When One King Failed to Fix Your Horn, Go Get Yourself Another
The tunnel collapsed with Tempest emerging safely on the other side. Coughing as she got up, she ridded her mane of the omnipresent dirt.
“I’ll take fighting hippogriffs over spelunking anytime.” She spat out more dirt. “Bleh. The things I do for that hedgehog, I swear.”
This new place wasn’t yet another cave—she hated those—but a spacious chamber floored with bright stone and with a matching, high ceiling held up by six columns. One for each corner of the room, they lacked any ornaments, but resembled those present in the elegant architecture of Canterlot. At the opposite wall, there were heavy doors with a well-known seal of sun and moon crested in the middle.
“Interesting. Those must be the foundations of the Royal Castle. A fancy broom closet… or something else?”
The walls were a different curiosity. Their color seemed to shift between shades of grey with Tempest’s every move, but that could as well be the torches and their pale golden light playing tricks on her. Six torches there were, masterfully carved, but only five still fixed to their respective columns. The last one fell down when Tempest was entering the room, if blasting a wall from the outside deserved such a verb. Pleasantly warm rather than hot, the torch refused to die out regardless of how she held it.
“Magic... of course.”
The fire had a different tint, with purplish flickers dancing gracefully within its smokeless flame. A bitter realization struck. Those were residues of her own unstable magic, and she must have contaminated, dirtied the purity of the enchantment with her warped use of the arcane.
Tempest held the weird torch closer to the wall. For a moment, its surface lost its greyness and instead shined with perfect crimson. As she walked along the wall, the glow followed, and whenever she took the torch away, grey tones resurfaced like clouds on a stormy day. There was a handful of materials which behaved like that, with crystals or the changelings’ favorite luminite coming to mind first, but the walls were too smooth to pass for either.
“Hmm. Thestral divination magic?” She gave the place a double-take and wondered. “But this metal is supposed to be rare, they’re only coating their bowls with it. Rare and pricey. Here, the entire room... how?”
Who enters my sanctuary?
The lights flickered at the words. Tempest shivered slightly, but didn’t jump up in fear, didn’t let out some unprofessional squeak, and didn’t react as someone more fearful would. Her bravery got her far in life, for better or worse, but she had to admit that after having only herself for a companion, hearing someone else—and not seeing them right away—was a somewhat unpleasant surprise.
She turned around, holding the torch tightly and shifting her balance to get the upper hoof in case of any trouble. As far as she could see, however, there was no one there.
“Show yourself,” she commanded calmly.
I am right here. Right before your eyes.
There was a small cavity directly across of the doors. It was embedded with bright crystals, most of which shimmered with golden light, but some, closer to the middle were deep red in color, almost crimson. At the center, there was a silk cushion on which a red shard rested.
For a single mystery-woven moment, Tempest didn’t dare to breathe out her awe. There was no mistake: it was a unicorn’s horn, if different from those she knew. Sleek rather than spiraled along its length, it resembled a predator’s thin fang not unlike a polished bone.
She had done her share of research on the topic of horns when she’d lost her own. One theory suggested that the unicorns of old had them smooth and sleek, and that the ages of having magic whirl around their horns gradually shaped them into the current state of things, spiraling them more with each next generation. But that would mean the horn was at least… very, greatly, anciently old. And it was talking to her. She was hearing the voice from the walls, but it was coming from it.
“Who are you?”
My name is of no importance.
“What are you?” she demanded. “Talk, or I will turn this little sanctuary of yours into a dirt-packed hole spewing rubble.”
Ah, bravado verging on impertinence… how refreshing compared to my usual guests. Very well—I shall indulge your curiosity, but only because I so choose.
Tempest tossed the torch under the column and rolled her eyes. She’d been dealing with that feeling of self-importance on a daily basis when she was working for the Storm King. She was never partial to the notion itself. Paying attention to how others perceived you only proved that you needed their affirmation in the first place, and counting on anybody to grant you that affirmation was just another of childish falsehoods she had long let go.
When I still walked this land, I was a simple pony, a scholar trying to do some good in the world. When the Crystal Empire, the allies of Equestria were troubled by the changeling threat, I devoted my heart and mind to aid them.
“But the changelings are at peace with Equestria. What you’re talking about must have happened—”
About a thousand years ago, indeed. The Empire won a great many of battles thanks to my insights… but not enough. One day, I foresaw an attack on a village of Gleam’s Folly. There was a pattern to their movements, but only I alone could see it. I told my companions about it, but they refused my plea, telling me our forces were already stretched thin protecting the capital. The ponies I thought I knew, they refused my call for help.
“Villages, no matter how lovely, aren’t usually important. The capital always is,” Tempest assessed. “Was there a military advantage to gain by protecting this Gleam’s Folly?”
There is no need to question my judgment, for it was valid. I was the voice of reason they disregarded. I was their chance of victory they threw away. They didn’t listen, and innocents suffered a terrible fate because of their indifference, the same indifference I now see in you. Would you really put one pony’s life over the other so easily? Do you have the wisdom to pass such a decision?
“In my experience, making any decision is wiser than standing still.”
Cold, as expected, but I suppose you do have a point. You ask whether there was something to gain. I tell you there was everything, but to lose instead. And everything was lost that day. When the enemy came, I could not do anything, only sit back and wait for the scouts to bring the news.
“If you knew the attack was coming, you should have gone there and fight.”
Against an army—have you been listening or not? No single pony could face such a serious threat and live.
“Well, this pony faced four alicorns and lived. I say it was a serious threat,” she said with a casual shrug.
I counted three.
“Come again?”
I counted three alicorns. The fourth, you caged much later, on the shores of Hipogriffia.
Tempest shivered for real this time. “How do you know that?”
I told you I was a scholar. Scholars tend to know things. Observe.
The chamber got a bit darker as some of the light flowed from the torches to the walls. A chunk the size of a large mirror shifted again, bringing greyish shapes from the mist. Even before the images started making sense, Tempest felt as if she knew the story they were telling, and for good reason.
They were telling her story, basing off the figments of her memory brought up by the mysterious voice, or the unique nature of the chamber. As she gazed into the wall-mirror, she saw the world from where she stood this very morning—aboard the Alicorn Breaker, her flagship in the Storm King’s fleet, heading for Canterlot under the cover of thunderous clouds.
When she was in command, she saw the world as choke points, venues of attack and positions worth charging at. The monochromatic vision focused on other details, with devouring fire, crumbling walls and screams of silhouettes taking the stage.
Conquest. This is the only thing you have known for a long time, is it not? Until recently you had armies at your command, you were sending airships to raid peaceful villages, you cared not for the collateral damage on the undeserving.
Tempest didn’t need to watch it. She didn’t want to watch it.
She turned back to face more grey memories coming in on another wall: a flamboyant, beaked crew sailing the Sea of Clouds under a black flag. Their captain, the one going by the name of Celaeno, had been cheerful once, Tempest recalled. She had seen them boasting in a seedy bar in Klugetown some time before she herself joined the Storm King’s cause.
When they met again, Celaeno and her crew were already working as cargo haulers for him and running his errands. They served, they were allowed to sail their ship, sad and soulless husks of their formers selves they’d become. They regained their ‘Arr!’ with the help of the ponies, but that too ended in their forced submission.
“Those parroquai were pirates. They knew that it was either following the rules to the letter or suffering the consequences,” Tempest said coldly. “Whatever fate they have met, it was hardly undeserved.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that one of the torches shivered before dying out completely.
So you decided to decommission their ship. How merciful of you.
Boom. The airship on the wall went down in flames to make way for a portrait of a royal hippogriff.
I suppose that you would find a proper excuse for lying to Queen Novo to steal her magical pearl, too? I wonder, how does it feel to be a pony, but an evildoer all the same? One would think our colorful kind to be pure and innocent, to live off happiness and joy. Parties with friends. Balloons of every imaginable shape. Cake for everyone—ah, but you have to forgive me for the lack of visual aids. After all, you have no such memories.
“I do not,” Tempest replied, turning her eyes from the blank surface. Part of her hoped the walls would show her all those wonderful things the scholar was talking about, but her bitterness took over. “Why are you showing me all this? To make me feel bad about myself? Well, here’s a news for you: I don’t care. I was only doing those things to get back something I lost.”
Yes, of course, and that only shows how strong you truly are! I applaud you that despite all the misfortune you managed to keep your head high. It is an admirable quality, strong will. However, I sense that it took you astray, shaped you in ways you did not expect and pushed you into becoming, shall we say, a less than amicable pony?
Tempest wondered what was that all about. The voice, some kind of a spirit or a ghost, was giving her mixed signals, mocking her for her inglorious past while praising her will to do something else with her life. She didn’t have much time to think about her place in the universe recently—with ‘recently’ being ‘after she learned that her former employer wouldn’t-slash-couldn’t fix her horn’ but ‘before she went underground to search for that hedgehog moron’.
Yes, she had served the Storm King to the best of her skill as his lieutenant, but those were only the means to an end. A good deal while it lasted—the Storm King lived by the rule of doing things for others only if they did something to him, or so he once told her. Yet, once she’d given him the power of all four alicorns thanks to the Staff of Sacanas, he turned his hairy back on her. After all this time serving him, she was no closer to fixing her horn than she was right after the ursa took it. She wasn’t exactly proud of all the pain she’d caused, either.
The spirit addressed her turmoil. His voice was soothing, that of an understanding parent giving a lesson in life. And much like a parent giving a lecture, it made her feel exposed. Vulnerable.
I am showing you your present because I want to remind you of your past. You have done many vile things in your life, but no one is born a villain, and you are not beyond salvation. Once, the life was good. Do you remember? Once, you were a bright-eyed, kind and brave pony.
“Once, I had dreams,” Tempest whispered in the moment of weakness.
Immediately, another portion of the wall livened up at a small price of another torch giving up its flame.
That part she knew all too well. She was playing outside with her two friends, Glitter Drops and Spring Rain. They were the best. Unicorns like her with whom she shared her time at school and after it, and who shared her most precious dream about moving up in the world of magic. The road ahead was long, but they were already casting simple spells and passing a ball to each other, showing how gifted they were. The magic around them burst whenever they jumped, it splashed as they fell, at all times holding the ball in someone’s miasmatic grip.
Then the ball tumbled along the wall where the entrance to a dark cave appeared. Tempest shuddered, bracing herself for what was to come, but what also had come upon her already.
It was a bear, large and imposing, with shimmering fur sewn from stars themselves. Only a handful had a chance to see it with their own eyes, even less lived to tell the tale, and little Tempest would soon find herself among them. She grabbed the ball and scurried away, but the ursa minor cornered her. She tried to fight it off with her magic, but it was not enough. The ursa knocked her harshly against the cave wall and renewed its attack, lunging at her head. She only got out of there alive because of her nimble moves—a little talent she kept on her side.
You are thinking about your cutie mark. I can see in your past that your magic was only a part of your talent. Vital, but not decisive. I can see that you are… you are a dancer?
“Ha! Good one.”
Tempest turned back to the first vision, the recount of the morning skirmish. It was the moment when she attacked the alicorns with crystallizing bombs. She made a somersault, turned it mid-air, and flung the little ball with all her might. Watching the safe landing again, feeling her body and legs trying to mirror it, caused her heart to grow in a well-deserved pride. After all, her every move in that performance was meticulously executed and performed with skill she could only attribute to her talent. She could see why someone would mistake her for a dancer.
“Close, but that’s not it. I’m a—” she held the word, wondering what exactly was she going to tell now that it didn’t really matter. Her cheeks brightened up with embarrassment as she took off the armor protecting her flank. “I used to be doing gymnastics. Rhythmic gymnastics, if you will, with moves involving balls and ribbons and ropes. Sort of a ballet with accessories, I guess, and my magic tying it all together, of course.”
A discipline calling for great precision, I take it.
“You know it,” she admitted, putting the armor back on. Somehow, talking to this unknown scholar hidden in the horn was easy to her, and she gladly continued her tale. “That’s why I wanted to enroll Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. It was always easy for me to go on stage and perform, and everyone liked it. But deep down, I knew that I could do better, so I started adding magic to my routines. Sounds, bursts of color like fireworks, minor transmutations and illusions… I could exercise and practice flexibility on my own, but to learn how to have my magic do exactly what I wanted, for that, I needed teachers. And the SGU had best teachers.”
But then you lost your horn.
“It was never the same. I was never a great spellcaster, but in some way, magic was what I defined myself by.”
What remained was pain.
Despite the expiration of the third torch and the growing grey gleam coming from the visions, Tempest felt properly illuminated by the voice’s presence. Whoever he was, he understood what she had gone through.
First she learned to hide her pain from others—much like she would hide her broken horn under her sudden interest in hats, caps, hoods and headscarfs. Then, she learned to ignore it, to deny its existence so it couldn’t hinder her progress. When she got older, she accepted it as the part of the experience that made her into who and what she was, so she learned to keep her head high. The pain was still there, underneath a cold, calculated mask of pride that hadn’t left her face since, but at least it wasn’t bothering her.
And that crimson horn… the voice of the scholar behind it, accepted her in her as-is state.
I want you to know that I know how you feel.
“Do you really?” Tempest asked with lesser coldness than before.
Yes. Being where I stand has some perquisites, you know. Once you have spent enough time studying the bare nature of the dead spirits surrounding you, you begin noticing things in the living as well. And I can tell you, you and I are similar, bonded in pain and regret driving our existence. Like you, I know the feeling of being betrayed. Like you, I know the feeling of loss.
Tempest shook her head. “I don’t need a therapist.”
Well, I shall definitely not pretend to be an expert on regaining lost friendships. There are other cracks, however, repairing of which is closer to my field.
The spirit left the implication hanging, but it was enough to spark her desire. In the past, she’d tried everything from ointments and experimental, quasi-magical reconstruction rituals, to allying with a power-crazed monarch who was handing out promises like candy on Nightmare Night, but in the end horn remained but a cracked stump.
When asked, she could talk all she wanted about how she had moved past her loss, but that didn’t mean the pain was no longer there. That didn’t mean the unsettled glances and half-mouthed words of pity weren’t accompanying her wherever she went. As long as she was scarred and disfigured, she wasn’t going to fit the pony community, and even with the Princess of Friendship and her quirky band seemingly willing to accept her, was she willing to accept herself?
Not without her horn, she wasn’t.
She couldn’t hide her feelings, not when she was surrounded by the visions which exposed everything about her. She had become a recluse living from one melancholic evening to another, and no one party was going to change that. But something else could. Something else would solve all her problems.
“You know the way of fixing my horn,” she said in a poor attempt of masking her interest with cold demeanor.
Charming and smart. I invite you to observe the possibilities cryssstallizing before you.
Another picture appeared, conveniently just where Tempest was looking at the moment. Next to it surfaced another, and another right over, until the entire chamber was wallpapered with the noble shades of grey. Only then, with a faint gasp escaping her lips, she realized those were no longer her memories, but dreams tucked away in the most private corner of her soul.
In the vision, Tempest was standing tall aboard her airship. Her horn, long and complete, sparkled with magic as she easily pulled a lever to open the side sails. She felt the admiration of the crew under her command who were no longer some nameless minions filling the Storm King army’s ranks, but diverse individuals of many races. She was taken aback by the vividness and cheer emanating from the wall, and absent-mindedly wondered if that was the life the parroquai captain was living.
Joy filled her to the point she allowed herself to a heartfelt chuckle. She could get used to such a lifestyle!
In the other picture, she saw herself in the Crystal Empire taking part in some kind of a sport competition. No, not just any competition, not with a huge stadium and all those shiny crystal ponies cheering her name. Those were Equestria Games, an event of great magnitude where participants competed for glory in various athletic disciplines.
The Tempest from the vision trotted forth, her horn blazing with pure energy as she gained speed. A front flip, surge of magic, and she continued her performance with a dozen ribbons flowing in tandem behind her. She was running again, twirling, eliciting excited gasps from the audience. She made a pirouette as she jumped, ribbons dancing around her precisely as she guided them. Her talent of a gymnast was taken to its limits, but she was ready for that. She had her horn, and her magic backing her up, as it should be.
As the pictures were filling the walls, Tempest, with a grin growing on her lips, remembered her every dream, wishful thought and desire she’d had ever since she was creative enough to have them. From giving a graduate speech at Princess Celestia’s School for the Gifted Unicorns to standing on the wedding carpet with a caring stallion, two things never changed in between particular visions. Tempest had her horn intact, and she was surrounded by goodwill ponies. Her many friends, who weren’t limited to just Grubber—with her mask gone, Tempest had to admit she’d grown rather fond of the hedgehog’s antics—but also others, with her old pals Glitter Drops and Spring Rain being the most supportive of them all.
Some force compelled another torch to give up its light. It became dimmer again but Tempest didn’t mind. At the back of her head she knew the visions looked too good to be true, but all be damned if that wasn’t the life she wanted.
It does feel good to be appreciated, does it not? This is the life you can have back. This is the life you deserve.
“Name your price,” she blurted out.
Price? No, no, do consider your future a gift! I know what you have suffered, and my greatest pleasure shall be in helping a special pony like you regain what you lost. In return, I only ask to be carried along on this wonderful adventure of life. I am certain what I mean is cryssstal clear to you.
“A road trip. Getting bored with the afterlife, are we?”
I am a scholar at heart still. I want to discover the world again, to see how it changed in my absence, to see the Crystal Empire again, and the Crystal Heart at its luminous center, and the crystal corridors of the palace. To meet the Cryssstal Princessss… and to have a little chat with her.
Between Tempest’s own amazement and awe, it occurred to her that the scholar was quite fixed on the topic of the Crystal Empire. Perhaps a bit too much? She shook the notion away. She certainly wasn’t in position to judge those who had lost something, and were simply determined to get it back in some form. Approaching the cavity, she took notice of another oddity. Earlier, the crystals emblazoning it had a soft golden hue like the torches, but now with their light almost gone, the color of the crystals was that of deep red, the same red the wall had become when she put the flame next to it.
Strange. There was definitely a connection between the visions, crystals, and the flames, but she couldn’t quite put her hoof on it. Plus, with the excitement building inside her she didn’t really have time for puzzles. But it was rather curious.
“So that’s your plan. Fixing a unicorn’s broken horn with the same.”
The better future is within your reach. Take my horn and bring it closer to your own. When you use your magic, my own shall resonate in kind and your horn shall be whole again.
Tempest nodded. For the first time in her life, the better future was indeed within her reach. The only thing she needed to do was to bring the two horns together.
She nestled the crimson shard in her hooves. Curious or not, the horn was waiting to be claimed. She weighted it and lifted—it had, indeed, the size and weight of a horn. Uncoordinated sparks seeped from the stump on her forehead as she brought the key to her rejuvenation closer. Red bursts of energy shot an inch from the horn like lightning tendrils reaching towards her. At the same time, seemingly with every burst, the last of the torches on the columns coughed and transferred its magic to the walls. The visions were strong. The desire to make them a reality—even stronger.
And who knows? Perhaps we can even do something about that scar of yours. It does give you a certain edge in your outlook, but I suppose you can do without it.
Yes, perhaps they could do something about the scar. Tempest never really liked it. It was giving her a certain predatory edge, but she supposed she could do without it. She had to admit it sounded like a plan, definitely, and a not too shabby one. Better than most of her own… probably.
Until now, she was forced to take half measures, she had to keep coming up with her own ideas and solutions for life. From now on, there would be someone she could trust. That’s why the Princess of Friendship could evade and ultimately defeated the Storm King in the first place, not to mention other conflicts she’d solved, by placing her trust in others. It was good to have someone to rely on, Tempest thought with a smile. Someone who would guide her through the hardships of life and make sure she was following the right path. Someone who could take the burden of making her own mind for her.
Someone who would decide for her.
“No.”
Unceremoniously, Tempest tossed the horn back into the crystal cavity.
What? What are you doing? We are so close!
“Declining your offer, duh.” She grabbed the torch that was still burning bright. It was the one she’d brought down with the wall, the one she deemed as dirty and contaminated with her less-than-elegant magic. The flames of gold and purple were entwined in beautiful performance akin to two gymnasts working together. “Tell me, what’s the point of these? What even is this place? You called it your sanctuary, but if that was the case, wouldn’t you have had it filled with tomes to stay informed about the world?”
I was always more of an empiricist, really. However, it eludes me why you hold such a momentous change from happening and instead talk about my locale.
“You know, I’ve seen prisons before, inside and out,” she said. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re in one.”
I do not feel trapped, I assure you. Whatever is considered a prison depends solely on one’s perception.
“Yes, prisons aren’t always obvious, but there are some pointers. Cells have one way out, the bunk is small and uncomfortable”—she looked to the doors and the not-so-big cavity of crystals—“and there are always bars holding you there. I see six pillars here… and the torches. I’m going to go with the torches. Let me know if I’m getting warmer,” she said, but there was no response. “So I am. Funny thing about being a prisoner, pretty much the only pastime activity you have is talking with others when the overseer is on a break. And if I’m right about this, I’ve recently put your overseer out of commission, if for a day.”
She took the torch to the wall. The closeness of the flame called its true color much like it did before, hidden underneath the general greyness earlier, and under her most precious dreams now. When she put it next to one of the specific futures presented on the walls, the flame revealed the truth to her, proving that she was never meant to be the central figure in any of them.
“You. But that’s… I heard stories, but…” she mumbled, mildly overpowered by what she’d just seen. Shaking her head, she regained her composure. “That explains your fascination with the Crystal Empire, at least. But why they kept you here is a mystery to me.”
Why are you stalling? You said it yourself it is better to act than to stand still.
“How about fixing the light first? I’m not a big fan of dark, cramped spaces, as you might have noticed,” she said, pointing to the vision of the ursa. One by one, she brought the flame to the doused torches, igniting their spark anew. “Now we can talk. The thing about talking to others, you kind of need your mouth for it, or hooves which, if you don’t mind me noticing, you don’t have terribly many of.”
You dare to mock me? Me, who so graciously offered you his help? Me, who opened up before you and showed you compassion when no one else did? Me, who—
“You, who have not yet given me your name, because you knew I would decline that offer the moment I knew who you really were…”
She stuck the sixth and final torch into a sconce on the last pillar.
“…King Sombra?” she finished.
The name echoed in the chamber, followed shortly by a vicious, otherworldly groan. The freshly lit flames trembled in panic, but held to their torches. Even more so, once Tempest had put them all back in place, they warmed the walls with a wave of sunlight that dispersed the clouds of deception, showing a crimson layer under the wishful visions—which, too, now differed from what they were showing before.
One alteration specifically caught Tempest’s attention.
It was the Crystal Empire at the time Equestria Games. There were countless crystal ponies in the stands, but they seemed to have lost their inner glamour and shine—their connection to the Crystal Heart must have been cut off with the artifact itself nowhere to be seen. Instead of cheering, dead silence reigned all around the stadium. Those ponies came because they were told to come, as evident by the presence of iron-clad guards stationed every few rows.
The situation on the field below wasn’t better. It was Tempest again, unsure, shaken, trotting timidly into her performance. She jumped with her scarlet ribbons and plush balls, but those turned, in fact, into steel chains weighting her down. And on the end of every chain was a ball with the name of a pony she had to break to get where she stood, to get back what she thought she wanted. Celestia. Luna. Cadence. Twilight Sparkle. All written in red.
In the vision her horn was whole, so she tried to fight. She focused her magic around her—and then her horn exploded with a blinding light. Stream of smoke seeped from her forehead, and the thousandfold audience was ordered to laugh at her, to mock her disability. They were ordered by the guards who in turn answered to the one and only pony who seemed to be enjoying the cruelty. The unicorn whose coat was as grey as the walls in the chamber had been, and whose horn shined with crimson hatred hidden within.
The once and future king, Sombra.
“You wanted to use me,” Tempest said on an icy note.
I have studied ancient magic. Forbidden magic. I have studied rituals to grow in power, to go beyond the limits of a mortal unicorn. I can give you the alicorn magic.
“I admit, you almost had me there with your offer, digging through my head.” She looked around. “Because that’s what this place is all about, isn’t it? That’s why the Princesses locked you in here. To study you, to learn your history. I bet that Celestia set up those flames herself so that she could contain your”—she put a hoof to her chin, pondering—“essence, I suppose. By coming in I must have messed up her enchantments thus giving you some leeway. Almost too much of it, right?”
Arrogant mare. Can you not comprehend what we can achieve together? The power I want to offer you is beyond measure.
Tempest laughed towards the cavity. The longer she was making her stand, the stronger the torches burned, and the faster the crimson pictures were ebbing from the walls, washed with shimmering gold.
“Like I said, you almost had me. But you haven’t dug deep enough,” she replied and turned to the doors.
Think it through, Tempest Shadow. Without me, you shall never have your horn back.
Tempest stopped in her tracks. Her heart ached.
For a moment lasting the eternity’s heartbeat, she was hesitating. With her hoof not-so-firmly on the doorknob, she threw a glance to the side. The wall, still red there, presented a young mare who had been damaged by life, circumstances, and her own poor choices which backfired. That mare was distant, harsh in her demeanor, she turned her pain into the driving force behind her persona. Admittedly, Tempest Shadow was not a mare anyone would accept as a friend, not upon seeing her scar and broken horn.
But much like the chamber had shown her visions underneath visions, there was also another pony hidden behind Tempest, revealed by a golden wave. That one had eyes full of courage and determination, like on the day she entered the ursa’s lair to keep the fun going for her and her friends. She had a talent and a hobby, and her days weren’t about nefarious kings or blowing airships out of the sky, but about making the best of the time she was given. She didn’t have her horn, but she didn’t need it to be complete.
She decided which of the two would become her reflection from now on.
“My name is Fizzlepop Berrytwist,” she said, leaving no place for discussion. “When I wanted to impress my friends, I lost my horn. When I lost my horn, I could no longer impress anyone, let alone myself. I thought I lost it all, but I’ve never given up, and my only regret is that I didn’t put as much effort into reaching out to someone as I did into trying to fix my horn. I think it’s about time I tried.” She threw the horn one last glance. “The Storm King, you, other parasites of your kind, all you care about is power at the expense of others, so if the price of being my own pony is to never have my horn back, then so be it. I will not trade one yoke for another.”
Don’t you dare turning your back on me! I AM A KING! You will never have friends, Tempest Shadow. You think you are so noble because you ultimately helped the Princess of Friendship? They will never accept you as one of their own. Look at your scar. Look at your hideous disfigurement. You are foolish thinking there is a place for someone like you among those pastel-happy ponies. You will never be part of them!
“And you will never be part of me,” she said and left.
A moment later, the crystal cavity regained its celestial gold glow, silencing the spirit until he would be disturbed again.
Author's Note
Hello there! Thank you for reading my story. I am no longer writing pony fiction, but if you want to support my current creative endeavor, check out my content on Twitch! 
