twilight plopped herself down in front of her desk and dropped her notes onto it.

Chromacords were everything about a pony. Their size, their race, their magic, their sex. Even, as her side-project into researching moon-madness indicated, personality. All of it came down to tiny variations in a pony’s chromacords. Star Swirl’s spell, which used to be so complex and intimidating, barely scratched the surface of possibility. In fact, ‘ascension’ almost seemed a crude misuse at this point. She chuckled at the thought.

Nearly four years ago, Celestia had receded from the public eye, and Twilight and Luna had taken her place. Twilight still wasn't sure how much Luna had known about her sister's condition, but after working alongside her for so long, she knew better than to underestimate Luna's intuition.

Twilight had taken careful stock of every book Celestia had hidden over the years, and the results were staggering. She could hardly take credit for the dozens of cures for various diseases they'd developed based on those lost volumes. With so many avenues opened up, what might they do in another ten years? Could they make ponies stronger? Faster? Longer-lived? She winced, thinking of her brother. Shining wasn’t the stallion he used to be. In the end, the Sparkle family curse had landed on him as well. He still lived with Cadance in the Crystal Empire, but his mood swings were getting worse, and with a foal now in the picture… And her friends wouldn’t be far behind him. They were all still young, but time waited for nopony. Or rather no earth, pegasus, or unicorn pony.

Longer-lived.

Twilight glanced toward one of the bookshelves that lined the room and lit her horn. A thick, dusty old tome floated toward her and settled onto the desk with a thud. She flipped to the last page and ran a hoof over the ancient ink. She didn’t need to read it. She knew it by heart. She smiled. Yes. She could do this.

"From all of us together, together we're friends. With the marks of our destinies made one, there is magic without end."

Author's Note

Huge thanks to my good friend and ever-patient editor, Chapter: 13, without whom this story might not exist at all, and certainly not in its current form.

And thanks to everyone for reading.