Daybreaker made itself known to Celestia the dawn after Luna fell. The week-long night before ended with the banishment of Nightmare Moon, leaving Celestia alone with a nation in panic. Monsters roused by her sister yet stalked the ponies, and the chill of the long night had robbed summer’s harvest. The treasury was empty, the castle in shambles, and even the Royal Guard stood poised to disintegrate beneath recriminations and divided loyalties. Lured by the hate, wendigos poured from the north while ponies bickered, hoarded, and blamed.
Sunspots from the rainbow flash that banished her sister still danced in Celestia’s eyes as she lit her horn, returning sun and hope to a world in need of both. She was injured, tired, and sick with a heartache she had no time to mourn. There was work to do, and it came sooner than expected.
Ponies approached Celestia before she could shake the dust from her coat, or set her broken wing. Fat guard captains and sycophant nobles. Whining populists and strutting, sneering wizards. Each one fancying themselves the voice of reason, telling Celestia what to do and who to hang. Courtly manners had been destroyed with the court – the ponies undercut and yelled over each other, squabbling and brawling for their exhausted queen’s approval. Shouting at her their half-cocked advice, their petty priorities, and their boisterous demands.
Celestia later wondered if she brought Daybreaker on herself, but even then she did not feel ashamed. Thoughts and fantasies were never something to be guilty for. Even if they were, who could blame the broken, mourning queen her first smile as she gave one second of thought to roasting those horrid ponies where they stood.
But then the voice asked, “Why not?”
It startled her, though Celestia was too tired to show it. The voice was hers and not at the same time. Older, louder, and entirely self-assured, it spoke as a shout because there were none else who needed to be heard. It was not angry yet, but somehow flames licked Celestia’s mind – an eternal and altogether frightening promise of violence.
Celestia forgot the voice in the next moment. It had been a misheard line from a squabbler, or the words from one mixing with a bit of masonry completing its fall.
Wrong, of course. The voice spoke again, neither above or below the noise around it. Like Celestia heard the ponies with her ears, and this with her mind. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Celestia released a soft, dismissive snort through her nose, drawing a defensive one from within. “That fat captain soiled himself when Nightmare Moon approached – some guard he is! And that one is hoarding food as he mewls of rights, and that one’s a damn maid who lusts for power at your side. How do you think they all got here so fast? They were hiding! They would be here courting Nightmare Moon if she had won. Pathetic schemers looking to hold your tail as you fly to the top. There are better captains, better advisers, who are loyal. Kill these traitors, and do Equestria the service it needs!”
Celestia did not speak in reply, but offered words in thought. “Who are you?”
The voice did not hesitate. “I am Daybreaker. I am you.”
A tight, victorious smile etched onto Celestia’s face. “You show your hand easily, corrupting spirit, for I have no knowledge of that pony hoarding food. Are you a blasted piece of what stole my sister, or do you come as an opportunist?”
“Nothing stole your sister but her own greed,” the thing who assuredly was not Celestia sneered. “I am your soul. Your magic. I sense things you do not, so trust me when I tell you to dispose of these corrupted lives before they drag down the rebuilding of my nation.”
“Not ‘your’ nation,” Celestia said, drawing another indignant huff.
“Mine, for Equestria is yours and I am you. Don’t play semantics, dearie.”
Celestia had stopped listening. This thing… this new threat, it would have to be dealt with. Out loud, she called to the squabblers, “Enough. I am tired. You, Captain, gather reports from the cities and have them to me this evening. The rest of you, begone to your duties.”
She blinked, struck dumb for a moment when that failed to be the end. The ponies only pressed in and grew louder, each promising to depart only when their demands were met. They talked to her of urgency. They even lectured her on responsibility, and that proved the end of it. Incensed by the petty disrespect, Celestia drew a hard breath and heard Daybreaker do the same. She felt Daybreaker’s rage explode with her own as a white hoof hit the floor like a thunderclap. Threatening heat flickered in the air as they screamed together, “Enough!”
Cowards one and all, the ponies fled. Celestia stood in silence a moment, then heard the coy, regal chuckle between her ears.
“Laugh while you can,” Celestia said, thinking her words a lance to the voice’s humor. “Your time is numbered. You are a figment and you will be gone.”
Celestia believed the words when she spoke them. What could this invader be, but a piece of Nightmare Moon? Celestia’s bright magic lent itself well to exorcism and purification, and she set the needed spells on herself with a will. Then, when those failed, she tried more. She brought in wizards and even buffalo shamans to inspect her, claiming worry for lingering corruption without mentioning the symptoms. All were in vain – the spells died, Daybreaker lived, and there was nothing for Celestia to do but press on.
As she worked the sad task of gluing the nation together, Celestia nervously gave an extra duty to her spies. Their search proved the sycophant Daybreaker accused had indeed diverted and embezzled food for profit. The resulting trial established Celestia’s new reputation as omniscient even as it unsettled her own nerves. Daybreaker was clearly a source of knowledge… but what if it lied?
Daybreaker heard, and answered with a haughty sniff. “Don’t you fret, my dear mask, I have no reason to. I want what’s best for us, and the truth sides with me.”
“So you say, my shadow,” Celestia returned. Those became their pet words for each other: mask and shadow. Celestia did not worry, for she was the one who ruled. Daybreaker advised her with hard talk of executions and displays of power as the kingdom healed, and time after time Celestia cheerfully refused. Equestria was rebuilt with fellowship and forgiveness in mind. She even tutored some of the old squabblers, turning them into capable statesmen.
One proved an especially brilliant financier, a fact Celestia coyly offered to Daybreaker one evening. “Think of all the talent we’d have lost if I killed them like you said.”
Her smile disappeared as Daybreaker laughed out loud. “Oh my sweet mask, when will you learn? You can call yourself ‘princess’ all you like, but you are a god. You’ve gained nothing but a deepening delusion that we are dependent on others.”
Then, with a touch of bitterness, “Besides, of course he turned out well. You shoved in your hooves and made sure of it.”
“Then I’ll have to keep doing that,” Celestia said with airy dismissal. And this time, it was she who chuckled as they left the room.
Years passed. The financier retired, then died.
Daybreaker remained.
Its nature still puzzled Celestia, but she had grown used to the company. She came to learn that it read her heart, but not her mind unless the thoughts were specifically offered. Its sneering confidence exploded to anger at the smallest discourtesy of others, and it would demand brutal punishments for every perpetrator. Celestia would chide its tantrums, while Daybreaker would complain they had no reason to tolerate insult.
Every now and then, they found themselves in harmony. Riots had to be put down. Dark magicians would be hunted, and the things they summoned cast back to the abyss. And every now and then, a situation would call for a small, controlled show of force against would-be invaders. Daybreaker would agree, and the griffons or whatnot would disperse.
Celestia worried in those times, when she and her shadow concurred. She would always reappraise the facts, ensure she never fully trusted Daybreaker’s word, and remind herself she was the one in charge.
“I am not her,” Celestia told herself. “So long as this is true today, and so long as this is true tomorrow, all is well.”
The nature of her existence forced Celestia to give countless hours over to reading. Everything from technology to fashion had to be accounted for, lest the world’s change leave her behind.
“So refuse the change, you fool. Decide the fashion. Decide the technology. Disallow all else, anywhere.”
“Selfish,” Celestia muttered, squinting at her manuscript. A thesis from a free city’s university about obscure magic theories. It helped to be at the cutting-edge, although it would help more if the words stopped blurring.
A regal tisk. “Why do you torture us so?”
Celestia ignored her in favor of the professor’s testimony. “…Magic is like life: as it grows larger and more complex, its very nature begins to change. A light from a child’s horn may be compared to bacteria, simple and mindless. Yet objects of large magical power (Elements of Harmony, Alicorn Amulet, etc.) have demonstrated a level of intelligence and understanding far in advance of our own. Magic becomes sapient as it grows, or so the theory runs, which in turn creates its own theory: what of the immense wellspring that exists within the noble ruler of Equestria? It is not shackled to an object or place, but exists indistinguishably from the font of any pony’s magic – the soul. It may well be that Celestia the pony and Celestia the mighty do not share perspectives. One may have felt the hardships of flesh and so been made kindly, while the other, stronger Celestia remains proud for her incomprehensible might. The same may have been true for Princess Luna, if she existed, that the pony lost to the mighty – the mask lost to the soul – and so released Nightmare Moon. One shudders at the consequences if Princess Celestia ever–”
Gold magic slammed the book shut. Celestia felt a stirring of sleepy awareness within her. Daybreaker had sensed the discomfort but missed the words.
“What troubles us?” Daybreaker asked.
Celestia sniffed. “Nothing. The words of a self-important academic tossing out baseless little theories.”
Daybreaker felt her anger. And it had a way of smelling her lies, but this was no lie. The sun princess was quite positive she was the real and only Celestia.
Still, it was time for a break.
Years decayed into decades. Decades flowed like rivers, and Daybreaker remained.
In a dream during the third century, they came face-to-face at last. Celestia met her shadow and saw a fiery, fanged, joyful and twisted mirror of herself, and could not help but recall Nightmare Moon.
“Come,” Daybreaker said, stretching her flame-licked wings. “I will show you the way.”
They flew together into a city of dreams. Brass columns lined walkways where ponies trod beneath a too-large sun. Celestia saw markets bustling without coin, and a hundred huge buildings of a countless variety. Pyramids and domes, and strange cathedrals where beings of all kind knelt in prayer to golden images of the sun. Ten thousand endless braziers flared throughout the city, adding to the already-sweltering heat as ponies mined gold, harvested citrus, and prayed. She saw Daybreaker lounging in a tremendous brass palace that somehow burned without destruction, while crowds outside shouted their thanks to the one who delivered them from suffering.
Celestia pondered the call as she walked invisible down the streets. Suffering? She had to admit, there was none to be seen. No money, and no crime. No sign of war or evidence of its memory. Ponies toiled fairly, lived simply, and perished from only accident and illness. The sun gave them food and peace… was it really wrong that it be praised? Celestia chewed an orange, her wary search for Daybreaker’s evil giving way to a pleasant sense of defeat. Creating such a world would be hard, certainly, but surely worth the effort. One generation of strife to create peace for all that came after.
Good-natured as ever, Celestia began to admit she was wrong. She loved peace and loved the betterment of ponies’ lives. Daybreaker would provide both, and so her thinking went until Luna came into view.
The sight alone – the familiar dark blue, the narrow muzzle – was shock enough enough to change the dream. Celestia shivered, feeling sweaty and uncomfortably hot, and tossed the orange aside. The mugginess of the air robbed her energy, and all she could do was follow her sister. The blue face more used to frowns and grumbling held a bland, sleepy smile as Luna carried bananas to a massive temple, walking among the crowds.
Luna hated crowds, but here she was a unicorn, and had no wings to fly above.
Celestia watched as Luna prayed to the sun, then followed the young sister onward. After the prayer she slept, then she gathered food and returned to prayer. The same routine came the next day, and the day after. The strange logic of dreams caused years to pass, and Luna grew and aged without one step sideways from the appointed tasks.
Gather food, pray, sleep. On and on. None of the astronomy that once brought rare smiles to Luna’s face. None of her brilliant, moody paintings or regal leadership. No sign of a sister in her life. Luna died an old mare, and her seat at the temple was taken by the financier.
Celestia flew upwards and gazed down – the city gleamed, yes, and the jungles around it flourished. But Griffonstone was a wasteland, and oceans had devoured the coasts. She flew low, and searched the buildings. Temples from every culture, but not one library in the whole metropolis. No hospital, theater, or coffee shop. Not even a school. The only teaching came from Celestia’s priests.
“Not mine.” Celestia corrected the errant thought. She had seen enough. She tucked in her wings and dove to the ground, rousing her mind to a sweat-soaked and chilled awakening.
Daybreaker was there. It always was. It scolded Celestia, sensing her disgust. “That is what you want. Peace. Order. Happiness. What is wrong, you temperamental mask? My world is perfect, or near as any world can be.”
“I did not see any changelings or griffons,” Celestia replied. “And our sister was not our sister.”
She saw Daybreaker in her mind’s eye, summoned by either imagination or malign will. Its fanged mouth stretched into a grin, and the voice said, “As I told you: perfect.”
Daybreaker had been a friend before that night. It and Celestia argued and mocked each other, but they planned together as well. Daybreaker was a fiend, but she was a fiend on Equestria’s side, who gave advice she thought was right. Celestia had even asked her shadow’s opinions, believing firmly that wise decisions could come from any side.
That was before she knew what Daybreaker wanted.
“What we want.”
“Hush,” Celestia murmured. She chided herself for giving clues with her emotions, but they could not be helped. That hot world of stillness, ignorance and idolatry… no. She hated it, and hated Daybreaker.
“You hate yourself?”
“You’re not me,” Celestia replied with both chill and heat.
“Then what am I?”
She had no easy response, and so the thing laughed. Celestia rallied and said, “We are finished. The world you hope for is a hideous thing, and I will do nothing to bring us to it. You are not trusted or welcome, so make this the last day we speak.”
Daybreaker laughed again, drawing a shudder into Celestia’s body. It felt her fear, and laughed louder. The voice that followed had no defensive edge or exploding rage. Just cool, regal confidence as Celestia heard, “That is fine. I told you before – the truth favors me, and you’ll see it for yourself one day.”
Celestia said nothing in response. There was nothing to debate.
...And much to plan.
More centuries came and went. Daybreaker kept its word, yet even in the silence Celestia knew she was never alone. Her shadow could still its words, but not its heart. She felt Daybreaker’s hot white anger in vulnerable moments when it mingled with her own – when she watched the moon, crying for the sister she never found time to mourn, and an idiot courtier arrived with some meaningless proposal. Or when a trusted minister of thirty years was found to have stolen funds from her very first day. These moments would slap Celestia, the rage would bubble over as she knew how just and right it would be to destroy...
She would then take a cool breath of air, recall the brass temples of her dream, and remain the good and wise Princess Celestia. Daybreaker would not win. Celestia would not be Daybreaker today or tomorrow, and so all would be well. She repeated the mantra after each such episode, and each time the image of a fanged smile wormed its way into her mind.
More centuries. Now, a thousand years since Luna fell.
The millennium had been prosperous, a fact Celestia attributed to her obsessive love of plans. An endless and ever-evolving network of contingencies and schemes had prevented wars, avoided market crashes, and even preempted plagues that could otherwise wreck the nation.
Celestia had studied the prophecies concerning her sister. Astronomers confirmed their claims, and astrologers verified the signs. Nightmare Moon was coming back, and so Celestia made a new plan. A candidate for the Element of Magic was selected and groomed. Portents and mundane legwork established Ponyville as the place to send her when the time came, with backup schemes ready if the gamble failed.
Yet Celestia’s warm heart beat throughout the cynical plans. Young Twilight Sparkle was not reared with dispassion as a mere asset, but with the genuine warmth Celestia gave all who touched her life. Perhaps even more so for Twilight, for the girl carried a special hope on her way to Ponyville. It was possible Twilight would save Luna along with Equestria, and that was a magnificent notion. Celestia gave in to fantasy in the last hours, letting her heart soar with anticipation of better days to come.
Too late did she realize her folly. Daybreaker saw the images in her heart and released a rage beyond any Celestia had ever felt. It seared her brain, and Celestia could not help but cry wordlessly with the thing’s eternal hate as it broke the long silence with a scream.
“NO! TRAITOR KILLER DEVIL SISTER HATE FOREVER, she will destroy us!”
Insane anger had destroyed Daybreaker’s cultured language. Not just anger, though, but terror approaching reckless panic. Celestia trembled, flaring her wings with the need to fly. Then, when Nightmare Moon arrives exhausted from her journey, Daybreaker will obliterate with fire the traitorous sibling who abandoned her.
Celestia snapped her wings closed. “She can be saved. That is enough.”
Daybreaker went on, but its voice gave Celestia pause. The raging roar gave way to a fearful whine as the thing said, “I see it, my mask! I see that her return will bring great danger that we cannot oppose. Trust me as you once did, and destroy her! I’ll not have you risk us for your petty sibling love.”
“You did not hear me,” Celestia said coldly. “We are not doing this because she is my sister. We are doing this because she can be saved. Now be silent.”
A defensive snarl marred the reply. “I’ll not be silent while you endanger everything we’ve worked for.”
“Fine!” Celestia called out loud. “Complain and stamp your hooves. It will only prove you have no hold on me.”
“You’ll see.” Seething, bitter, Daybreaker gave both warning and threat before returning to silence. “I am honest with you. I always was.”
Celestia’s victory proved perfect on the outside. Luna was liberated, and her embrace with Celestia trembled with uncontrollable love. Twilight stood ready to grow further as a pony, filled with such infinite potential Celestia could see it shimmer in her wake. All Equestria was in song, and its sun princess sang loudest of all.
Within her breast, though, the battle was not won. She would see Twilight’s potential as a magic dam about to burst, and could not help the terror which gripped her heart. Twilight would become strong as Celestia if left alone, best to nip that problem in the bud.
Celestia would shake the thought, turn to Luna, and feel hot anger replace cold fear. The traitor sister who left her alone. ‘Co-ruler’ in name only, sitting fat on a thousand years of Celestia’s hard work without the slightest punishment for her crimes.
They were disturbing, these unwanted pangs of emotion. Daybreaker sent them to her in the past, but never before had Celestia’s mind followed along. It drifted, giving in to the bitter tangents before self-awareness brought her out. Sometimes it took minutes, and Celestia wondered if they were getting longer.
Worrisome, to say the least. Enough so that some weeks later she said to Daybreaker, “Stop feeding me your emotions.”
A derisive snort rattled between her ears. “Is it so strange that, wise as we are, we see the danger Twilight Sparkle represents? Or the transparent idiocy of returning our sister to the throne? I feed you nothing. You’re merely awakening to the dangers created by your endless forgiveness.”
“I am not,” Celestia said, an idea’s ghost coming to her mind. “And I believe I will prove it.”
“How?”
Celestia gave no answer. She strode back to her duties, guarding her thoughts against Daybreaker. Glee leaked from her heart, and she relished the cold shiver it sent in return.
Perhaps the course Celestia chose was foolish, but it would not be done foolishly. Schemes, contingencies, plans – these were her hallmarks, and she did not abandon them.
She kept the heart cold as she worked. No passion. No clue for Daybreaker to grasp. All the same, she braced as the plan came to fruition.
“Discord.”
The mad king, released from his marble prison to the care of Twilight’s band. No one was beyond redemption, and Celestia was going to prove it.
She braced for rage when the plan was made known. Surely, her shadow would throw its tantrum. Surely it would seize Celestia’s emotions and try to force violence.
Stone turned to patchwork flesh, and no rage came. Nor did it come when she departed, or slept. Not even the next day, when Celestia returned to find the plan a success. Discord bowed before her, promising to use his powers for good as his proud new friends looked on.
No rage. Just a dark, distance chuckle at the end, and a quiet promise. “My poor, naive mask. You will see.”
Tantabus – Luna’s literal demon, created for self-punishment yet strong enough to assault Equestria. Escaped, contained, and defeated without Celestia’s involvement or knowledge.
Brief thankfulness that her sister was cured gave way almost instantly to irritation in Celestia. An unscratchable itch drove her heart this way and that, bringing mood swings always hidden by her kindly smile. Familiar rage would burble its indignation that Luna would hide such a threat. Spite would follow, goading her mind down unworthy paths as it blamed her incompetent sister for this near miss, and then fear would remind her it was a very near miss indeed. She could not plan for something she did not know, and that realization turned the fear to a paranoia which consumed all else.
The court was dismissed. Celestia tore back to her office and began her plans. A dozen pages passed beneath her quill, accounting for every mad possibility the future might hold. Agrarian strike? Import from the Crystal Empire and negotiate with the workers. Collapse of Canterlot train tunnels? Use Wonderbolts as a ferry service for essentials. Changeling infiltration? Find their hive and destroy them all. Guard corruption? Launch inquiries and polls among low-ranking staff.
But what if Twilight went mad with power? What if Luna was using dreams to manipulate the populace? The dozen pages became hundreds as Celestia worked, the mind inventing two problems for every one solved.
In the end, a chance look to the clock proved sufficient shock to bring her out of the frantic search. She left to lower the sun an hour later than intended, and then trod slowly back to the office.
The spell was broken. Celestia reviewed her manic, half-remembered plans and began to discard them. Each was worthless, obvious, or
“Destroy them all.”
Her eyes lingered on the changeling plan before setting it aside. Not the last of its kind. Daybreaker’s will had slipped onto the pages.
“My shadow.”
The plans were tossed into the fireplace. Celestia sat down with a fresh sheet in front of her, touched quill to ink, and wrote one word.
“Daybreaker.”
She stared at it a moment, then continued to write. “I think I am losing. But I have a plan.”
Celestia averted her gaze as the pen lifted from the paper, and yellow magic tossed both into the fire.
Paranoia aside, Celestia was hardly blind to realistic threats. She had contingencies for Discord’s betrayal. She had designs in place to meet Tirek’s return.
That the pair would ally was… something she lacked a plan for.
What followed was a race of blind moves, desperate innovations, and seven torturous hours of imprisonment in Tartarus. Said innovations bore fruit, and near as Celestia could tell Twilight had won handily. Tirek was defeated, and the Tree of Harmony had apparently seen fit to gift the young princess a castle.
Difficult though the day had been, Celestia felt peace as she wandered the fresh-grown halls. Harmony was an ancient, wise magic. It’s favor of Twilight spoke well of both her power and goodness.
All such thoughts deserted Celestia as she rounded the corner and found Discord, standing there with the others.
“TRAITOR TRAITOR KILL HIM! ALMOST DESTROYED US! TRAITOR KILL KILL!”
The rage was back, and Celestia gave it no protest. What little awareness she held at that moment could not tell if the words were Daybreaker’s or hers, or if there was a difference after all. Molten heat bubbled up through her horn, and one instant before it would have made itself known she saw the flowers.
Dandelions and daisies. Her favorites.
Discord gave neither eye contact nor words as he proffered them, instead looking away with a sad little smile. A slight tilt of the bouquet presented a pink card pinned to its side that read, “Sorry.”
“AS IF THAT EVEN BEGINS TO ACCOUNT FOR HIS DEED!”
But the voice was no longer Celestia’s. She accepted the flowers with a kindly smile, paying no heed to the firestorm in her brain.
Celestia sat down for breakfast. Luna was not at her place, but that was not a strange event.
The seat was occupied. Celestia looked up from her pancakes to see the full body of Daybreaker for the first time since the fateful dream. Sitting in Luna’s chair, its fanged mouth closed in an uncharacteristically calm frown.
“I am worried.”
Seeing Daybreaker in her waking moments was a surprise, but not so much that Celestia’s poise deserted her. She held up a pitcher. “Coffee?”
Daybreaker ignored the jibe. “Time and again you risk everything. Luna. Discord. Twilight. And more. It will be the end of us.”
“If I destroyed those three, you would pick out a fourth.” Celestia raised her own coffee and took a sip. “Crises came, and were handled. With, might I add, no assassination of our beloved family.”
Daybreaker hissed at Celestia’s indifferent tone. “Spare me your pretty little words. I am right, and you will see it one day. I don’t know how, but it will happen. You will be betrayed by a friend of ages, without even Luna or Discord’s weak excuses. You will find the ponies corrupted beneath you by the indulgent freedom you offer. Or perhaps some impossible threat will rise that requires your full majesty to defeat, and you will find the power to your liking. Ten or a hundred years from now the folly of others will be so great that even you cannot deny the truth – we alone stand between the world and oblivion, and shall rightfully rule it as the prize justly won.”
Celestia’s heart wondered at the truth, and of course Daybreaker saw. But her brain yet ruled, and so she stirred the coffee with an idle spoon. “I wonder if that old scholar was right, and you and Nightmare Moon are the same. It is discouraging to learn my sister lost to a personified temper tantrum, but she was young, and must be excused.”
“Maintain your games, for I expect nothing less.” Long teeth glinted as Daybreaker gave a snarling grin. “Deny me, lie to yourself. Call me ‘shadow’ as though I am the mere darkness in your wake. We both know the truth – I am the you that is free of convention, unshackled by the soft attachments to which you cling. How many betrayals can you endure, hm? How many risks will you take before you are crushed by the facts? You forgave Luna, and she unleashed the Tantabus. Discord, and he betrayed you to Tirek. You nearly cracked, my dear mask. One day you will crack for good.”
Celestia took another sip. The snarl faded from Daybreaker, and it reached out a hoof. The voice grew softer than ever spoken before, and took on a pleading tinge. “You resist what you know to be true. You resist me. Why do you fight so hard to put yourself and your world in danger?”
“It is not my world alone,” came Celestia’s response.
“I am worried.” The voice grew softer still. The face, sad and sympathetic. “Please. At least try to see things my way. Try to see my reasons and meet me halfway. For the sake of yourself and your ponies.”
Another sip. Celestia set down her coffee.
No emotions. Daybreaker was blind, waiting to hear the answer.
“You are convincing,” Celestia admitted.
She picked up the cup once more. “Corruption always is.”
Daybreaker vanished with the final sip. But Celestia was not alone. “So be it. We await the next tragedy of your gullible life, and the inevitable day you become what you are meant to be.”
More years passed. Peaceful years, which would not last forever.
“A question, Luna.”
The sisters were spending a late evening together over a chessboard. Luna with coffee to prepare her for the night, and Celestia with an atrocious glass of wine. It held a thick, coppery taste that reminded her uncomfortably of blood, with a deep red color to match.
Luna was a master of dry wit. “That is my name, not a question.”
Celestia acknowledged the joke with a quick smile and pressed on. “There is a theory, that I have forgotten the name of. Something along the lines of, ‘If a million blind ponies pounded on a million typewriters for a thousand years, they will one day create a masterpiece.’”
The narrow blue muzzle bobbed with Luna’s nod. “I have not heard that exact phrase, but I know of what you speak. The theory that a highly-improbable event will likely come to fruition if presented enough chances.”
“Will ‘inevitably’ come to fruition,” Celestia corrected. “If every day brings a fresh chance, is its success inevitable?”
Luna shrugged and drank the last of her coffee. “Odd. You never were a mare for undefined musings.”
“That is why I come to you,” Celestia said. That earned a smile from her sister, making this talk already worthwhile.
“Give a moment. It is early for such heavy questions.” Luna’s grumble drew a chuckle from both, and they completed their game to its usual draw. Idle small talk filled the last moments, with the younger stretching her wings and Celestia sipping politely at the wine.
Finally, Luna gave a deft nod. “Yes, sister. I of course cannot prove it, but if the improbable is given enough time, it does indeed become inevitable.”
Celestia saw fangs open in her mind, and heard the victorious laughter bellow forth.
She smiled, and hugged her sister. Said that she loved her, and quietly swore to repeat it every day for as long as she had left.
The laughter went on. Images of brass pillars and temples crowded Celestia’s imagination as Luna departed. Celestia settled onto their parlor couch, holding the coppery wine aloft in magic’s grip. She weathered the onslaught with the calm and steady frown of one who had learned nothing new.
Long moments passed. More laughter, and then a hissed and mocking word. “Inevitable.”
Her face stone, her heart cold, Celestia finally responded. “She will fight when you emerge.”
Daybreaker responded with molten glee. “We will crush her. Luna is no match for the Unfettered Sun.”
“True.” Still cold, Celestia gave a brief and stern nod. “Twilight will fight as well.”
“Good!” the thing shouted. “I can defeat them both. You know this well.”
Celestia nodded again. “This is true. But what of Cadence?”
This time, silence formed the answer. Celestia took a careful sip of the bloody wine and went on with perfect neutrality. “What of the Elements of Harmony? They have challenged alicorns, and won. What of Discord’s impossible magic, and Flurry Heart’s growing strength? And Shining Armor and Starlight Glimmer? What of Good King Thorax, with the might of a race’s love?”
Her face was stone. Her heart cold. Her brain calm.
Such things were of infinite use when enacting a plan.
Even Celestia’s voice was the soft, gentle tone she lent to bedtime stories. “I cannot defeat them all.”
Again, the response was silence. Daybreaker saw the plan, and it was too late.
“I pity you,” Celestia said with utmost calm. “A thousand years seeking a world you shall never have.”
The screaming began, loud enough to rattle her brain. It went on for seconds, minutes. Perhaps it would never end.
That was alright. The mare who called herself Celestia gave a thin, cold smile. She drained the last of her wine and decided it was not so bad, after all.
