Author's Note

Chapter Five Recap:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jp-35byRsBHqf8ej2DAVnCZ9wFXaeZFUOwKbTLzLdLU/edit?usp=sharing

Maelstrom

A stallion sits alone in a small room with one window. Snow is piled along the sides and bottom, and more still falls steadily from the skies. Laughter can be heard coming from down below, earth ponies and unicorns walking the streets, while pegasi glide through the snowfall.

A telephone rings, disturbing the room’s peace. The stallion sitting alone on the end of a bed slides the receiver across the bench next to him, and picks up the hoofset following the second ring.

“Hello?” He asks.

The curtains around the window are a muted green, hanging lifelessly to the side so that natural light can flood the room. There’s a desk just to the right of the window, empty save for a small potted plant in its corner.

“Who is this?”

The floral wallpaper in the room is faded, and peeling a bit in some concentrated areas.

“I’m not doing anything without the boss’s orders. Talk to him, or—”

The room grows silent again. Once more, the voices from outside can be heard seeping through the walls. They’re happy, frivolous, distant sounding.

“...Yes.” The stallion leans a little further forward on the bed, inching the receiver with him as he does so. “Yes.”

Another long lapse in his responses. He sits in the middle of this small room with his head hung low, and his hind hooves pressed against the hardwood floor. His gaze hangs there too—against the dark floor—until something the other creature on the phone says causes him to lift it up to the window. There it tightens, and his lips part well before the words come out.

“...Yes, I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

The stallion briefly twirls his head around to check the sole door leading in.

“Understood.”

He lingers a little longer there on the phone, then pulls the hoofset away from his head, and places it gently back into the receiver. His hoof rests atop it for a moment, eyes wandering back to the window where the noise is coming from. A mare, it sounds like. Perhaps out with her friends.

* * *

A steady stream of ponies filter in and out of Canterlot USA, the brightly lit restaurant at the street corner. A group of friends pile through the main entrance and into the interior’s warmth, laughing gleefully and loosening their winter garments as a small bell rings. There are many more smiles like theirs inside, next to the windows pushed into the booths, and at the bar, like on the face of the orange-coated mare as she leans in for a quick peck on her coltfriend’s cheek.

“Order up! Twenty-six, extra lettuce!” Announces a tan earth pony from behind the bar, tray held out in his forehooves. Lyra Heartstrings is around too, standing on the customer side of the bar and watching the commotion around her. She leans across the counter top to speak with one of the employees, just as the bell at the front door rings again.

“Hey, Candy?” She says with a hoof wave, getting the attention of an ivory pony in the back.

“Yeah?” She responds.

“Are we good on ice-cream?”

“I just saw… Chestnut, I think? But somepony had just refilled it.”

Lyra nods and retracts back across the bar. “Okay, good, thank you.”

By the time Dr.Heartstrings turns around, the restaurant’s newest occupant is already standing before her. “Oh, hey Princess!” She beams at Twilight.

Twilight Sparkle smiles awkwardly, and looks around the room while speaking to the other mare. “Hey, Lyra. Do you think we can… talk somewhere private?”

Lyra grasps a striped peppermint from the dish on the countertop, and unfurls the wrapper with her telekinesis so that she can pop the candy into her mouth. “Sure. Let’s go to the office.”

Twilight nods in agreeance and Lyra turns to the employees working in the back, pointing to one in particular. “Crane!” She says, the stallion in question looking up. “You’re in charge for a bit, alright? Don’t let the power go to your head.”

Crane scoffs from over the shoulder of an employee he’d been helping. “‘Ey, be back quick or you’re fired!”

Lyra smirks and rolls her eyes, walking to the back of the restaurant with the princess. There’s a door back behind the restrooms that they head for, ‘employees only’ emblazoned on the wood in bright blue text. Once it’s opened, Lyra steps aside and invites Twilight into the stairwell with a hoof extended, and a smile on her muzzle.

The music upstairs is much quieter. It leaks through the cracks in the door in a muffled, upbeat mess.

“Aw, come on Crane…” Lyra whines, staring at a pile of boxes near a desk. “I’ve asked him to clean this crap up like, six times now.” She lifts a box of straws off of the stool in front of the desk with her magic, then sets it aside so that she can take a seat. Lyra motions to the bench behind the princess, who briefly checks over her shoulder to inspect it. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

“Ah, no thank you.” Twilight responds, to the bemusement of Dr. Heartstrings. “I’ll just… get right into it.”

The mint clicks around Lyra’s teeth as she smirks at her friend. “Wow, this sounds big. What’s up?”

Twilight tries hopelessly to match Lyra’s optimism. Failing that, she flutters her eyelashes and stares down at the floor. “I, uh… think we should dial things back a little bit—in regards to… us.”

Dr. Heartstrings stares onward as her tongue flicks the candy around, and her throat takes a minty gulp. “...Okay. And why’s that?”

Twilight looks back up with eyes creased in discomfort. “Lyra, I really like you. A lot.” The unicorn nods and swivels slowly on her stool, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. “...But I think we need to maintain a more professional work relationship.”

The chair squeaks a bit as Lyra leans back on it. “Are we… breaking some kind of rule I’m unaware of?”

Twilight sighs, and shakes her head. “Well no, not technically.”

“Okay, so then… Why?”

The rock chorus from downstairs excites a particularly noisy group of ponies, who’s cheers can be heard from beyond the walls. This only momentarily draws away Twilight’s attention, whose muzzle grows tighter with unease as she searches for the right words. “Lyra, I’m in a terrible spot here. I don’t even know what to say.”

“An explanation would be a good start.” Lyra quips.

Twilight inhales sharply before responding. “There are ponies out there being killed. And over politics that I’m at the center of!” Dr. Heartstrings narrows her eyes as the candy stops moving. “If one of these lunatics wanted to get to me, how do you imagine they’d do that? Who do you think they’d target?”

As Twilight finishes, the unicorn at the desk spins to look out of the one window in the room, and rub her eye with a hoof tip. “Did Celestia talk to you?” She asks plainly. “Is that why you’re treating me like a foal?”

Twilight scoffs. “What? No, nopony talked to me—”

“Well I do appreciate your concern, Twilight, but I am an adult. I can take care of myself.”

White light pours in behind Lyra as she continues to swivel gently. Twilight Sparkle stares onward with brow arched up in concern first, but, slowly loses the expression as her lips seal and the eyes gain a determined sharpness. “Lyra, I’m serious. We aren’t safe.”

The mint-green unicorn chuckles a little as she tosses up a forearm. “You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!” The princess rapidly responds. “I know that because I’ve already been here, and I’ve already lost—”

Something wasn’t right. Twilight couldn’t hide it—she had begin to say something she’d promised herself not to.

Dr. Heartstrings steadies herself with a leg against the floor. “‘You’ve already lost’… what?”

Without realizing it, Twilight had unfurled her wings in the heat of their discussion. Wings that now collapsed tightly against her sides. She keeps her lips sealed, and loses the edge that had only just flourished in her eyes, staring tiredly at the wall to her side. Lyra, patiently waiting for a response, casts a dissatisfied glance down at the floorboards. When she looks up at her friend again, it’s with the utmost authority. “How are we supposed to work through anything, if you’re not even willing to talk to me?”

Twilight stares with her profile not quite turned far enough to face Lyra. Her eyes are large and aching with sympathy; but no words come out.

Lyra sighs as she gets up off of the stool, and rests a forehoof atop one of the many cardboard boxes. “I have to get back to work. If you figure something out, you know where to find me.”

And with that, the young unicorn takes her leave, making no effort to notice the princess as she passes by. Silent still, Twilight does at least have the energy to turn and watch her friend go. The door closes gently, and the alicorn is left alone in the small office, where an icy light paints the edges of her defeated expression.

* * *

A cabin lies on the fringe of Ponyville, away from the rolling fields of Sweet Apple Acres. The yard outside is small, and the grass untrimmed, pockets of it peeking up through the heaps of snow. A rickety fence with faded paint wraps around the property. There’s a doghouse—though, no dog to be seen. The town of Ponyville can be seen on the distant horizon, but it’s unlikely most of its inhabitants have ever even visited this corner of the land, and the dozen or so burroughs that were built on top of it.

Inside, a group of pony youth lounge around the living room: two colts, and a teenage mare. Smoke drifts freely in the hot room, and is caught in the beams of sunlight that filter through the blinds to create orange pillars of fog. The furnishings were obviously no stranger to smoke. It showed in the tattered cloth of the couch—where one colt sat alone, and the other two leaned against from the floor—and in the dark, mottled carpet below them.

A radio rests on the floor with the ponies, smooth guitar licks and soulful singing ringing out for the small audience. A tall glass hookah flanks the left end of the couch, and various cans lay scattered about.

The colt on the floor, a scraggly pegasus with a dull blue coat plays with a deck of cards between his forehooves, attempting to shuffle the stack with sleight of hoof and experiencing mixed results.

“Shit…” He utters, as a clumsy mistake leads to most of the cards falling out of his hooves. The stallion above him laughs through his teeth, despite having his foreleg resting over his eyes and not being able to actually see the mistake. “Do you wanna try this, asshole?”

“Not really—” He responds slowly, getting interrupted by the blue pegasus before he can even finish.

“That’s what I thought.”

“—but I would make sure I could do it before I tried it in front of other ponies!”

The deck almost immediately collapses after the colt’s second attempt, and his legs just fall to the floor with them as he tightens his expression in frustration. The stallion above again starts to laugh, only this time the pegasus reaches up with a hoof and lightly punches him in his abdomen. “Fuck you.”

As the colt on the couch recoils, although obviously not in pain as he continues to laugh, the young mare sitting on the floor leans in to collect just one of the cards off of the carpet. Apple Bloom is Applejack’s younger sister, although as she clumsily cantered into young adolescence, the similarities grew further and further apart. She’s thin and lanky, and her mane much longer than in childhood. Dark eyeliner was on her face more often than not, and her iconic bow that she had worn during the days of cutie mark crusading, was gone. “I bet humans had no trouble shuffling cards.” She observes.

“Yeah, well, they’re dead.” Blue says dryly, collecting his deck next to Apple Bloom.

The colt on the couch obviously finds this amusing, as his laughter is muffled into the side of the couch. “Yeah… They could figure out how to deliver presents to all the kids in one night, but not how to survive an asteroid or whatever.”

Apple Bloom rolls her eyes and Blue snickers through a toothy smile. “Santa Claus wasn’t real, you fucking idiot.”

The stallion up top rolls over so he can look down at Blue with his brow scrunched in disbelief. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? Who delivered all those presents, then?”

“The parents!” Blue nearly shouts back in response. “It was the stupid story they came up with to tell their kids!”

As the explanation slowly filters through his mind, the pony on the couch stares at the ceiling and maintains a look of suspicion. “Whatever, dude.”

Blue shakes his head and laughs once more, reaching under the couch for any stray playing cards. Apple Bloom tosses the one she had a hold of into Blue’s reach, to which he collects and then thanks the young mare for. “Thanks, Babe.”

A moment of silence settles in the room, as the pegasus continues his search under the couch, and the other two simply stare off into space. Eventually, a thought comes over Apple Bloom, and she can’t help but voicing it aloud. “It is kinda weird to think about, though. The whole humans creatin’ us, I mean.”

“They coulda made us a little cooler…” Blue whines. “...I mean, who’s idea was it to use bright pastel colors?”

Suddenly, the colt atop the couch shoots back up from his sleep-like position and chimes in the conversation. “Oh dude, back in the old days ponies were actually less colorful though.”

“Yeah, you know old photos weren’t taken in color, right?”

“No, wait,” Apple Bloom interjects before the two can argue. “he’s actually right, ponies’ coats were less colorful a long time ago. Ah bet that has somethin’ to do with our magic!”

The look on Apple Bloom’s face says she knew she screwed up before the two colts even had the chance to look at each other and share a childish giggle. “Ah betcha that there magic gots som’n to do w’it!” The colt lying on the couch mocks, in an exaggerated accent. Apple Bloom shakes her head and dismisses them with a hoof, although the rosy tint on her cheeks betrays her feigned apathy.

“Fuck you guys.”

Blue smacks his friend again. “Ahhh, come on.” He faces Apple Bloom and offers a smile that’s lost somewhere between the transition of teasing and sympathy. “He’s just yanking your tail…” Apple Bloom side glances at her coltfriend with a less enthused expression.

“Babe, come on—” Something under the couch draws Blue’s attention away almost immediately, the colt lowering himself to get a better angle on it.

“What is it?” Apple Bloom asks curiously. The pegasus presses his tongue up onto his muzzle as he forces his reach deeper. After a moment of struggling, he retracts his hoof and pulls with it a rubber band wrapped bundle of cigarettes. The smile on Blue’s face grows wide, as the other two move closer to inspect.

“Shit, is that real tobacco?” Asks the stallion on top of the couch.

“Of course it’s real.” Blue uses his teeth to pry off the band, then the tip of his wing to pass a cigarette over to Apple Bloom. She hesitates, eyeing the offering with her brow furrowed in suspicion.

“You expect me to smoke some old cigarette you just pulled out from under your couch?”

Blue rolls his eyes and turns away, using his other wing to collect the pack of matches lying next to their hookah, and bringing them back around so that he can use them with his smokes. His friend lounging on the sofa above leans in curiously, and takes a cigarette with little persuasion needed. Blue holds one between his own teeth, and uses his hoof and wing to light one of the matches. Once lit, he brings it up to the cigarette end dangling from his mouth, and pulls in the flame with a couple of quick inhales. After the cherry’s lit, he shakes out the match and tosses it into a nearby empty can.

“See?” He says, pulling out the cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke. “They’re fine.” Apple Bloom simply continues to stare, watching the embers burn under a curling trail of smoke. “Way I heard it,” A pause to take another drag. “humans from cultures all over the world would smoke these.”

The pony on top of the couch leans in and reaches for the box of matches still in Blue’s hoof. “Alright, well I’m convinced.”

Ignoring the other pony, Blue and Apple Bloom stare at one another while the colt silently wins her over with deep brown eyes, and a goofy smoke filled smile. He leans close to her muzzle, and connects the end of his cigarette with one Apple Bloom had retrieved, keeping eye contact as he does so. She snickers, and presses the unlit tip lightly against his embers, inhaling slowly and watching his eyes behind a screen of smoke.

After their moment of peculiar intimacy, Blue pulls back from Apple Bloom and her now lit cigarette, removing his own from his mouth so that he can smile and exhale. “To human ingenuity!” The smoke trail weaves a new path as he tips it with his wing.

Apple Bloom smirks, tilting her head and taking a long draw while she watches her coltfriend.

* * *

Thumping club music blares all around the massive room, as cool colored lights refract through large crystal displays, and tiny flakes of magic snow fall from seemingly nowhere, fading again before ever touching the ground. There are energetic pegasi at almost every altitude, stallions and mares alike, dancing wildly under the swinging lasers and lights. The highest parts of the hall are painted with vibrant green and violet lights; but as the walls expand downward, these give way to a darker, midnight blue pallet, leaving many of the lively patrons to dance as flailing silhouettes.

At one end of the colossus room is a bar. It winds around in a large, obtuse semi-circle, well-lit and no less extravagant than the dance floor itself. Sparkling black quartz makes up the bar top and trim around the base, with what appears to be a frozen tank of water sandwiched between. Softly changing lights glow outwardly from behind the frozen block, casting a myriad of colors around the pony legs that dangle from the stools.

One pair of those legs are owned by Rainbow Dash, who in stark contrast to the other occupants, sits quietly at the bar with a hoof propping up her head, and a pencil in her lips. Her drink, a plain looking beer, rests beside her notebook as she looks over a long list she’d written. Some of the contents are crossed out, and others are matched to each other with long, snaking lines.

A voice cries out from behind the pegasus, but is lost in the sea of noise. It isn’t until it’s accompanied by a hoof around her shoulder that the captain turns and listens.

“HEY!” The voice shouts. Its owner is another lean pegasus mare, a bit older than Dash and sporting a wild, flame-like mane. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE, COME DANCE WITH US!”

Rainbow Dash smirks as she turns back to her work and lays the pencil down on the table. “Nah, I’m fine—”

“WHAT?” shouts the orange pegasus standing beside her. Dash turns to face Spitfire directly.

“I SAID I’M FINE, THANKS.”

“NO, YOU’RE NOT.” Her old academy pal is quick to respond. “YOU’RE PLAYING CROSSWORD PUZZLES AT A NIGHTCLUB.”

Captain Dash sighs and puts a hoof up on the paper. “THIS IS E.S.F. WORK, SPITFIRE. SOMEPONY HAS TO DO IT.”

“SUN ‘N’ STARS, THEY DID A REAL NUMBER ON YOU…” Spitfire hops up onto the bar stool next to Dash before continuing. “I’M GONNA LET YOU IN ON A LITTLE SECRET: IT’S CALLED ‘WORK’, BECAUSE YOU DO IT—AT WORK.”

Again, Rainbow chortles a bit and puts her muzzle toward her notes. Spitfire shakes the cyan pegasus a little from behind her neck and across her shoulders, before sliding her forehoof off and turning to get the bartender’s attention. “HEY, BLACK CHERRY, RIGHT?” The unicorn behind the bar nods and approaches the two mares. “WE NEED TWO HEARTH STEINS OVER HERE.”

The stallion’s field of magic cleans a glass out as he agrees to Spitfire’s order, before Dash can oppose. “You got it.”

The rainbow-maned pegasus shifts in her stool as she watches the bartender step back to prepare the drinks. “I REALLY APPRECIATE IT, BUT—”

“AAH AH AH AH!” Spitfire interrupts, hushing her friend with a swaying forehoof. “YOU’RE NOT AT WORK ANYMORE, RIGHT?” Rainbow Dash looks toward her friend with tired eyes, but the shadow of a smile. “SO JUST… HANG UP THE—BUSINESS… HAT? AND LET ME HELP YOU HAVE A GOOD TIME.”

The bartender returns with two mugs, and two columns of steam following them. Spitfire thanks the stallion, then turns back to Dash with a goofy smile. Her hoof stays extended out on the bar top next to the hot drinks; at least until she retracts it slowly, revealing a single piece of white candy licorice.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Prods Dash.

“IT’S JUST LICORICE.” Spitfire replies nonchalantly.“REALLY, REALLY EXPENSIVE LICORICE. IT’LL HELP YOU LOOSEN UP A BIT, TRUST ME.”

At this, Rainbow Dash tilts her nose up ever so slightly, eyeing the candy with apprehension. “WHAT IS THIS, HIGH SCHOOL?”

“YES, THIS IS HIGH SCHOOL” The other mare responds with an eye roll. “DASH, YOU’RE IN ONE OF THE BEST CLUBS IN ALL OF EQUESTRIA, AND YOU’VE STILL FOUND A WAY TO MAKE THINGS BORING.” Spitfire shakes her head as she remembers something apparently of great relevance, pointing out to the fleet of pegasi dancing up in the air. “THEY HAVE SOME KIND OF MAGIC SHIELD HERE THAT LITERALLY VAPORIZES ANY PUKE THAT COMES HURDLING DOWN ONTO THE DANCE FLOOR. I MEAN, COME ON!” Dash turns to look out where her friend is pointing, brow twisted in between doubt and amazement. “COME ON, MARE. YOU KNOW THE OLD DASH WOULD BE OUT THERE.”

Rainbow Dash summons another drawn out sigh. Her short multi-colored mane hangs down to her eyes as she stares down at the sparkling quartz, and before a head shake can’t be resisted. “What the hell… PASS ME THE DRINK!”

The Wonderbolt obliges. “THERE’S MY GIRL!”

The two clink there mugs together, and take the first of many sips. Spitfire had won.

The mares enjoy a few more moments together at the bar, reminiscing and entertaining a few wild hypotheticals, until the drinks become mostly depleted, and the growing courage drives the two of them out onto the dance floor. Spitfire makes sure to collect the licorice beforehoof.

The dazzling lights and thumping music was a colorful distraction at the bar, but out on the dance floor it’s practically thick enough to drown in. Rainbow Dash head-bobs with her friend, casually at first—but the slow, deliberate motions quickly devolve into more passionate and uncoordinated ones as the night progresses.

It’s around this point that a large stallion begins to take interest. Rainbow Dash finds him through sleepy, half-open eyes, and smiles playfully from across the room. Spitfire notices too, eyes darting between the two as she approaches Dash with the licorice in her wingtip. She nuzzles somewhat suggestively against her friends neck and through her mane, wrapping a yellow wing around the captain’s chest simultaneously. Rainbow Dash tenses up at first, but doesn’t react much otherwise under the electric mix of stimuli.

Similarly, her brain doesn’t do much questioning as Spitfire pulls back and leads Dash with her, a cast-off glance making sure the stallion with broad shoulders was still watching. One end of the licorice was already in Spitfire’s mouth, placed there by her wing as she rubbed against Rainbow Dash. When the Wonderbolt leans in toward Dash, it doesn’t take long for her to get the message. Rainbow Dash closes her eyes and follows suit, biting the opposite end of the candy off, and bringing her muzzle close enough to Spitfire’s for a flirty, non-practical kiss.

Even in her drunken stupor, it’s obvious to Rainbow that her friend was well practiced at this. Her lazy eyes follow Spitfire’s—similarly half-lidded but in much more of an intentional, sensual manner—to the smirking colt watching them. His mane is thick and a curly piece of it droops over his eye, swaying hypnotically as he moves to the rhythm. The sweet candy is chewed and swallowed, as Dash gazes onward. Spitfire had done her part; and with the extra help of the atmosphere and the cocktail of substances now ingested, Rainbow Dash was poised to reap the benefits.

The blaring music is reduced to muffled, pouncing vibrations as the stallion walks into a back room with Dash. It’s dark, and much smaller of a space than the main hall, not that either of the ponies are really looking. Both stay locked in a passionate series of kisses, the well-built stallion leading Dash backward with slow, methodical force. Eventually her hindquarters bump noisily into a chair, turned upside down and placed alongside its sisters atop a table. Rainbow Dash only briefly turns to notice it, and to regain her balance with a forehoof, before returning quickly to the loud smacking of licks.

Suddenly, the stallion reaches out behind Dash, and knocks the chair she’d bumped into straight onto the floor. It crashes down there with a loud sound that likely would have drawn attention, were it not for the thumping club music. Rainbow Dash stays limp and simply allows the mysterious stallion to proceed, hoisting the mare up onto the table with his forelegs. Dash looks up at him, eyes now adjusted enough to see his large silhouette, rim-lit by a sliver of moonlight peaking in the room. He places his forehooves down with a dull thud, one after the other, and on either side of Dash. They kiss one last time, before he arches his back over the lean pegasus, and takes a deep inhale of her scent.

Perhaps it’s the isolation. Perhaps the total darkness, or maybe the quiet air that carries the stallion’s breath with sharp clarity. But for the first time tonight, Rainbow Dash’s tired eyes begin to crease with uncertainty.

“Wait—“ She says. The stallion stops, his right forehoof down below his stomach and out of Dash’s visibility. “—do you have…?”

The stallion hovers over her for a moment, wet mane dangling down and excited breath still rolling over his chest. “Oh.” He suddenly responds. “Yeah, right—of course.”

Rainbow Dash shifts the wait of her body as she pushes herself up a little more, releasing pressure on her wings, and allowing herself to see more of the stallion. She watches intently as he takes hold of the little square wrapper, biting one end and tearing it open. He drops the plastic on the floor and maneuvers the condom to the tip of the shadowy shape just under Rainbow’s groin. She leans against an elbow and tries her hardest to make a good, discreet look at the member, just as the rubber can be heard stretching out over it.

The stallion finishes his work faster than Dash anticipates, and pushes her back down with frightening force. Instinctively, her own forehoof wraps around the colt’s, with enough force applied to send a message. “Hold on.” She says, voice starting to shake. The stallion’s weight remains steady.

“Just—relax, okay?”

The pegasus’s heart begins to race, and she throws up the other hoof now against his stomach. “Wait, I said—I said stop!”

This time the stallion doesn’t even respond, instead pulling himself closer and taking a deep breath. Dash begins to curl her legs up off of the floor in defense.

“I said STOP!” She exclaims, just as she kicks his leg with her own hoof. The stallion stumbles back off of her, face suddenly twisted with shock and anger.

“What the fuck?” He barks.

Rainbow Dash doesn’t hesitate. She lands on her hooves and walks quickly toward the exit, only cautiously watching the other pony as she passes by. She turns her head forward too late and stumbles into another chair, gasping like she’d been attacked. Her heart continues to pound as she steadies herself and stumbles out the exit, taking great effort to not look over her shoulder.

Rainbow Dash passes by the bathroom entrances and finds herself back in the crowd, except this time, it sends her into a dizzying nightmare. She weaves through the tightly packed building, wide eyes scanning desperately for the main exit. A familiar voice calls out from the crowd, though it does nothing to distract Dash from her goal.

“Was he that fast?” Spitfire asks. Rainbow continues her uncertain march forward, ignorant of the subsequent calls. She shuffles clumsily around the flailing limbs and bodies, her mouth left hanging open, and red eyes growing mistier. “DASH! DASH, YOU ALRIGHT?”

* * *

Warm, dim lights fill the small cafe, and the slow jazz emanating from the grand piano compliments them wonderfully. There’s a dozen or so smiling faces reflected in the polished, black wood, sitting among the twinkling lights and between the tall windows where snow drifts pleasantly past. The song she plays—the mare sitting at the piano—is a quiet sinkhole; coaxing the princess’s mind deeper and deeper into the heartfelt lullaby.

“It’s a lot more impressive now, right?”

The voice comes from behind Twilight, and so she pivots her head back around so that she can face the pony across the table from her. “...What?”

Starlight Glimmer smiles a little wider, and gently levitates her cup back onto the plate. “The fact that we can play instruments like that, I mean.” She nods in the direction of the pianist. “After, you know, learning how small the humans’ fingers were.”

Twilight hesitates, like she’s still parsing through the words. After finally finishing, she lightly flutters her eyes and stares down at her own cup, smiling at the swirled beverage within. “...Right.” She says.

Silence follows between the two of them, allowing the gentle commotion and music in the room to pick up the slack. Starlight puts a hoof up on the table, leaning back and forth in small, antsy movements while she looks around the cafe. “Uh… so, I really appreciate you coming out here to see me,” She begins. “what with—well I know how busy you are, and everything…”

The princess nods attentively, but elects to stay silent as her friend continues.

“I’m just—I’m happy to see you again, Twilight. So… thanks.” Starlight ends her sentiment with a short and uncomfortable giggle, as if to assure Twilight she knows how awkward she’d just sounded.

“Of course.” Twilight responds plainly, taking a sip of her coffee shortly after. When the cup comes back down onto the plate with a soft clink, she can’t help but fix her gaze on the warm medley of liquids within, a pleasant white cream swirling listlessly through a dark pool. Once upon a time, the sight was unfamiliar.

“So I’ve actually been sort of busy too, lately.” Starlight goes on. “I think I’ve already told you about Trixie and her show that I’ve been helping with; but, I don’t know, I thought it felt like the right time to… consider my future a little more.” Twilight stares onward as the conversation remains one-sided. “I’m working part-time at uh…” the mare suddenly drifts off as her mouth continues to unhinge, staring up at the lights before releasing a quick sneeze. “Oh, bless me! A little magic curiosities and enchantment shop, is what I was gonna say. Trixie’s work had connected me with it. But I also went ahead and applied to Starswirl Academy!”

For the first time that evening, Twilight looks up with her full attention. “Starswirl?” She asks.

Starlight nods. “Yeah, you’ve heard of it, right?”

Twilight’s eyes begin to lazily drift down again, just falling short of that steaming hot beverage. “...Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Starlight Glimmer leans back on her stool before carrying on. “Yeah, well, I’m not too sure what my chances are that I get in, but, I just had to try, you know?” At this, Twilight looks back up and acknowledges her friend with a weak nod, obviously still distracted by something. “I mean, when I really sat down and thought about things, I mean really considered my options—I just couldn’t shake the feeling that that could really be good for me. I want to pursue a study of magic—I want to finally be somepony other than ‘that mare that one time oppressed an entire village’, you know?” She ends her sentence with a hoof held up alongside her shoulder, and a crooked little smile that doesn’t elicit much of a reaction from Twilight.

Now it was Starlight’s turn to think. She picks the warm cup up in her levitation, and brings it to her lips while staring out at the pianist. She doesn’t even immediately react, when Twilight’s next words come out. “...Maybe Starswirl isn’t a right fit for you, though.”

The unicorn’s gaze hangs loosely over the grand piano. There’s a small twitch in her smile, and her lips just barely part. In a mere moment, all the pretty lights and soothing music had soured, and been lost to a careless void. She might as well have been listening to her own funeral march.

“...I mean yeah, I—” Starlight clears her throat as she realizes the words would be more challenging to say than expected. “—I don’t know, I’m still looking around and all.”

Twilight Sparkle inhales sharply. “I just meant…” A painful silence ensues, as the princess struggles to articulate exactly what she had meant. Starlight aims to fill the gap.

“Yeah, I know. Like I said, I was just thinking about it, is all...”

Both mares quietly return to their drinks. Misery looms over the table like a storm cloud, sandwiched inappropriately in the midst of the room’s jazzy chords and lighthearted conversations.

* * *

The long, bare branches of the oak tree reach out to the sky, tips quivering gently in the freezing wind. The snowing itself had ceased, but piles of it remain surrounding the trunk of the tree, and around the stone statue out in the courtyard. The human family drawn into the carved stone would be rather cold, were they alive; their thin t-shirts and jeans hardly a reliable substitute for thick, pony fur.

A dispute between two stallions disturbs the otherwise silent air. They shout and wave their legs at one another, not long before it devolves into physical contact. The two guards standing under the museum’s second story overhang charge out to intervene.

“Hey!” One shouts. “Break it up, will ya!”

The stallions show no sign of listening, escalated their fight to a shove that nearly knocks one over. Both guards interject swiftly, prying the two apart from one another and holding them back.

“FUCK YOU, FUCKING BASTARD!” One of the struggling stallions shouts, hot breath drawing clouds in the frigid air. The guard restraining him throws him to the ground, pressing a foreleg against his neck, and using his remaining limbs to hold him against the stone.

“ENOUGH! ‘LESS YOU BOTH WANT A MONTH BEHIND BARS!” The guard barks. The stallion on the ground, a tan pegasus with a messy brown mane, turns his head enough so that he can spit snow and dirt out of his mouth. He looks past the guards and back to the other stallion with a grimace and a furrowed brow.

“I’D RATHER FACE THE NOOSE, THAN BE IN THE SAME PRISON AS THAT STRIPE-FUCKING COCKSUCKER!”

There’s a fire lit in the eyes of the pony mentioned, and he suddenly charges against the guard’s leg to try and close the gap with his enemy. The guard grunts as he kicks out the thug’s front legs, bowing his head and driving into his side so that they topple over into the snow; a large plume of it spreading out into the air.

While the four ponies wrestle out in the courtyard, a young couple and a mother with her foals watch from a safe distance. Their faces are frozen with shock, wide eyes locked helplessly on the struggle. There’s another pony there too; a mare with a flat cap and a gray scarf. Only this one doesn’t seem interested in the fight at all, instead walking quickly out of the museum entrance, and into the cold streets of Canterlot.

The night is suddenly broken with a massive flash of light, and an ear-splitting explosion. A blistering pillar of fire and smoke shoots out of the museum, shattering windows and consuming the ponies unfortunate enough to be standing in its range. Both guards whip their heads toward the fire, unaware of their two would-be prisoners as they make a run for it. There are a few bodies lying deathly still out on the cobblestone, and by the look of the black smoke that ejects out of the front door and windows—there were likely many more inside.

* * *

“ARSON IN CANTERLOT, EIGHT DEAD AND DOZENS INJURED IN ATTACK ON THE HALLS OF HUMANITY” Reads the newspaper’s bold headline. Below is a black and white photo of museum’s smoldering shell, guards holding back a crowd while firefighters do their work.

The paper is held by a diamond dog. He’s bundled in a jacket and scarf, staring down at the horrid news story while hunched over in the small square of sunlight the room receives. At his feet rest a curious pile of wood shavings, on and around an open book lying down there. There’s a table next to him, a small cup of coffee steaming atop it, but not the first item he reaches for. Instead, he reaches out for the tall bottle of liquor standing next to it, stifling a cough as he brings it toward him. He rests the newspaper on the arm of the chair, then uses both paws to open the bottle, and pour some of the colored liquid into his coffee.

A scuffle from upstairs momentarily breaks the creature’s concentration, dust raining down from the floorboards as two individuals argue above him. Cave’s eyes watch the dust filter down through the light, mindful of the hot cup he holds in his paw. He brings it to his lips without looking down, taking a drink of the strong concoction and wincing at its bite. His face reveals the hardships he’d endured, down to gray beard hairs peppered along his chin, the wrinkles under his eyes, and the long, pink scars running down his face.

As the confrontation upstairs shows no sign of stopping, Cave tosses the newspaper flat on the floor and places his drink back on the end table, trading it for the wood carving and knife next to it. He leans further forward in his old tattered chair and begins to carve—eyes darting back and forth between the block and the open book below, with various schematics and charcoal sketches exposed to the cold air. From what Cave had already whittled, the look of his hard-fought human treasure was already starting to form.

And it would continue to materialize. Between the sweltering heat of a blacksmith's hammer and anvil, steel would flatten into what seems like pieces of some kind of exotic armor. In the sand molds that are crafted by the group of diamond dog engineers, tooling away over diagrams and open books, amidst pieces of locomotive engine parts lying scattered about. In the molten iron that gets poured into the molds, blazing hot until it hardens and sets in the shape of an engine block much smaller than the locomotive parts around it.

Tirelessly these creatures would work. Ponies, griffons, and diamond dogs alike, all shaking paws with Cave as he’d present his documents and exorbitant amount of bits. The coach trimmer who attends to the upholstery, the carpenter who works on the interior furnishings—not everyone is eager to take on Cave’s daunting task, and many turn him down. But Equestria is a big place; and as the snow melts away across the country, and reveals the blooming flora that had been hiding underneath it, Cave finally sees his vision completed. Right down to the freshly milled key, as it’s passed to him.

* * *

Rain pours down gently from the cold, overcast skies. It taps against the tall windows of the tower, and rolls down them as their shadows dance about the room’s occupants. The High Council was in session; and things were looking much more lively for the group than usual.

“—ponies have been killed, now. Murdered in terrorist attacks, in Canterlot streets, no less!”

“Where did these deviants even come from? We’ve made dozens of arrests now, and there’s no sign of the violence ending.”

Through all the commotion, one pony remains rather silent. Twilight Sparkle sits in her usual spot opposite of Celestia, staring lifelessly down at the table.

“We need a motive—we must capture their leader.” Suggests one of the only two griffons in the room.

“We’ve already wasted enough time as it is, trying to analyze these criminals. I say it’s high time we act—and close The Vault.”

“You’d suggest backpedalling on The Vault, after less than a year of it being open? We’d be giving into terrorist demands!”

“To hell with our dignity, ponies are dying!” A spectacle wearing stallion barks back. All the while, Princess Twilight remains deathly still and abnormally quiet—Celestia studying her young cohort’s expression from the other end of the room.

“Councilman Raymond is right.” A middle-aged unicorn mare adds. “We can’t sit idly by anymore; I mean, who’s to say what kind of havoc will be wrought if the technology in there falls into the wrong hooves?”

“From what I heard, there’re weapons in there that’ll completely invalidate our rifles—our most powerful magic, even.”

The amber scaled dragon next to Celestia intervenes. “The data’s been combed long before the doors opened, there’s nothing in there that’s relevant to the advancement of weapons technology.”

“And we’re expected to believe that?”

“I expect you to have faith in your ruler, yes.” Princess Celestia delivers with strong authority. “The data is clean.”

The room suddenly goes quiet, not but the gentle rapping of rain on glass can be heard. The older unicorn mare near the middle of the table works up the courage to break the silence, speaking in a calm, and deliberate voice. “Be that is it may, I think we can all agree that things have been—rather chaotic since The Vault opened. Maybe Equestria just isn’t ready for mankind…”

Suddenly, life sparks in Twilight’s eyes, and she drags her gaze up from the table and out toward her audience. “I’d like to say something, if that’s alright.”

Many of the council members look to one another and share curious, confused glances; until the mare who’d spoken before, Councilwoman Velvet, acknowledges the alicorn’s request. “Of course, Princess Twilight.”

Twilight breathes in, blinks slowly, and then focuses her distant gaze on the wall behind Celestia. And as she speaks, there it remains. Frozen like she had no use for her eyes. “Back when I was a student of Celestia’s, I was given responsibility of a young dragon named Spike. I watched over him during my stay in Golden Oak Library, and then continued to once I’d come into possession of the castle. He was likely my first true friend—and in many ways, remained as my closest.” She pauses as thunder rolls in the far distance. “...Anyway, when I became Princess of Friendship and my duties in Equestria grew more political, I couldn’t help but feel a gap grow between Spike and me. My other friends too, but it was… more difficult for me to explain that distance to Spike. I remember being irritated with him. I was to attend a meeting, and he didn’t want me to go. I left on a bad note. ‘He would understand one day’, I thought to myself.”

Finally, Twilight pulls back her stare so that she can look around the room at the other ponies. “I don’t need to explain to you guys that my work in Canterlot has made some critics of me. Critics of my beliefs, of my laws. I’d just pushed for an education reform that would help foreign exchange students better integrate into their classes, in perhaps a time when foreign relations were particularly stressed. And so one of my more radical critics saw fit to retaliate—breaking in to and vandalising my home. She’d come to kill me. Only, I wasn’t there. I was in a meeting. And so it wasn’t until I made it back late that night that I’d see the extent of her rage. The broken window and graffiti. The guard that would end up hospitalized. The doors to my bedroom, smashed open. And Spike—who had nothing to do with it—and who’d been murdered.” Princess Twilight blinks a few times over her red eyes, pausing the story once again to steady her voice. “Because of a grudge some mare had with me. Because I wasn’t—there.”

She swallows the knot in her throat and steels her gaze, regaining her composure before even a single tear is shed. “My friends would know, of course. But under Equestrian law the story would never get a headline, and ‘officially’, Spike had migrated East. A part of me started to believe that, and maybe that made it a little easier… But that doesn’t change the fact of what really happened.” Twilight’s expression was now almost completely back to the way it was before she began her story; lifeless, and apathetic. She lowers her brow and peers out to the other members of the council, delivering one final message with a strong, convicted tone.

“We don’t need the humans’ help to do evil. We’ve gotten there just fine by ourselves.”

Dead silence follows. The other members are lost for words, and sheepishly glance around to one another. Only Princess Celestia keeps her eyes locked onto Twilight, as the silhouette of rain on the windows roll down her visage.

* * *

Rain blows over the hills of Ponyville as the wind picks up, and the distant storm brews. Princess Twilight walks slowly across the field outside her castle, a magic distortion field redirecting the rain around her. She walks up the golden steps leading to her home, and uses another spell to swing open the massive front doors, paying little mind to the guards that salute her as she does so.

Twilight makes her way through the grand, empty halls until she finds herself in a candle-lit study, peering down lifelessly at an empty desk. The tapping of rain against a round window above draws her attention, if only long enough to build a deep sigh at the sight.

An inkwell is placed down on the desk. Twilight’s magic next locates a quill, and finally, a piece of plain parchment. She dips the pen tip gently into the black ink, next bringing it to the paper so that she can write on it with deliberate, well-practiced strokes.

‘Dear Starlight Glimmer,’ It begins.

After she’s finished writing it, the letter is folded and placed carefully into a white envelope, and adorned with a violet seal that bares the princess’s cutie mark. It’s finally levitated back down the halls and into the magic of another pony. A guard, that Twilight asks politely to deliver it for her. He nods his head and accepts the request without question.

The final room that Princess Twilight goes to see for the evening is a rarely visited one. As she walks toward the door slowly, her eyes fixate on the rectangle of green light that projects out from under it, glowing vividly in the dark hallway. She approaches the door with a silver key, sticking it into the door’s lock and turning it until there’s a soft click. When she finally opens the door fully, she’s blanketed by the strange green light. As the only source of illumination inside, it blankets the rest of the room, too.

It shines and reflects off of the crystal designs around the doorway and windows, violet curtains drawn tightly shut. It illuminates the hanging banners and bookshelves and telescope—all untouched for years, and painted with coats of dust. The bed is perfectly made, blankets clean and unwrinkled, pillows propped up and undisturbed. And next to it, lies a much smaller bed—similarly well-made, and with an ornate frame.

Twilight takes her first step into the bedroom, passing by a mirror over a bookshelf as she does so. Along it, photos are held under the frame, so that the ponies in them stare back at whoever might have viewed their reflection there. Photos of the Elements of Harmony spending time together—Twilight, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Fluttershy—and the little violet dragon smiling there with them.

The source of all the light in the room, a green flame encapsulated in a glass jar, comes into Twilight’s possession as she levitates it off of the ground. It had been placed meticulously into the center, spreading its light to every wall and creating long shadows that dance along them. Twilight walks it carefully over to the larger bed, where she climbs up with the jar and lies down on the blankets, clutching the magic item closely to her chest. And there she remains. Closing her watered eyes and sobbing softly in the dark, with the magic flame licking the walls of the jar as her only comfort. The last remnant of a friendship, between a mare and a dragon; and of a bond, between a mother and her child.

With a creak in the darkness, the moment is disturbed. Twilight jerks her head over her shoulder, peering toward the door still left ajar.

“Hello?” She calls out meekly. With no response, the mare wipes her tear-stricken face and sits up, careful to set the jar down on an end table before moving further. She pauses and waits afterward, sitting frozen under the bed canopy as only the warm crackle of the flame, and the muffled rapping of the rain can be heard.

Twilight maneuvers to the edge of the bed, stepping out onto the cold floor and making for the entrance. She leans her head out of the room and peers down the hallway, finding nopony at all outside. A magic field envelopes the door handle, and she starts to slowly pull it shut as it creaks noisily on its hinges. The last place she looks before it closes entirely is down at the carpet, lit dimly by the green flame behind her. There’s a single dirty paw print leading into the room—and no signs of one leading out.

“I’m sorry, Princess.” Says a voice from behind.

Twilight isn’t fast enough to react. One paw reaches out to cover her muzzle, the other, sent to inject something into her neck. Twilight’s screams are muffled as she struggles against her assailant, kicking and thrashing even as the drug is administered. Once the needle is empty, the diamond dog frees his paw and leaves it sticking out of Twilight’s coat, getting a stronger hold on her head to subdue her. They grapple on the floor as Twilight’s protests grow weaker, and her magic sparks wildly at the air behind her.

Cave continues to hold the pony down on the ground a while after she’d gone silent. His muscles strain, and his eyes wince at the newly contracted burns along his shoulders.

When he finally releases her, Twilight slumps over lifelessly; and Cave’s plan is finally put into motion.