A War

Chapters

Looking Ahead
Press Release and Eff Stop
Stop at the Donut Place
Speech
A Grand Flight
Head in the Clouds
Hours to Go
Halfway to Middle North Point
To Ask for Help
Pre-dawn
Known Unknowns
Novo Riche
Train of Thought
Vanhoover
Getting Across
From Friday Morning to Saturday Noon
A Heart
Seven Days
Call
Wonderbolt Show
Cherry Fizzy and a Rock Farm
Somepony's Ideology
Toward a Manehattan Stay
Visit
Close to the Front
News among Other Things: Threat
Safety
Rivers and Streams
Letter Telling
Up and About
Defiance
News among Other Things: Tension
Quick Exit
For the Cause
Asymmetry
Miser's Dream
Brooks
News among Other Things: Summer Moves In
Solstice
Morning Royal Rounds
An Evening for a President
Aux Armes
To be on Leave
News among Other Things: Zero In
Descent
A Crumbling Pedestal
An Assistant's Sweater
Threshold
Thoughtful Reflection
Beyond Remark
Away
Out of the Frying Pan
Whether Right or Wrong
Tied Down
A Glimpse of Their Town
Star Hill, Cash Heeled
Crystal Pony Complex
Causality and Custody
A Continuation of Autumn
Over the Course of a Day
Arrowed Plan
Varado
Trouble's Onset
Arctic Lily
Willow Bales
Over a Cup of Tea
Seasonal Transition
Colder
Yearning for Home Fires
Warming Up
Lockdown
When the Bells Ring
Entering the Black Market
What Desperate Times Call For
Not Free to Destroy
Disturbing the Peace
A Civilian's Last Day
Resocialization
La Calamité
Routines
Debate and Books
Encountering a Fluke
Sticking with It
Night Glider
Unknown Knowns
No Celebration
Bronclyn
Tender Taps
One Romance Here, One Romance There
Funeral
Final Words
Fly by Owl
Daring Do
Conscience
To Fog a Mirror
Conscience Suppressed
Unsettled Dust
Cinders
Bread and Butter
A Mare's Quiet
Check is in the Mail
Fried Dough
Press Release
Looking Back
Morning Calm
Morning Alarm
Anarchy of Bread
News among Other Things: Convocation
News among Other Things: Rules and Orders
Scootaloo's Inspiration
Preparations
Criminal Acquaintances
Hearts on Sleeves
Faring Well
Starting From the Donut Place

Looking Ahead

The kitchen, which also served as the dining room, was a simple thing. Wooden planks made up the floor, wooden cabinets lined up the walls, pans and ladles (among other kitchenware) hung under overhanging shelves; a wall of blue and sea-green design, and a window that brought in the calming morning sunlight with its rays and beams piercing through, lighting up a patch of the floor.

At the table sat the family. Apple Bloom, the youngest of the bunch, scarfed down the stack of pancakes before her. She was overshadowed by her bigger brother, Big McIntosh, who, upon seeing all the pancakes gone in mere moments, rubbed her on the head, his enormous hoof almost throwing her pink hair ribbon away.

She smiled. "Ah, c'mon, Big Mac!"

"Ya' better get to bitin' real' soon!" Granny Smith interrupted—the oldest of the family, her mane whitened. "You've been here for almost half an hour!"

The door slammed open.

"Look!" Applejack yelled, holding up the newspaper, headline at the front.

"Now, what are ya' gabbing about?" Granny said firmly, glaring at her. "I was wonderin' where you've been!"

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh were already looking at the newspaper—Apple Bloom jumped out of her chair and walked up to her sister. "Wha-What's going on, Applejack?"

Big Mac got out of his chair, too, sliding it out with visible creases on the floor.

The two read the headline.

And gasped.

"We're at war?!" Apple Bloom shouted—shock in her voice.

"War?!" Granny repeated—and then got up out of her chair.

"B-but how?!" Apple Bloom went on, a hoof on her cheek.

"I read everything 'bout it the very second I got to it!" Applejack explained. "Apparently, remember that new city that grew up from the ground a few days ago?"

"Ya' mean the Crystal Empire there in the North?" Granny Smith said. "That thing we've all read in our 'istory books?""

"Yeah, that city," Applejack said, nodding rapidly, still holding the newspaper. "The king of that place, well, is invading Equestria right...uh, now!"

"Now?!" Apple Bloom screamed before shuddering, holding Big Mac's leg as he rubbed her head—now in a comforting way. "W-We'll be together, right?"

Applejack dropped the newspaper—a sturdy face of narrowed eyes. "We're the Apple family," she began—solemn. "We've been through the rough an' tough, the hard and tumblin'. If we could get past those times, then we're gonna be just fine."

"Well!" Granny exclaimed, grabbing the newspaper.

All eyes were on her.

"Peace o' war, the least we could all do is feed the ponies!"

Applejack and Big Mac nodded.

"And you, too, Apple Bloom!" Granny said, eyeing her.

She nodded, too.

"I, for one, don't want the Apple family to go down selfishly! So, that better motive all o' us!" Granny pointed at all three of them—and then to herself.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"Wait! Ya' better eat yer' breakfast first—can't work well with empty stomachs!"

The sun was a bit higher now in the sky, certainly a good distance above the distant mountains with a city's tiny silhouette sticking out.

In the numerous fields of Sweet Apple Acres, the apples trees in their neat rows stood tall, towering above the average pony. Their red, juicy apples were hanging—some of them dangling—high up on the branches. With so many apple trees present in these fields, the amount of apples that could be seen was a staggering amount.

Then, grunts, kicks, rustles, and thuds.

The three Apple siblings were at work: Big McIntosh kicked, in succession, each apple tree with his hind legs; all the apples fell with each of his kick and they fell into the positioned baskets below. Applejack also kicked the trees with her hind legs, causing all of them to fall as well—with Apple Bloom moving around and catching the apples by balancing the large wooden container on her head.

This went on with no words as, slowly but surely, row after row was cleared of apples, leaving the trees with just their leaves and branches and bark.

"Applejack!" a fancy voice called out. "Applejack!"

Her ears perked up, stopping her short trip to the next tree. "Rarity?" She looked at Big Mac.

Big Mac nodded.

"It's alright, sis'!" Apple Bloom said, waving at her while still holding the container on her head. "I'm sure it won't be long."

She sighed. "I hope you're right."

Then, she galloped off the fields on to the fenced dirt path that split them into two.

Rarity groaned as she tapped her hoof and brushed her mane by levitating a comb through her mane. She stood alone, with acres and acres of apple trees surrounding her.

"If only she could have attended!" she muttered. "That way, I would not have to do the dirty work of reminding her about what she must have heard already if she were responsible."

Hoofsteps.

She looked to the side. "Oh, look who's here," Rarity said, lowering her eyes and adopting a rude tone. "the only pony who missed out on a very important business."

Applejack moaned as she hopped over the fence and landed in front of the posh pony. "I'm not as uniformed as you think, Rarity! I got the newspaper and that was enough for me."

"So did everypony else, darling," Rarity said. "But, you were absent at Mayor Mare's speech."

"I'm pretty sure that I could get caught up to date with everything when I trot my way there," Applejack replied, a bit haughty herself. "It's not like everypony will magically ignore me just because I missed a speech."

Rarity sighed—grumbling under her breath. "You don't have to go to Ponyville to know, because the mayor sent me to her to tell you."

"Ya' memorized her entire speech?" Applejack said, smirking. "I'm impressed."

"What? No! I'm not here to waste my time reciting an entire adress verbatim!"

"So, le me guess—yer' gonna tell me the essential points, right?"

Rarity grumbled even more. "Yes. I could've been done by now if you did not stoop to delaying me about."

"Why didn't ya just say so?" Applejack asked, smirking again.

Rarity sighed again. "Alright—I myself don't want to waste your time either. Let's reconcile, ignore our squabbles, because if we don't, we're wasting everypony's time in something as dagnerous as this."

"Sudden change o' heart, huh?" Applejack said, still smirking. Then, a frown. "Yeah."

Rarity cleared her throat.

Applejack moved closer.

The two ponies stood on the path.

"The mayor called for volunteers to join Equestria's fighting force. Then, she requested everypony else that we should dedicate at least some of our working hours for the cause. The more we bring in, the sooner this war will end and everyone will be happier." And, she smiled.

Applejack lifted an eyebrow—a face of doubt. "That's it?"

"Well, I had to give you the essential points—nothing more, nothing less."

"Ya' could've sent me a letter!"

"Lots of ponies are not in their right mind now, including me!" Rarity exclaimed. "I didn't expect a war to come up this morning! I was planning to finish some special orders from Manehattan! I bet you didn't expect a war to come up today, too!"

"At least I'm already working for the cause," she retorted, pointing to herself and closing her eyes. "Providing the food for the town and even the nearby villages—we've been doing all that without havin' to be told. I'm certain that ponies won't be askin' for frou-frou dresses when they're facin' an army."

"How else will trade go on?!" Rarity said, lifting a hoof in the air. "I'm working for the economy! I'm working so that there'll be more bits for Equestria!"

And a hoof on her head.

"Rarity, I know yer' goin' crazy, but this is too much even for you."

Applejack lowered Rarity's head—the unicorn's face unflinching from its wide-eyed expression. Then, she let go.

She sighed.

"My apologies, Applejack," Rarity said—somewhat contrite in how she said it—"but these are extraordinary times! I have not planned nor even preplanned any of this—"

"And—" slowly trotting her way back to the fence "—you better be going. Funny, ain't it, being the pony who doesn't wanna waste anypony else's time?"

One last smirk under that simple country hat.

It was Rarity's turn to sigh before she turned around—"Then, farewell, Applejack."

A hop over the fence, back on to the fields, and—"Goodbye to you, too."

She waved at the walking unicorn—who then went on galloping.

Apple Bloom put down one more full container of apples, setting it beside the now-empty tree. Just beside her, Big Mac pummeled down yet another tree, bringing down yet another hoofful of apples—with Apple Bloom moving fast, jumping here and there, catching all the new apples without missing a single one.

Hoofsteps.

The two looked there, toward the path. "So, what did she say?" Apple Bloom asked, trotting up to her.

Big Mac, meanwhile, gave her a nod before kicking down still another tree—with its own set of apples falling down.

"Didn't tell me much," Applejack said, walking up on the clean grass to an unkicked apple tree, facing her sister. "She's gettin' mad over somethin' not that urgent. I already knew 'bout serving Equestira through this hard time—that's all she said, plus her goin' the usual motions."

"Of beratin' you?" Apple Bloom guessed, tilting her head a little in that guess.

Another kick, another group of apples.

"You could say that," Applejack said, looking wistfully at the blue sky where a few clouds were drifting by. Then, looking back down on her—with a swinging hoof and a tempered smile—"But, let's get back to work!"

And the three continued on in kicking down the apple trees, collecting the apples into baskets and then bushels.

A few birds perched on a tree's branch.

The tree was unique amongst the other trees in Ponyville. It was a stout tree—its thick bark implying a great resistance to force, but that could be said of a lot of trees in various forests. What truly made this tree unique was that it was fitted to be a library—for a sign standing beside the only door had an image of a book.

Glass windows of inconsistent designs were the sun's paths to liven up the inside—some windows were typical with their uniform straight lines, other windows were grated with diamond-like schemes, still others appeared organic and had tree-like frames about them. The roof, from the outside, was covered in dense foiliage—right then, two nests were housed on this canopy of leaves. The balconies and the entrance itself were also graced with ceiling-like covers of leaves—these ones different from the "main" roof since they had flowers sprouting up.

Inside was a grand circular room—that smell of musty wood and dusty books. The centerpiece was a rudely formed table with a stylized statue of a pony's head on top. The windows brought in the sunlight, beautifying the interior by letting the beams flow freely, shedding light on a few closed books that happened to be there. The bookshelves carved into the walls—not to mention a few cabinets also carved into the walls as well. The shelves were mostly full, many of them showing signs of disregard—not only dust but the yellowing of pages, too. Only certain titles garnered themselves the honor of being well-read—special among them was the row of "Daring Do" books: They were clean, sparkling, and still had bright white pages. The wooden stairs—with pink hearts engraved on each step—led to the second floor of the wooden library, but most of that could not be seen from the library proper.

Rarity and Mayor Mare walked about—Rarity in a tip-toe manner.

"What would you suggest be done with the Golden Oak Library?" the mayor asked, eyeing Rarity.

"Hmm." Her horn glowed as she floated a ladder from the ground and propped it up in front of a bookshelf. "It could serve as emergency shelter—it could hold up to quite a dozen ponies."

"Other than that," the mayor said, sounding disappointed—fixing her glasses. "I already thought of that one."

Rarity's horn stopped glowing. "It could do well as a general meeting place. The main area here is perfect for spreading the news to all of us here in an orderly fashion."

"That's good," Mayor Mare said, nodding as she bobbed her head up and down while skimming the shelves. "But, what about the books themselves?"

Rarity's eyes opened up at that. "Surely, you're not considering them as useless, mayor—are you?"

"The opposite, actually." She turned around to face Rarity. "I was thinking of transporting them to a safer location."

"Safer location?" Rarity repeated—about to stammer, a hoof forward. "I beg your pardon, but that would make the Golden Oak Library...only the Golden Oak."

"I'm a cautious mare," the mayor said, raising her voice a little. "We do not have enough unicorns to perform a shield spell for a library, and, honestly, a shield spell is more useful for places like the town hall with its archives or certain section of the houses here or Sugarcube Corner. And, the Crystal Empire has just emerged; what weapons do they wield?"

Rarity took in a deep breath. "It could be used as a defense position."

The mayor raised an eyebrow. Then, a smile crept up on her face. "Good idea, Rarity!"

"Well, if that is a good idea, what will we defend it with?"

Mayor Mare's smile quickly disappeared.

"You're right," the mayor said, pacing about.

Rarity's ears flayed, a subtle frown on her face. "I've never been a librarian nor a book lover myself, mayor, but..."

And, she trailed off, looking away to the open door through which she could see the streets of Ponyville.

A general panic still about, as several ponies talked loudly, boisterious. Others were clattering their teeth even as they spoke—or tried to speak—about what to do and what they did not want to lose. Some were already crying, but most of the ponies had not gone that route—they were just looking at each other, buying and selling and eating and drinking and walking and talking and flying and running without an ordinary smile but with a neutral face, a face that spoke neither a plain happiness or a plain sadness but a fear, a watchful fear.

No wonder, then, that the ponies shifted their eyes about frequently that morning.

Ponyville's train station was a modest place—too modest, maybe, for it looked worn and somewhat run down. Two buildings: the station itself, with signs of trains on it, and the guard station where a few ponies in no uniform at all looked about themselves with sharp eyes. Both buildings had hay roofs.

The shrilling whistle of an incoming train could be heard; one look to the left, past a tall green tree, and a colorful train was chugging on, closer and closer to Ponyville.

The only pony there, standing on the boarding platform, was Press Release—a unicorn mare with a roll of film as her cutie mark. With frizzled orange mane, a brimmy hat, and camera around her neck, she eyed the train over there in the horizon.

Press Release and Eff Stop

The colorful train looked as if it came out of a railroad-themed cake. The pink locomotive had lots of hearts incorporated into its style: heart-shaped lights under a big headlight which had its own outline of a heart shape while a heart-shaped window served as the front one. Puffs of ringed white smoke were pushed out of the pipe, forming a beautiful, hazy trail as the train moved on though decelerating. The carriages themselves were of a variety of bright colors—aside from pink, there was purple, brown, yellow, cyan. A wide green door was on one of the carriages—closed, for now, as if it was just another part of the carriage that no passenger should go through (unless the passenger was a unicorn—then, teleportation might be a viable option).

The train finally stopped, its wheels motionless and the pipe producing a persistent stream of steam.

The door slid open.

Not a lot of ponies were exiting the train. Among them was a frazzled, bushy eyebrowed business pony haggard with baggy eyes, darting to and fro, his once-slick mane becoming undone as he let his tie flow in the wind, galloping on—in a rural accent, "I hope Diamond and Spoiled are OK!" Another was a pair of unicorns—one, bulky and white with brown hair and a handlebar mustache; one, pink and stout with beehive-styled mane, tied yellow scarf, and shiny earrings. They, too, were panicking, though less exhausted; more anxious with sweat pouring down their faces as they galloped, too, out of the station. The last passenger to leave was an Earth pony with a farming hat that had an apple symbol on it—and, like the three before him, he was in a hurry to get out.

Press Release glanced at the running ponies—as if fleeing. Then, her mouth shuddered. "That's not a good sign."

She trotted inside the train.

Yellow walls, wooden dark green floor carpeted with a lighter green carpet rolling down through the carriage's center to the doors with their one window giving any onlooker a glimpse into who and what were in the next carriage; the windows with their drawn curtains, the cusioned seats that were similar to mattresses and were separated by transparent green dividers with their curved and curly patterns, the lights both on the ceiling and on the walls—between windows and beside the carriage doors—and the citrusy scent of the interior.

Press Release looked to her left and to her right.

A white pegasus, wearing a hat and a camera, waved at her—the only passenger left.

"Eff Stop?" Press Release spoke. "I thought you were staying in Appleloosa until tomorrow!"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Eff Stop said with a grave gravity.

She walked to his seat and plopped herself down beside him.

The carriage door slid closed.

"All aboard!" a deep voice cried out from another carriage.

The wheels chugged, though slowly at first, and the green landscape past the window slightly changed—fields of green grass, rolling in their vast length and width, as trees stood in their places, resisting the wind while the grass below swayed and bent; the clouds in the sky were wandering about, though a few pegasi were arranging some of those clouds—one of them, wearing a hat as well, was pointing to this and that point in the sky and a pegasus or two would go out and move a cloud there or push a cloud away. In the middle of it all were the mountains in the far-flung background, tinted by a mix of blue and green though still domineering.

"You're on your way to Canterlot, too?" Press Release asked, looking at him with curiosity.

"Have to," Eff Stop replied, putting his hat down to his left. "This is the biggest headline news anypony's ever seen since...since..." and his stammering came to a halt. "Since—I don't know!"

Press Release sighed. "Did you see this coming?"

The train was now moving faster, the individual blades of grass turning into an incoherent blur.

"I kind of expected something bad to happen," Eff Stop said. "Having a good portion of the E.U.P. Guard standing there wasn't helping anypony sleep well."

"You mean the ponies there or the ponies here?"

"Both." He rested his head on the divider, pulling out a pillow. "The Crystal ponies are scared because they didn't seem to be in any danger, and we are scared because we don't know why they're there. Canterlot officials say it's to serve as their 'paramilitary force' until they build up their own, but—you know what happened next."

Press Release looked down at the floor, her eyes downcast. "I...I..."

"What's wrong?" He moved closer, placing a hoof around her neck. "Don't tell me you're scared, too. You're the mare who's always right there at the scene."

Silence as she wiped her dry eyes. "Well, are you scared, too?"

"Nervous, yes," he said.

The train was at full speed—the trees, the grass, all but the distant mountains whizzing past them at a great pace.

Silence again.

"What does Sombra want?" Press Release said—tense. "What exactly?"

"Nopony's really sure," he replied—terse. "Some say that he just wants to take over the world. Pretty simplistic, but it's still nothing to sneeze at. I'll say that it's just looking for world domination."

A firm silence. "Anything else? Any statements from the Princess?"

"Where have you been?" Eff Stop asked, concerned and raising an eyebrow at her.

"I've been resting up in Ponyville—the only mail I received was the call to Canterlot and nothing else."

He groaned. "Their mail's getting crazy again. We really need to get a new set of mailponies."

A pause.

Now, Ponyville was just a little patch of yellow, white and purple from where they were—the climb getting steeper and steeper.

Eff Stop adjusted his posture on the seat. Facing Press Release, he said, "The Princess said just after raising the sun that Equestria should be ready for any surprises Sombra might pull. Then, half an hour later, she said that the E.U.P. guard—all of it—has been mobilized."

"All?" Press Release repeated, lifting a hoof to her chin, to her open mouth. "All...mobilized?"

Eff Stop lowered his head. "I have no idea who Sombra is and where he'll get the things he need to wage war on us, but if the Princess herself thinks that the whole guard is needed to defend Equestria—" He trailed off, looking out the window.

Ponyville was way down below, the train now at the cliff, on a narrow passageway as there was the craggy mountainside on one side of the carriage.

"Did she ask for volunteers?" she asked. "I overheard the mayor of Ponyville asking for volunteers for the guard."

"It's a plea from the Princess," he said—solemn. "A plea to volunteer. If that's not enough...you know what's next."

She nodded, a frown across her face.

More silence as the train moved on, now on a bridge hanging over a wide plethora of trees with a river winding through—on the other side, another set of mountains to go around.

"Where will you eat for lunch?" Eff Stop asked. "There's the donut place."

Hesitant for a while. Then: "Yeah, that would do nicely."

Eff Stop sighed. "Yeah. I agree."

He looked off out the window again, seeing the grand vista before him with Ponyville only a little spot over there.

"And, what do you want? I'll pay for everything."

Eff Stop raised an eyebrow again as he turned to her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I...think it's only right to do this since...I don't know what's gonna happen after we part ways."

"Me, too," he said. "But, just remember: We have telephones, we have letters, we have records. I'm sure we'll see each other. If there's a big happening, you'll be at the scene and, I guess, I'll be there, too."

The two smiled as they sat on the same cushioned seat, the train nearing Canterlot.

Stop at the Donut Place

The train decelerated, finally stopping in full at the Canterlot train station.

The station itself was an upgrade from the "plain old" one at Ponyville: Each wall had windows that were as tall and were almost as wide, giving anyone inside a commanding view of Canterlot beyond and giving anyone outside a good sweep of who's waiting inside—besides the ponies, there were also clocks ticking by, desks occupied by clerks and accountants writing away and talking to whoever is in front, rows of metal benches where ponies (and a griffon holding a suitcase) sat now eyeing the train that had just arrived, and potted plants beautifying the spacious waiting area at strategic points—ranging from mere flowers and shrubs to even tiny trees.

If the interior was beautiful, the exterior was lavish. Yellow bars, as of gold, alternated with those studded with diamonds between each section of the windowed walls; a big dome rose up from the center of the station, standing as an observatory post where ponies in serious-looking hats looked here and there and exchanged quick sentences with each other before moving their eyes back to the papers both on their tables and tacked on to their boards. Right above the wooden platform—this one made from a smoother cut of timber—was a grand clock, ticking with an audible tick.

Judging by the clock, it was just past noon.

Ponies had gathered on the wooden platform—no smiles on their faces, just anxious looks.

The big train door slid open and Press Release and Eff Stop went on to the platform, swinging their heads around as they beheld Canterlot.

Groans and sighs could be heard—"You were the only ponies on that train?!" a mare screamed before she was hushed by a nearby guard wearing yellow armor and yellow horeshoes.

Press Release glared at the offending mare before she and Eff Stop hopped off the platform and on to the street.

This city was a fancy one—there was no lack of opulence on display here, not even on the buildings themselves, for spires were common in that yellow-purple scheme. The walls were white—if not white then they were purple. The sidewalks and the roads were polished and clean, free from any trash or garbage (although not free from the carriages that sped through). The stores the reporters could see were already selling ostentatious items at extravagant prices—jewelry, watches, plates of small food acquiring bits that would not fit inside a large box. Scents of various perfumes and colognes filled the air—of flowers, of fruits, of vegetables, of woods, of seeds, of leaves, of spices—combining into a bomb of cosmopolitan fragrances where crossing the road would yield a slightly different whiff. No doubt that the perfumes and the colognes emanated from the fancy ponies walking about, dressed and suited in their showy many-frilled clothes all topped off with earrings and ties and fancy hats. One or two stallions were even wearing monocles.

Of course, that did not stop them from sporting worried faces nor halt the pouring of sweat nor restrain them from walking about in a more hurried manner—long strides and fast paces. Besides the carriages speeding through with their passengers holding their manes against the wind, there was a tense atmosphere throughout the esteemed city—no looking up with heads raised, there was murmuring all about punctuated with gasps and certain ponies galloping away. Several ponies—carrying suitcases and sacks of bits—were rushing about, already headed for the station and jumping inside. Distressed ponies of much wealth discussed amongst themselves with nervy eyes, hooves aching to run out at an instant's notice.

It was quiet, yet also somewhat noisy in Canterlot. At least this part of Canterlot.

"This is getting weirder," Press Release said, looking at Eff Stop.

He did not say a word—he kept looking around, camera ready though no flashes yet.

The two crossed the street, then walked on the sidewalk—windows of more rich items on display, estates and mansions of towering proportions and expensive taste with fountains and sprinklers, restaurants boasting of exquisite cuisine as the culinary flavors mingled with the fragrant scents and made something elegant and appetizing, big old-fashioned streetlights at regular intervals along the sidewalk.

They still did not stop the decorated ponies of Canterlot from wearing those anxious looks and faces, even watching the two reporters with suspicion before hastening their walk away.

"It's not everyday you see Canterlot all roiled up like this," Eff Stop said, snapping a few shots at this building and that group of ponies waving their hooves about in heated arguments. "It's unusual. To think that Canterlot is this calm and sophisticated place—to watch it all break down. Well, I wouldn't really say it's breaking down..."

Then, he looked to his side. No Press Release beside him.

"Press Release?" he asked.

And a glimpse of that mare entering an eatery of some sorts; there were tables filled with munching ponies past the narrow and tall windows.

The hatted pegasus looked up.

A sign of a big donut in pink icing.

Checkered patterns were under the windows and were on the floor of this place, with the floor looking like a chessboard. Pink tables and stools in pink fabric littered the eatery as ponies had platefuls and paper bag-fuls of donuts in front of them, their variety of colors matching the ponies' own. Lights were hanging from the ceiling on thick wires though they were not on now.

It smelled of sweets and sugar.

At the far end was the counter with its glass display of donuts of many different flavors: plain donuts, glazed donuts, chocolate donuts, strawberry donuts, peanut donuts; hole donuts or whole donuts, donuts with filling or donuts wihout filling, donuts or not donuts for there were bagels, too.

Sitting at the counter, on one of the swivel chairs, was Press Release.

Joe, the bulky unicorn donned in his white uniform and white hat—his cutie mark being a donut with pink icing—floated a plate of assorted donuts right in front of her. "Here you go, ma'am," he said in a rough voice, tinged with sombre.

"Thanks," she said as she grabbed the topmost donut—a plain one—and took a bite out of it.

Joe went on to another pony a bit far away along the counter.

Eff Stop sat right beside her, swiveling a little on his chair to face her completely. "Took no care to tell me, huh?"

She gulped the morsel down. She groaned. "Sorry, Eff Stop."

"Pressured, I know," he said. "But, remember: Hope that it will blow off soon and everything will be fine." He then took a donut from her plate.

Press Release rested her hoof on an angled hoof. "I know it's going to be fine, but..."

"But what?" He leaned forward, an expectant expression on him.

Press Release levitated the camera off of her neck. She plopped it on the counter, beside the donuts.

"Nevermind," she ended up saying, floating another donut to her face and examining it. She broke off a crumb. "What's the use of telling you the same thing?"

Eff Stop did not say anything.

The two remained silent as they munched on their donuts.

"You sure you'll be ready for Celestia's speech at sunset?" he asked.

"I hope a stroll's enough to get me up and going," she said.

"A walk in the park?" he offered, extending a hoof.

She smiled—a little. "Maybe after the donuts." Then, a giggle from her.

He smiled, too.

As they went on eating donuts, three unicorns at a table were eating donuts, too.

Speech

Those three unicorns had a lot more donuts on their table, a pyramid of them, even. One of them—a yellow one named Lemon Hearts—was grabbing donuts and stuffing her paper bag with them, sticking out her tongue.

The other two just watched her.

"Any way to freeze these donuts?" she asked the watching two in a serious tone—her hoof stopped in mid-air, inches away from yet another donut.

"Why are you doing that all of a sudden?" the white one, Twinkleshine, asked, raising a hoof with her question.

"You never truly know when disaster strikes," Lemon Hearts replied.

"Relax!" the blue unicorn, Minuette, said, gesturing around with that one word. She grabbed her friend across the table and held her shoulders. "They're far away from Canterlot. We have plenty of time to prepare our things if they're advancing, and that's if they're advancing. Don't you trust the royal guards?"

"Our incompetent royal guards?" Lemon Hearts asked back. Returning to stuffing her paper bag with donuts, she went on: "I don't know what's worse—falling into enemy hooves or being escorted by our royal 'guards.'" She rolled her eyes at that.

Twinkleshine leaned on the table. Spreading her forehooves out to her two friends, she said, "Girls, let's stop this fighting, OK? We have bigger problems than nit-picking each other's words!"

Lemon Hearts groaned as she stuffed a donut into her mouth.

Minuette stayed silent as she also grabbed a donut and ate one.

Twinkleshine eyed the both of them before resting on her stool, choosing not to eat.

At a street, there was a residential area—not as sensational as the others with their gaudy splendor, but they still spoke of wealth. Houses of two to three stories lined the road, adorned with greenery such as bushes and flowers and the occasional tree; most of the houses had wide stairs leading up to a custom door, each different from the ones beside it. The same black streetlights dotted the sidewalk, similar-looking ponies walked up and down in their similar-looking fashion and there were the same carriages going about at an astonishing speed.

The three unicorns carrying saddle bags walked up to one of those houses.

This violet brick home had its windows shaped like hourglasses. The entrance, too, was shaped like an hourglass but only more formal—the wooden blue door was framed in yellow to look like an hourglass and its window was shaped like an hourglass, too. Big white stairs led up to that door.

Minuette opened the door first but let her friends come inside before her.

The living room was a cozy, if not cramped, room. Faded paint was evident on the walls, the shelves and the cabinets were of dull colors, and the plants in their places spruced up the place by only a little, being a vibrant green in a sea of messiness—dust and dirt were here and there on the floor, on the rug. Pictures and images hung on the wall, depicting the happy times these three unicorns had together with a few more friends—here, they were hanging out at a birthday party in a lush, well-trimmed garden; over there, they were hanging out at a cottage in the middle of the night, facing the camera with wide smiles. A yellow desk was at the wall, holding a stack of books, and another white unicorn was sitting there, wearing glasses and with a tied up mane of three colors; she was reading a book.

"Moon Dancer?" Twinkleshine asked as she sat on a brand new couch. "You're still there?"

Moon Dancer turned around to face them and smiled back.

Minuette closed the door.

"It's not much," she said. "But, I'm doing the best I can."

"The best you can at...what?" Minuette asked, walking on her unclean floor.

"Searching for the most ideal and the most practical course of action to take," she said, closing her eyes as she spoke thus. She fixed her eyeglasses with a hoof. "Anyway, you brought some donuts for me?

Minuette's horn glowed yellow and out of her saddle bag levitated a paper bag glowing yellow, too.

The glow changed to pink as Moon Dancer's horn glowed that color; the paper bag then floated to her and landed on the desk.

Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine threw their bags on to a small table, Lemon Hearts going to the same couch and sitting there.

Minuette walked up to Moon Dancer, passing by a tiny collection of plants sitting on a pedestal. Taking on a severe face, she said, "Have you found anything, yet?"

"I perused all relevant archives here in Canterlot," she said. "I even ordered a few books from the Manehattan Specialty Library, the Golden Oak Library, the Official Vanhoover Historical Book Collection—but, they're going to come in a few days."

"And, 'We don't have a few days to wait,' eh?"

Moon Dancer nodded, frowning.

"So, we literally have no information about the other side?" Twinkleshine asked, sounding disheartened.

"Just the basics," Moon Dancer replied. "It's an ancient empire, with some saying it predates Equestria as we know it. A special kind of pony known as the Crystal ponies live in—"

"We know that already," Twinkleshine complained.

Lemon Hearts got up and walked out of view into another room. "If you need me, I'll be at the kitchen experimenting with storage life."

The remaining unicorns looked at where she had gone.

Moon Dancer fixed her glasses again. "As I was saying, the Crystal Empire is old. Princess Celestia, with her sister, banished the evil King Sombra. But, when they did that, the Crystal Empire disappeared with him. Now, for some reason, it's back."

"We know that, too."

"Will you listen?" Minuette said in a stern manner. "We have everything on the line here!"

Twinkleshine then stood up out of the couch. "Fine."

Moon Dancer went up from her chair.

"And then...?"

Moon Dancer eyed Minuette. "And then what?"

"And then...what do you think?"

Moon Dancer sighed. She paced the floor. "We don't even have the minimum amount of information about the Empire. All we know for now is that its leader is bad. We don't know what Crystal ponies are capable of doing other than being reflective like actual crystals."

"They might use light against us, then," Minuette surmised.

"Light-based weaponry?" she asked. "Now, that's a kind of magic we need to counter."

"Using mirrors to blind our 'guards' isn't that bad when you think about it," Twinkleshine said, twirling a hoof about as she said so.

"But, that's all speculation, right?" Minuette asked, raising her voice a little in hope.

Moon Dancer sighed. "Just speculation. And, that's the bad part."

"So, what's the 'best course of action' right now, Moon Dancer?"

She was silent for a while. Then: "Wait. Wait for Princess Celestia to speak later this sundown."

Minuette let out a sigh as well. "Well, in the meantime, let's not do anything silly in my house, OK?"

A crash came from the kitchen. A few fallen pots and bowls tumbled into view.

"Sorry!" Lemon Hearts cried out.

Several hours passed by and, now, the sky was a sharp orange, the sun penetrating the horizon with its rays. It was a cloudless hour—no clouds obstructed the gorgeous view and the ponies that were standing on high-up balconies and on ornately-designed roofs looked on at the sky with open mouths. Even some "Ooh's!" and "Aah's!" could be heard.

Down there, on the streets, bustling crowds of ponies—whether they be fancy Canterlot ponies with their stuffy clothes and good-smelling scents, or tourists with thin shirts and hats and cameras, or reporters with more serious hats and more serious cameras and more serious faces, or just the ponies who lived there without a care about how to look splendid—these crowds stormed their way through, moving sluggishly but still surely toward a wide open space, a Canterlot square.

On the square itself were battalions of royal guards all in their different-colored armors. Brandishing spears, bows and arrows, crossbows, cannons—these guards stood tall, stood proud, and stood with stoic faces showing no emotion.

A faint cheer rose from the crowd though it was quickly silenced by boorish screams and shouts.

At the far end of the square was Princess Celestia herself—that magnificent pony taller than the rest of her subjects, a white alicorn with an ethereal mane and ethereal tail that flowed with the colors of a morning sky, decked with golden regalia of crown and bracelet and horseshoes, her cutie mark being the sun. Imposing, she stood still and had on her face a stiff mouth and narrowed eyes.

Then, she stepped forward.

All the crowd's noise disappeared.

Now, the crowd surrounded the square and even occupied a part of the square. Guards stood at certain positions, blocking the crowd from overflowing to this or that street. Some even aimed their spears at offending citizens but were hastily stopped by their commanding officer or some other of a high rank.

All were silent as Princess Celestia took yet another step forward.

Eyes were on her; her eyes sweeped the visage.

All those ponies were looking at her—no smiles, no frowns, only faces that expected, faces that yearned for a word from her. On the streets, on the sidewalks, on the square, behind the windows, in the air, on the roofs, on the balconies—here they were.

Waiting. Present.

The Princess took in a deep breath.

Some of the ponies there took deep breaths, too.

"Citizens of Equestria," she began in her soothing yet sober voice.

All were still silent, all—except the guards—looking at her.

"It is with great regret that Equestria is at war with a kingdom that has had its own history—a unique one. I will not hide from you that we used to be in good terms with the Crystal Empire; there was, indeed, a time when our ponies mingled with theirs, when their wares traveled with ours, when friendships between an Equestrian pony and a Crystal pony were brought forth and made precious moments, precious years to never forget between one another. Even now, I believe that this is the will of the Crystal ponies: that they want no conflict, but only a friendship that would bind us even closer.

"However, whatever the will of these ponies may be, it is not they who clamored for this war. An evil pony—King Sombra—has come back from his banishment and wishes to invade Equestria. I have tried to reason with him ever since he returned less than a week ago—I have had meetings with him, then visited his fair city, then even had personal conversations with him—but, to no avail. Those days went by with Sombra having a stronger and stronger resolve each time, refusing to listen to the fact that we don't want to bring him or his subjects harm but that we want to help them grow.

"But, as you know, the fateful day of war has arrived."

Gasps and murmurs spread across the crowd. Sobbings could be heard and a few yells, too.

"I scouted the Empire without being seen. Though I could not see much, for there was a mist going by throughout, I saw what Sombra did to train his soldiers.

"The ponies themselves did not want to fight. Yet, they were slaves to him, dragged in chains. I saw Sombra force helmets into these poor, innocent ponies. Then, they glowed green, telling me that they were brainwashed, their minds only focused on serving Sombra's motives and nothing more. And, if fulfilling those motives means taking down all that we stand for—not just peace but friendship and harmony, too—then they would do just that."

Gasps, screams, and cries.

"Although there has been no battle yet, I can already see that this war is not like any other we've seen before. At least in the past, the wars that have been fought always had another war before to justify itself. But, now, Equestria has been at peace for over a thousand years." A pause. "This war threatens to upend all of this peace, to plunge Equestria into a descent from which it could never recover, to plunge the world into a never-ending darkness of chaos and strife, where no one would truly be free.

"I certainly do not want to see friendship and harmony torn away from Equestria, from this world. As you have not only seen but have also experienced for yourselves, friendship is more than just getting along with your fellow creatures. It is what builds us up, what improves us, what makes up a brighter life.

"It is sorrowful for me to resort to weapons to uphold friendship once again. But, there is no other way. If we fail here, then not only will Equestria disappear but its ideals of friendship and harmony will disappear, also.

"But, we do not seek to fail our friendships, do we?"

And a rising cheer, a rising roar, came from the crowd.

Celestia hung her head down, eyes at the paved ground.

A blink.

Her mane flowed and so did her tail just as they always did.

She raised up her head.

"I do not have much else to say."

A pause.

All were silent.

"It is with these words that I bring your young stallions to combat. It is with these words that I bring them forward to the frontlines. It is with these words that they will fight for not only peace, not only freedom, but friendship above all.

"It is with these words that I plead with you to help them in whatever way you can. Go to the factories and produce uniforms for these stallions, go to the workshops and forges and create more weapons which they'll fight with, go to the farms and harvest the food that they'll need to keep up this battle until the end. Even if you choose to do so for only a few hours a day, then that will be of much help in finishing this war before it gets out of hoof—before it takes more lives than it should.

"I hope that you hear my appeal to you, my subjects."

She stepped back and hung her head down, looking then at the guards in front of her.

The battalions now walked up in their neat squares and rectangles, all in their armor and all wearing their weapons. The spears were held high, rising from the mass. They stood in front of the crowd with their stoic faces, only blinking and never moving.

An officer—for he was wearing a cap along with his armor—stood in front of the battalions.

He stomped a hoof.

And they stomped their hooves.

The officer marched in place.

And all the battalions marched in place.

Slowly, the squares and rectangles of guards moved about together, never breaking their shape or formation but stepping together—all stepped on their left and then their right, never missing a beat.

The crowd was silent before this display of power, of military power.

The Princess raised her head—no smile, but only a solemn frown made beautiful by her flowing mane and her flowing tail, reflecting the orange sky and the setting sun.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" another officer yelled.

A clear path cut through the crowd.

The marching began once again—stomp, stomp, stomp; left, right, left, right. Everyone in the guard marching together, first in place, then moving slowly past the crowd and on that concrete path. Weapons passing by, armor passing by, those soldiers passing by—stoic faces, no emotion on the surface. Then, past the windows, past more ponies. March, march, and march they did until all were gone past a corner.

The Princess looked at the square now, populated by only the crowd and a few standing guards who were saluting her.

She said nothing.

"Princess Celestia! What do you think about the war effort?"

She was walking on the road. She had a slow gait—which was beneficial for the reporters swarming around her, flashing their cameras and holding out their notepads and quills and ballpens. Farther back, a crowd was following her.

"Princess! Any estimate on when it will end?"

"Princess Celestia, how many guards will you be sending to the front?"

"Princess Celestia? Any news about the strength of the enemy forces?"

"Princess, what will we do with the Crystal Empire when we win?"

"Princess, Princess Celestia! Are you talking about voluntary soldiers or drafting already?"

"Princess Celestia, are you going to introduce food rations right now?"

"Prinecss Celestia? Where's Princess Luna?"

Celestia's eyes perked. Her ears raised. She looked at the pony who had asked the last question.

"What did you say?" she asked, never slackening her walk.

"Princess, where's your sister?"

A wistful eye. A small smile. "She's at the castle. She will lower the moon shortly."

Eff Stop nodded, blurting out "Thank you, Princess Celestia."

And the questions kept on coming, bombarding her. The flashes, too, fell down on her.

Eff Stop looked on at the Princess while being jostled and budged about by his fellow and rival reporters around him. Pushed, pulled, and just moved about—yet, keeping his hat steady, his camera safe, and his notepad and quill close to his wing.

Never really looked at them. Only a glance—perhaps a caring glance.

No more words came out of her mouth even as the reporters became bold and kept the pace of questions up.

It was a slow walk, a slow journey, but the Princess finally reached the steps of the castle.

It was a humongous castle, of intricate architecture and of many discrete parts all combined into one cohesive structure. Fitting in with the rest of the Canterlot buildings, the castle was purple, white, and gold. Spires and other towers rose to the sky, roofs of various kinds topped the castle all over, and everything had that elegant feel—for example, stars were painted on the several walls and roofs, windows were of no simple frame but had complciated layouts.

At the end of the upward stairs was a large double door with stylized symbols of the sun and of the moon right through the middle of the door.

Guards stood at each side of that door.

The questions came forth, and so did the camera flashes.

With a yellow glow of her horn, she opened the door magically, revealing the tremendous hallways of far-out roofs, stained glass windows, polished floors, soaring columns, colorful banners, red carpets, refined doors, and more guards.

She stepped inside.

"That's not good," Press Release said as she and Eff Stop walked on the sidewalk.

The sky was darker, more orange. Already, the streetlights were on and some of the buildings activated their lights, brightening the road alongside the sun.

Eff Stop sighed. "I wish I could say it's a little good. But, you heard the Princess yourself."

She looked down. "What are we gonna do next?"

"Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary," he answered, retaining that seriousness in his voice. "Unless you want to volunteer, we'll just have to go around Equestria and tell the news—be at the scene when it happens."

"But, what happens if we get a warrant or a permit to report news from the fighting?" she asked.

"You mean war correspondence?" he asked. He arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you're the pony who doesn't want to get involved in physically dangerous situations."

"We're under a publisher, remember?" she said back as if retaliating. "If Print Run orders us to get out there to increase ponies' morale, we have no choice."

"You're awfully right. I haven't considered that before."

"You better start considering it now—I did, and I don't want to get in the line of fire."

They were approaching an intersection. Over there, on the street perpendicular to them, were two rows of restaurants all emitting culinary smells. A peek into the windows of one across the street showed a hearty glasses-wearing stallion—apron and stubble—serving up smoked oats and other grilled grains and vegetables.

Eff Stop held up a hoof.

Press Release stopped.

"That's new," he said. "Haven't seen that place before."

"Let me guess." She pointed at the place. "Dinner?"

"Dinner."

And the two proceeded to the end of the sidewalk.

"Oof!"

And the two stumbled to the ground.

As they stood up, they noticed the other ponies they bumped into.

"I'm very sorry for that, mister and miss!" Moon Dancer said.

Her other three friends were standing up as well, recovering.

"No, I should be the one who's sorry," Eff Stop said, pointing to himself and making an apologizing smile. "We were just on our way to...that restaurant over there." And he pointed at it.

"You mean The Smoked Oat?" Minuette asked. "You must be new here—you should definitely try it!"

Twinkleshine nodded in agreement.

Lemon Hearts moaned, levitating a jar of donuts and ice cubes.

Press Release eyed the jar. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Danger-proofing," she said.

"So, what would be your names?" Moon Dancer then asked the two, looking at the reporters.

"I'm Eff Stop," he said.

"And, I'm Press Release," she said.

"Ah, working for the press, I see," Moon Dancer observed. "Well, you must be hungry from a busy day, so unless you want to—"

"It's fine," Eff Stop said, raising a hoof.

"If you want to come with us, that would be great," Press Release said.

He glanced at her. "Huh?" he whispered.

"I don't think we can," Moon Dancer said.

"We're in the middle of prepping up for...you know." Minuette made a big smile.

Twinkleshine poked her blue friend. "Just say it."

"You don't have to hide it," Press Release said. "We know what you mean."

And the four mares had solemn looks on their faces for a second.

"I hope we're not delaying you," Eff Stop said, taking a step forward.

"You're not," Minuette said, walking in front of Moon Dancer and making a huge smile.

"You are, Minuette," Lemon Hearts whined, still levitating the jar.

"Well, the pleasantries have been nice but I think we must be off," Eff Stop said as he hurried on to the street. "Sorry, bye!"

And Press Release waved at the mares who waved back at her and her friend.

The two reporters then entered The Smoked Oat.

A Grand Flight

The sunset soon turned to night and Canterlot—and all of Equestria—began its uneasy slumber, the first night of war. The sky shifted from its hopeful orange and yellow to a calming dark blue; stars twinkled into light, some bigger than others; and, of course, the moon was full in all of its brightness, its soft shine. As time went on, the moon drifted through its course—from early night, through midnight, to the extremely early hours of the next day's morning.

Past the spires, towers, and roofs that gleamed with that faint light—the grass shone, too. Outside the walls of Canterlot was the grass, the vast fields of grass laid before the city.

Over there was the railroad.

Manehattan was a long way from Canterlot, the railroad traversing through plains, forests, hills, and mountains before reaching the metropolis of Equestria.

The train crossed a bridge composed of suspensions held together by horseshoe-shaped structures.

And thus, one would enter, albeit with less time to adore the sights since taking a ferry would give the average pony more time to look around and behold Manehattan in its urban splendor.

The city itself was on an island. A network of roads and streets both narrow and wide zig-zagged around the buildings, making mostly uniform blocks along the way.

The high-rise skyscrapers were even taller than the castle back in Canterlot. They overshadowed anypony that would fall under these massive edifices of state-of-the-art pony construction and engineering thought. Though not all that was in Manehattan was as tall as them, they were what made Manehattan symbolic and distinguishable from the rest of the cities (in the minds of a tourist).

And, since it was nighttime, they were made even more astounding by the array of lights they brought upon the streets down below.

Before the island itself, there was the large Mare Statue—that statue of a mare in one robe, holding up a book and a torch and wearing a crown. She was smiling.

Now, going to the island, one would recognize such landmarks as the Crystaller Building, an immense corporate work of art made of glass, metal, and wood, all topped by a stylized horse's head; the Bridleway Theater District, where a collection of surpassing structures overlooked a huge intersection where carriages were running to and fro and where the famous Bridleway Theater was sitting beside; and, Manehattan Park, the biggest park in the entire city, where an acre or two of green stood in the midst of the metropolis—trees, grass, benches, dirt paths, rivers, lakes.

Beyond the great landmarks, the streets of Manehattan were filled with not only carriages going about (the yellow taxi being one of the most common) but were also bustling with ponies on the sidewalks even at this early hour. Ponies wearing business clothes and bringing suitcases and bags, ponies with casual clothes and travelling to whatever diner or restaurant was available, ponies standing behind booths and stands with tired eyes as they waited for the day to rise so that there will be that influx of customers.

A griffon flew past all of them at great speed.

Over the carriages, past the buildings, over heads, ignoring protests from the flightless ponies that shook their hooves at him for disturbing the night.

The griffon landed in front of the train station—the Maneway Station, in fact. It was not as tall as the skyscrapers that were not so far away from it. But, it still stood out—while what was beside it were of dim colors, the station was a white green and had green-tinted windows. A clock was over the staired entrance—the entrance having multiple glass doors.

The griffon blasted his way through the doors, past the main area, up the escalators, past the ticket-checking station—where he dropped his ticket and the pony there grabbed it before it flew away—and zipped into the train a second before the doors closed.

Then, the train moved.

"Ugh! Zis train again?" Gustave le Grand complained in that fancy accent of his. He stroked his mustache with his claw as he flapped his wide wings toward an empty seat; he was wearing a red scarf tied to look like a bowtie and a small toque blanche on his head.

The pony beside him, a violet pegasus stallion, widened his eyes at the sight of him. "Hey! Aren't you the guy who made those bread...thingies?"

The griffon groaned. "What bread thingies?"

"You know, sir—those long bread stick things. With the sweet dressing on top—"

"Zat is an éclair, and what you speak of as a 'sweet dressing' is not so! Zat is icing!"

"Oh."

The two remained silent as the landscape of Manehattan faded away.

Murmurs arose from the seats—passengers exchanging rumors, thoughts, opinions, all with a smattering of the word "war" every so often.

The griffon, unfazed by it all, tapped his paw.

"So, uh, where are you going?" the pegasus asked. "My name's Silver Script, by the way. I, uh, write things on the newspaper. I'm from Ponyville."

Gustave sighed. "I am headed back to Griffonstone. Recent events have pushed me to it."

"You mean the war—"

"Precisely!" he said, raising a claw to the air as if to emphasize that one and only word.

"That's...good."

"Hmph! I need all my concentration! I do not want to be unprepared the moment all the griffons must say 'Aux armes!'"

"Uh, do griffons really speak like that?" Silver Script said, turning his head a bit.

Gustave sighed again. "I was born with zis accent unlike most other griffons, and I shall be proud of it!"

Silver Script turned his back on him and looked out the window.

Out there was the wide open sea past dozens of meters of land and a cliff. It was a calm sea—there were no visible waves going about.

Silver Script stepped on to the platform and saw the train quicken its way back to full force, pushing its way through to the horizon before it disappeared.

While the other ponies who had gotten off went down the platform straight away, Silver Script stood still as he looked at the great wonder before him.

Behind him: the great sea, the ocean.

Before him: Horse Falls.

Here was Horse Falls. The narrow stream of water was plunging its way down to the bottom, creating a spectacular formation that changed constantly. The morning sun made it even more spectacular—little rainbows appeared throughout the falls, attracting the cameras of a few tourists who stood at the fence that separated them from the lake (and prevented them from falling there).

Beside the lake was a small waterfall town. A few paved streets and several houses and stores and that was all. The cliffs around the town gave it an isolated feel, though the train station was there to dispel any actual isolation to be seen. Over there, right outside a house, a white pegasus in his yellow armor had tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged his family—his father, his mother, his sister. He wasn't holding his spear—it was laying flat on the ground beside him.

Silver Script entered the town, passing by a sign that proclaimed: "Leftlead! The town beside Horse Falls! Enjoy our kindness!"

The roads were damp—he could feel it with his hooves. Yet, he did not complain; rather, he said nothing.

He entered a diner framed in wood and having many glass windows.

As he entered, he could smell the delectable smell of roasted carrots and cabbage—all enhanced by the grilling garlic sizzling behind the counter as smoke rose from there.

The cashiers were also the cooks—the grillers, so to speak. A pony on a swivel chair in front said, "Two carrots," and a cashier took the bits, grabbed the carrots, grilled them, and placed them on a white platter, then hoofing it to the customer who had to move nowhere at all.

The restaurant—or, more appropriately, the grill café—was of an alluring, wooden style: the tables and chairs and floor and walls and ceiling were made of wood both out and inside. Rugs were strewn across in a disorderly fashion, making the room even more cozy and comfortable.

However, it had only a hoofful of customers, and they were not talking that much, if at all.

It was quiet—no music coming from a speaker, no songs being played by a band on stage. Only the rush and the splash of the water from outside.

"Oh! I didn't expect to see you here—of all the ponies I could ever come across."

He walked up to a mustached pony—his mustache being very rough and unkempt. The pony had a shirt with lots of leaves displayed on it. Wearing a visor, he also sported a camera around his neck.

Silver Script sat down in front of Globe Trotter whose table was filled with empty plates and a crumpled yet open newspaper.

Globe Trotter made a slight smile. "A familiar face, Silver Script. How's your...uh, science fiction piece going?"

Silence as Silver Script looked about here and there—eyed the plates with crumbs and tiny morsels, eyed the dirty utensils.

"Uh, aren't you gonna order something, sir?" one of the cashiers asked from afar.

Silver Script gulped.

"I'll pay for it!" Globe Trotter spoke, raising a hoof to catch her attention,

The cashier smiled back and she went back to serving the customer in front of her.

"Sorry for that," he said to the pegasus, hoof-brushing something imaginary off the table. "But, I'm sure I'm not the only pony in the world that's being bothered by what just happened."

Silver Script sighed. "Not this again. You mean the war?"

"Not just that," he said. "Haven't you read the news about what happened last night?"

"Last night?" he repeated. Then, a gasp. "Are you saying that—"

"First battle of the Crystal War—that's what the Ponyville Express is calling it."

Then, he pushed the newspaper to him.

There was the fancy yet bold font of the Ponyville Express—their title, their name. Right under that was the headline in even bolder (and less fancier) words: "Crystal Mountain Battle Ends in Equestrian Loss! Tens of Thousands Sent to Military Hospitals!"

"Already?!" SIlver Script exclaimed, holding it closer to his eyes. "How?!"

"Read it for yourself, kid."

And his eyes went over more of the article:
The very first battle of the Crystal War against King Sombra is also the first battle to favor the Crystal Empire in a decisive victory against the E.U.P. Guard and other Equestrian military forces.

From reports of war correspondents, the battle began with an unannounced ambush from the Equestrian side only two kilometers from the Empire's borders. A few minutes later, Crystal Empire soldiers—described as wearing faceless masks—attacked from almost all sides. King Sombra arrived a few more minutes later, magically building black crystal walls as weapons against the Equestrian military.

It was half an hour after the battle's commencement when all Equestrian forces were ordered to build trenches to defend themselves—the first time in Equestrian history where trenches were used in actual combat. Despite the novelty, Sombra's soldiers invaded and refilled the trenches with ground.

Not more than an hour later, the E.U.P. Guard holding the Central Crystal Mountains were ordered to trench a few kilometers back.

Subsequent ambushes and rush attacks from the Crystal Empire were repulsed sufficiently after that.
"And, just like that," Globe Trotter said, gesturing about. "It begins with us losing."

Silver Script sighed again as he read the rest of the article.

Globe Trotter picked the remains of his food on the plate with a fork, watching the pony across read and read.

Then, the pegasus put down the newspaper.

"That's...brave of the Princess to let all of us know about this."

"Secrets are no good thing these days," he said. "Any secret she may be holding is as dangerous as a secret would ever get in its entire lifetime. Good thing that she is as clear as a mirror if this newspaper doesn't speak for itself." He grabbed the newspaper, yanking it away from Silver Script, and held it up.

The pegasus scrunched up his face. "So...what's next?"

"Keep it up," Globe Trotter said. "The Crystal Empire is small—like, what, a city wide? Maybe as wide as three cities, but nothing more. There may be many Crystal ponies but not even a tenth of what we got."

"You're saying it's all a matter of time, then?" Silver Script asked. "Just...waiting for the other side to get tired?" He sweeped a hoof across and toward the window as he said that.

"Any prediction on when it's gonna end, Globe Trotter?"

A hopeful smile on his face, his mustache letting it flourish. "Give it a few months. It'll be over before you know it. If the Princess and everypony else know what exactly to do with those new-fangled trenches, then we're gonna be fine."

Silence.

"Uh, you came here for food, didn't you?"

Globe Trotter stood at the edge of the rocks.

A hoofstep away was the lake.

Calm, soothing, peaceful. The roaring waterfall only a stone's throw away (an Earth pony's stone throw away, that is).

The waterfall itself was sided by more rocks—craggy rocks—and moss and other green plants that managed to survive and thrive way up there without any visible soil. Even a tree was growing right beside the waterfall, giving the waterform a noticeable green distraction.

He took up his camera and snapped a few pictures of the lake—angled here, now angled there, just the waterfall, now with the lake as well, and then a full shot that brought the sky over, too.

Globe Trotter placed the pictures in his mouth, put them into his shirt pocket, and wiped his mouth.

He looked on at the lake.

Then, he turned away.

Several of Leftlead's inhabitants were ambling about outside. A few were talking on a balcony, sitting on metal chairs as they discussed intensely over a game of cards. Three pegasi fixing a broken roof whacked with their hammers and their nails, drowning out whatever comprehensible ideas those card-playing ponies were sharing. An Earth pony pulled a cart selling apples; his country accent might have given his heritage away. And, a unicorn was, with his magic, putting up posters on the walls of public buildings.

Globe Trotter furrowed his brows at that one.

He walked up to the unicorn who was carrying bundles of tape alongside his cart of folded posters. His cutie mark was a bucket of blue paint.

"Ah! And, what are you doing that for?" he asked, taking on a brighter tone.

"Government work," he uttered in a monotone voice. "It's a side job."

Globe Trotter watched as a poster was floated to the wall, being taped before it stopped glowing.

The unicorn took a step back, admiring it.

The poster showed a silhouette of a typical guard pony—white pegasus in yellow armor—raising his spear high. The words "Keep Equestria Safe! Keep Friendship Intact!" were exhibited in simple, uncompromising letters.

"Propaganda?" Globe Trotter asked.

"I wouldn't say that," he said. "'Encouragement' is the correct word. That's what I've been told."

Globe Trotter then walked away, leaving the unicorn to his devices and to setting up more of the posters in Leftlead.

Head in the Clouds

Like many other towns, Leftlead had a mailbox. This one was situated right at the train station.

Globe Trotter brought out a letter from his pocket and placed it inside.

Then, he stood on the boarding platform, waiting as Horse Falls continued pouring down water in such a splendid and magnificent way under the morning sky.

An off-white pegasus flew, his mane flapping in the speedy wind—the sweat on his face, the clouds nearing.

Higher he flew, his hat and mailpony uniform still there. His saddle bag of mail still around his torso.

Then, several big clouds ahead with rainbow falls cascading down from it.

He slowed his wings down.

As he approached he could see Cloudsdale clearer: the cloudly columns scattered all over the floating city, the enormous coliseums and amphiteaters that could house hundreds if not thousands of ponies, the soft streets where homes and stores made up of clouds (among other building materials) resided, the famed weather factory where new clouds were produced and shown to the world, and several pegasi stood there, watching each unique cloud pass by their eyes. All of this and more were populated by pegasi and pegasi only as they walked and flew around, talking to each other.

The mailpony flew on, entering the residential area.

The houses of Cloudsdale had lots of space for their front yards, back yards, and side yards of cloud lawns. Some houses had neatly-trimmed clouds, others were dirty with unkempt clouds. All of these were fenced off by rainbow fences.

The mailpony paid no attention to any other house but one—the house in front of him.

It was a three- or four-story house; it was hard to tell since the floors themselves were not so even, owing to how the cloud floors were structured at a slant and not necessarily on a flat enough level. The walls were made up of bricks; the windows were irregular in their shape, as if wobbling, and their "plant boxes" held clouds instead; a tiny balcony from the third floor protruded outward from a glass door; the entrance itself was a small door with a stylized cloud on it, sided by two columns arched by a rainbow, and above the "ground" by two steps of stairs.

The pegasus pulled the letter out of his saddle bag and inserted it into the house's purple mailbox.

The door swung open. "Wait!"

The mailpony looked at the sudden newcomer.

"You don't have to do that, Special Delivery," Bow Hothoof, a rainbow-maned stallion with a stubble, said, walking to him. He opened the mailbox and retrieved the letter.

"You know you're not supposed to watch the mailbox," Special Delivery said nonchalantly.

"Oh, don't worry! What happens if you miss our mailbox? I'll be there to tell you."

The mailpony groaned as he wiped the sweat off of his face with a wing. "Whatever you say, mister."

Then, Special Delivery flew away.

Bow Hothoof entered the house with the letter still in his mouth.

The hallway showed several rooms at once to anyone who would come inside. There was the stairway room with a spiralling staircase, a few shelves and cabinets of books and little trinkets, and pictures of Bow Hothoof with his wife and their filly—all of them pegasi. There was the kitchen/dining room where a wooden table with cloud cushioned chairs was just some hoofsteps away from the oven and griller, while the walls had even more shelves, cabinets, and pictures of that family. The living room at the end of the hallway was perhaps the least cluttered of the rooms on the lowest floor, having sofas and cloud cushioned chairs once more around a short yet wide coffee table as a few potted plants added more green to the interior.

"Honey?" Bow Hothoof called out, bringing a hoof up to his mouth. "Honey?"

"I'm over here in the kitchen!" she called back.

Bow Hothoof turned to the left and gasped. "I-Is that...?"

"Yes," Windy Whistles said slowly, nodding her head with her scarlet-orange mane bobbing about. "Her favorite."

On the table was a sizable sandwich of multiple layers. Between all the loaves of bread was cream, potatoes, and pasta all smacked and compressed to fit into a sandwich that was still tall.

"That makes sense," Bow said. "She hasn't been here since last week. Seeing her in person during the training sessions was amazing, but it's understandable why she's putting off visiting here." Then, a smile. "She will have even more awesome stories about herself to tell us!"

Windy nodded—smiling, too, as she sat down on a chair. "I wonder what important thing she has to tell us!"

"Yeah, there's that 'something important' she wrote down on her letter," Bow said. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "When was she coming here again?"

"About nine."

The two looked at the clock on the wall.

It was only a few minutes until nine in the morning.

A creak.

Their ears perked up.

"Dashie?" Windy uttered, floating.

Bow took a step forward, closer to the hallway.

An open door and a blue hoof.

Down and out of sight.

Hoofsteps, revealing the mare—blue in coat, rainbow in her mane and in her tail, cutie mark a cloud zapping out a red-blue-yellow lightning bolt.

Rainbow Dash, saddle bag slung over and goggles on her vibrant mane.

Silence. A croak from Bow and Windy.

Then, a hug.

"Rainbow Dash!" Bow yelled in the embrace. "I know you didn't want us to attend, but I'm sure that it turned out well; we might've broken your concentration and you only wanted the best out of yourself!"

"You've beaten the rest of your flying buddies out of the water, didn't you, Dash?!" Windy shouted.

Then, they let go—Rainbow Dash having that almost stoic face, only muddled by a hint of worry.

"So," Bow said, "what's that 'important thing' you're gonna tell us? Did you go up the ranks? Did you become the co-captain of the Wonderbolts?"

"Or the captain of the Wonderbolts?"

"Or, maybe it's not Wonderbolts-related!" Bow looked up as he pondered over what that might be. "Perhaps you...uh, had the Wonderbolts visit your home for the first time!"

"Did you teach some of the colts and fillies at flight school?"

Rainbow Dash held up an open wing. "Mom...Dad...."

A tired voice, an airy voice.

The smiles on her parents disappeared, turning into faces of dread. They held on to each other.

"I'll cut the long story short."

She drew up breath with closed eyes.

Then, she exhaled.

"The Wonderbolts have been activated for service. We're going on duty, and that includes me."

Seconds of silence.

Then, the dreadful faces became more than just frowns—gloomy downward lips of desperation, eyes that stirred up tears welling up and about to trickle down. All of this was encapsulated with a gasp.

Windy rested her head on his face, teeth closed and a solitary tear on her cheek.

"You're...g-going there?" Bow asked.

Rainbow nodded. "I got all my stuff inside—" gesturing to her bag. "Don't worry. I'll write to you. As long as you get my letters, I'm coming home."

Windy sobbed.

Bow patted her on the head, still holding back his own tears by wiping them off with his free wing.

Rainbow stood resolute, not shedding a single drop.

Then, she hugged them.

Windy cried, Bow whimpered, Rainbow hugged, keeping her parents together with both wing and hoof.

"I...I know you'll be the most awesome flier out there...Rainbow," Bow managed, beginning to choke. "Actually, I don't just kn-know you'll be that. I know y-you are the most awesome flier." A sniff. "A-And you're going to perform those flying skills not just for show. You'll do it for E-Equestria. Th-That makes the b-both of us proud... even prouder of you."

Windy said no words. Only quiet sobs.

"There, there," Bow said, patting her once again. Then, turning to Rainbow: "Anything else? W-We could treat you out to lunch—i-if there's still time, that is."

Rainbow looked down, pawing the floor. "We'll be heading out at sunset. There'll be a ceremony at Wonderbolt Academy and all. I-I'm sure you'll see me off, right?"

Windy wiped most of the tears, then: "O-Of course, Dashie!"

Then, a return to grief.

Rainbow watched her cry, watched him comfort as he himself was about to cry.

And, another hug.

The three pegasi, that family, together on those long minutes.

Rainbow Dash could hear the gentle close of the door.

She looked back. It certainly was closed.

A sigh escaped her.

Then, she continued her way, floating above the cloud street and away from her house.

A few foals and their parents stood on another house's cloud lawn. Standing behind their rainbow fence, they waved at the passing Wonderbolt before them—the dad was even swinging about the Cloudsdale flag which consisted of two clouds and a circular rainbow behind them all in front of a sky blue background.

She waved back at them with an uneasy smile.

They smiled even wider.

Rainbow then turned to what lay before her.

After a few paces on, she looked back at that cloud lawn.

Those ponies were still there, still waving at her, still smiling at her.

That lone pegasus flew above the clouds. There was not much to see down there—for there were clouds.

The clouds zipped by at a blur as she flew, her mane wavering under the wind's pressure. A look of irritation on her face. Then, she took on her goggles.

She dived down, past the cloud canopy.

Underneath was a grassy plateau, quite extensive; small was the number of trees. There was a flat runway on it where several pegasi were launching from and landing on.

Around the plateau were uniform buildings all covered in clouds—and standing on clouds. Flags of different colors flapped by under the sheer force of the breeze. More pegasi, wearing the same reservist uniform of blue and yellow on the torso and a pair of goggles for each, were milling about on the cloud pathways, talking with each other.

Rainbow landed in front of one such building. This one was bigger than the rest, resembling a stone fortress. Models of gray clouds storming out lightning, arched by a rainbow, was what decorated the two-door entrance to the barracks.

Some of the trainees looked and pointed at her. "Hey, it's her!" one of them blathered.

And a small crowd gathered around her.

Rainbow turned around and smiled at them, wearing a smug face. "Well, well! If it isn't my usual group of admirers!"

One trainee even held up a flag that contained an image of her cutie mark.

Then, the doors opened.

A fully-fledged Wonderbolt in full uniform covering all but her ears, wings, and tail. She wore shades that obscured the color of her eyes. Her fire-colored mane looked swept.

She took off her glasses, revealing her brown irises.

"Rainbow Dash!" Spitfire yelled. "You're early for the training session!"

"As always, ma'am!" Rainbow replied, saluting her.

Spitfire nodded then flew down the flight of stairs on to the path.

The group of admirers stepped back, giving the two of them space.

"You're too early this time!" Spitfire said. "The final one won't begin for another five hours!"

"More time to train solo, then," Rainbow answered, smiling smugly.

Spitfire smiled. "Your attitude still amazes me, Rainbow Dash." Then, turning to the reservists about them, she declared, "And, you should be just like her! Every single one of you ponies!" She pointed a hoof, sweeping the entire throng of them with an energetic stroke. "Every second spent idling about and just chatting with one another is a second wasted for the defense of Equestria! You could've gotten better at dodging arrows or striking down enemies from the sky! Got it?!"

They all shuddered, saluted her, and yelled, "Yes, ma'am!"

Spitfire snorted and lowered her head.

A few flew away in fear.

The rest scattered.

She smiled. "I love my job."

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

She turned to see Rainbow Dash.

"May I let my parents see me off during the ceremony later?"

Spitfire narrowed her eyes. Then, nodded. "Of course. Your request is an understandable one and I respect it."

"Thank you, Spitfire," Rainbow said before taking off to the runway on the plateau.

Spitfire looked on at her.

Then, she walked.

Hours to Go

Spitfire noticed something.

Two pegasi flying in the air, pulling a boxed carriage. Then, two more pegasi with their own boxed carriage. Then, yet another one with yet another boxed carriage—all of them having wheels.

"Those must be the fighting uniforms I sent to the washer!" a male voice cried out.

Spitfire looked behind her.

"What?" Soarin asked, his uniform concealing much of his white blue coat.

A breeze went by, sweeping Spitfire's and Soarin's manes.

Then, it stopped.

Soarin sighed, observing the carriages. "Wanna call them out again? Bring them inside to take a look and learn already?"

Spitfire looked at a clock standing beside a cloud path. It was five minutes past ten. "We have to. There's not much time."

"I'll guide the movers," Soarin said as he spread his wings and went out in an instant.

Spitfire smiled as she cleared her throat, covering her mouth with a wing.

The barracks was a one-room building. However, that one room consisted of so many furnishings all at once: a black and blue carpet from the entrance all the way to the end, culminating in a golden statue of some old-time Wonderbolt in flight and wearing goggles; a trophy case where a variety of trophies—all gold or silver, never a bronze—were all encased behind glass, to look on but to not touch; two rows of beds, one on each side of the carpet, of the same specifications (blue mattress and blanket, yellow frame, a cloud pillow, a night light, and a miniscule Wonderbolt shield) and with the same locked wooden case at the foot of each; portraits of various important figures of Wonderbolt history, whether painted or photographed, all on the stone walls between the tall windows that let in so much sunlight; banners sporting Wonderbolt colors and symbols hanging from the roof, and there were lots of them.

However, most of the Wonderbolts there, fully-fledged or reservist, were not admiring any one of those beautiful features of the barracks. Instead, they were standing or flying around a big table with lots of boxes and parcels all tied up in string ribbons.

Crafty Crate, the only non-Wonderbolt present—for he was not wearing anything that had the colors blue or yellow but
only a black cap—took a receipt and hoofed it to Soarin who was right beside him. Then, he grabbed a ballpen from his ear and hoofed that to him as well.

All eyes were on the two.

"I don't think I should be doing this," Crafty Crate said in his gruff voice, "but I still have to make sure the purchase happened."

"You're the one who owns the business, right?" Soarin said before signing the receipt with the ballpen by holding it with his mouth.

"I have to keep a good record of things."

Then, Crafty Crate grabbed both the receipt and the ballpen, and flew out of the barracks.

A lone Wonderbolt reservist flew to close the door. Then, he went back to the table.

Spitfire groaned, her face showing impatience. "Let's make this short."

She grabbed a box and ripped it open with her hooves.

Then, all, except for Spitfire and Soarin, voiced their awe as they beheld what Spitfire held.

"OK, if you want to take a better look—"

She took to the air and held the uniform there, for all to see.

It was bulkier, heavier even. Metal plates of armor were on the torso and on the legs. Artificial plastic joints connected each separate part of the suit together, what with all the armor weighing down on it. Then, beside the suit was the helmet—hard, solid, and dense. Even with the visor up, one would only see a pony's eyes and what surrounded them—nothing more of their face.

They were all blue but not as blue as the uniforms the Wonderbolts were all now wearing.

"It's a definite upgrade from the previous fighting suits," Spitfire said as she floated down to the floor, all still looking at her with bated breath. "We've been sending out some representatives to various institutes around Equestria to build this specifically for us. The problem was, of course, nopony thought that there would be a serious conflict that would require us anyway; so, it took some time. Good thing that we were able to get this one out at the last minute."

A reservist raised a hoof; he had hair that looked like fluffy clouds. "But, how are we going to wear that?!"

"You're going to wear it just like your usual," Spitfire said. "The armor was made to be lightweight yet durable."

"So, I'm not going to get hurt?"

"You're gonna get hurt!" Spitfire snapped. Then, calming down: "Not that much, though."

The reservist let out a sigh. "Wow! I...I thought I was going to be slow on my way to...uh, what are we supposed to do with these again?"

"Have you been listening, Fluffy Clouds?"

"I've been listening!" though he took a step back, stepping away from the rest of his Wonderbolt friends and fellow trainees.

Spitfire shook her head. Looking at the rest of the audience, she said, "Anything else you would want to say? Questions? Some pointing out? Anything?"

Another hoof was raised. "Do we have enough of those to go around?"

"We have enough and back-ups, Pizelle," Spitfire said.

She slammed a hoof on the table.

Everyone was looking at her with awake faces.

"Anything else?" Spitfire said.

One more hoof went to the air.

"Yes?"

"How long will we be out?" the mare asked.

Spitfire took a deep breath. "Sunshower, nopony really knows how long we'll be out. If you were in the guard, you might face rotations and some well-deserved time-off. But, you are training to be part of an elite aerial squad; we don't have that many ponies although we're all talented in what we do."

"Any...estimate? Like, when we'll be relieved or something like that?"

Spitfire raised an eyebrow.

All eyes were on her once again.

"Don't ask me," Spitfire replied.

Sunshower's face dampened at that, any semblance of a smile disappearing.

The rest followed suit, the full-on members more so than the trainees.

Spitfire went silent, too.

Some seconds passed by.

Then, she spoke: "We're moving the training to now."

And everyone else headed out the door.

Spitfire and Soarin stood on the grass plateau.

Pegasi in their new armored suits were flying about on a certain path through the clouds. More pegasi were dashing from one cloud to the next, making sure that they turned just right to get to the next cloud in time. Still more pegasi were in line for a strange training contraption: a wooden circle with a green and purple swirl and two gears, the bigger one having a metal handlebar.

Spitfire and Soarin walked over to the Dizzitron—that contraption.

The pegasus in front went over to the handlebar, held on to it, and wore her goggles.

The mustached officer pulled a lever connected by wire to the Dizzitron.

It spun.

Faster and faster it spun.

Then, the pegasus became a blur—a mist in their eyes.

"Release!" Spitfire shouted.

Then, the pegasus was off, hurtling and spinning in the air.

Everyone there looked at her.

Spinning and spinning she went. Then, shaking her head.

Stabilizing.

On her way to the runway—though still disoriented, still tilting or leaning to one side.

Then, landing—a rough landing, though, but she hopped to a halt and smiled.

Soarin held a watch in his hooves. "Ten seconds," he muttered.

Spitfire kept a stern, unfeeling face. "Above average?" She faced the happy pegasus on the pavement. "Don't count on it, kid. That might just be beginner's luck."

The pegasus's smile was wiped away at that as she flew back to the line in a dejected manner.

"Next!" Spitfire yelled.

And another pegasus went to the Dizzitron and strapped himself up.

It was sunset. The sun was now far away, over there in the horizon. The sky was an orange pink.

On the bleachers was a mass of pegasi—none of them Wonderbolts. They were diverse: aside from the variety of colors of coat and hair they had, there was a few pegasi wearing formal suits and a few with unkempt facial hair; there were some who had showy hair all wrapped up in all kinds of decorations, there were those who kept it at a strict level and nothing more, nothing less; there were those who brought tons of food to the event and there were those who did not bring any yet kept gobbling up some of the food; there were those who looked bored—one was even constantly checking his watch—and there were those who had excited smiles.

Those like Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles.

They wore blue and yellow shirts. They wore fake manes that resembled Rainbow Dash's colors. They wore rainbow-colored scarves. They wore Rainbow Dash hats—all in her colors, of course. On the small empty space beside Bow Hothoof was a bunch of flags all having Rainbow Dash's cutie mark. And, they were shouting "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!"

This irked some of the ponies there, so they inched away from them.

The two parents were shouting at Rainbow Dash—who was far away, almost at the other end of the plateau along with the rest of her squad buddies. In front of them were the recruits—a larger group. All of them were wearing the new armored suits.

Spitfire then flew out of the squad and to the podium placed right across the runway's width.

The only thing that separated Spitfire and her audience was that piece of pavement.

"I do not want to waste much of your time," Spitfire began. "I know that most of you are working hard to keep Equestria safe in your own ways. But, I would like to tell you something.

"This is the first time that the Wonderbolts have gone to war in generations. Centuries. Some of you think that we're incapable to fight anymore because of that—that we've grown soft.

"No, we haven't.

"In fact, we have bolstered ourselves with better techniques and tactics, with better equipment and materials through the years. Rest assured that these pegasi—your sons and daughters, your brothers and sisters, your fathers and mothers, your friends—they will not be doing something insignificant. If they will come home, they will come home as veterans. If they don't..."

Silence. She glanced down.

"...it won't be in vain."

Spitfire flew away to her place in the squad over there.

The parade started.

First were the reservists in their few files. The ones in front spread their wings, then the ones behind them, then the ones after them. Slow at the beginning—picking up the pace next. Twirls, twists, loop-de-loops—speed as fast as lightning—here one moment, there the next. All moved in such a coordinated way, the reservists flying about as if in a rapid dance of flight tricks, knowing when one would do this and when one would do that, when one would rise up in the air, to reply with a nosedive down to the ground. Then, it all ended with them flying through a rainbow fall. They soaked themselves wet with liquid color—not paint, pure liquid color. Their suits were now coated in vibrant hues, astounding the audience even further as they opened their mouths, apprehended by what was being done before them.

Not a shriek, not yet.

They all landed on the runway and shook themselves off of their rainbow.

The audience was stomping their hooves in joy.

But, it was not over.

The Wonderbolt squad itself came flying by, spreading their wings first and then engaging in stunts and maneuvers that were more creative and more dangerous than their trainees': close fly-by's with each other that it looked like they were about to crash, speeding so close to the audience while creating a wind worthy of a tornado or a hurricane (and a few hats went flying off), and creating lightning storms with minimal cloud usage—to name a few.

All the while, the incessant screaming and shrieking of Rainbow Dash's parents resounded, causing the same ponies to inch farther away from them.

It all ended the same, too—they flew through a rainbow fall, soaked themselves in rainbow, and landed on the runway, shaking the rainbow off of them.

Spitfire walked back up to the podium and cleared her throat.

"What you have just witnessed were the finest pegasi troops that Equestria has produced. Those moves are great for peacetime performances, but even they have their usage in war. Don't be afraid—your lives, your homes, and all of Equestria are in capable hooves.

"We're the Wonderbolts. This is our final night here before we go to the front."

And with that, she walked down the podium.

The two pegasi descended, all pushed and budged and turned by the rest of the pegasi crowding and moving around them—all in search of that family member, that relative, that friend of theirs in uniform, that pony about to go to war in some far-off place that, perhaps, none of them has ever seen.

Bow and Windy walked, then brisk walked. Flew above to see over the mass of ponies, but several pegasi had that idea as well, blocking a good view, a good vantage point. Then, they called out her name: "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash! Where are you?!"

Then, a rainbow blur arrived.

A hug for the both of them.

There she was, all dressed up in her clothes that had cumbersome yet thin armor and bulky helmet.

Windy sniffed.

Bow said nothing.

The words that surrounded them—of names, of wishes, of congratulations, of farewells, of hopes:

"You be careful out there, Fleetfoot!"

"Soarin, come home soon, OK?"

"Don't forget to write home, High Winds!"

"Warm Front, just remember that we'll be here for you."

These words were drowned out from their ears as, under the final minutes of the sun in its setting—as the rays were, more than ever, sharper and more visible to all who would just look up to see a wonderful display of light past the clouds—they hugged.

Bow Hothoof picked up his daughter, carrying him. "And...to think that you were a tiny foal all those years ago. A pony full of energy—and you'll use all that energy to take down the bad guys!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Windy spoke up, able to stifle her tears for mere moments, "but you're...the best soldier you'll ever be! You'll have a great job at, uh, keeping all of us safe and sound under our roofs!" She added a sweep of a hoof to that.

"You're going to get lots of honor, lots of fame when we win," Bow continued, still holding his daughter up high. "But, more importantly, you're going to make us proud that we've raised up a pony like you."

Rainbow Dash smiled.

Her smile quivered.

Eyes shaky.

A tear trickled down.

And she hugged her parents again.

As they were surrounded by hugs, waves, cries all on that plateau, the sun was on the verge of finally disappearing for the night to come over.

Once again, it was nighttime—the second night of the Great Crystal War. The stars once more twinkled above in their places, all overshadowed by the bright full moon emanating its soft light on to the houses of Cloudsdale.

A short brick-cloud house was among them, just one of the many houses although it was still unique, still distinct from the rest of the residences: two short columns rose up from the cloud "lawn", cloud bushes and shrubs abounded there on that same "lawn", a column protruded from the side of the house. Its design, however, was similar to the buildings around it—uneven floor levels, and floors and roofs made of clouds.

The yellow lights of this house were on, so radiant that they went as far as the street.

Inside, there was a red plastic table with matching chairs—those chairs being cushioned with clouds. On the table was some food: lettuce, cabbages, potatoes, and a few muffins. The smell of apple pie was there but it was hidden underneath a cardboard box sitting on a wooden cabinet close to the sink.

Bow and Windy were sitting on the chairs, sitting across another couple: a mustached sea green stallion of curled white mane and a bright yellow mare of curled raspberry mane—she was wearing thick-rimmed glasses. These two were known to some as Mr. and Mrs. Shy.

"I...I don't know what to tell you," the glasses-donning mare said, reaching out to hold Windy's hoof.

The food was getting cold, though the aroma lingered.

Bow grabbed for himself a few cabbages and potatoes and one lonely muffin for his plate.

Mr. Shy saw it and looked on at the solemn parent with his lousy state of food. Then, he looked down on his own plate of cabbages and potatoes—two muffins, though.

Windy sniffed, revealing her red eyes behind a covering hoof.

Mrs. Shy brought out a box of tissues and laid it on the table.

Windy took some and blew her nose on the tissues.

Bow ate silently, munching and munching and munching—only after a minute had passed did he finally swallow.

Mr. Shy observed all of this happening and did nothing but look on at the three ponies there. Then, he sighed.

"B-But...she's our one and only Rainbow!" Windy said, her voice smothered in whimpers. "She has no siblings! We have no other children! Even if she doesn't perish—what if she gets disabled in battle? Like, losing her sight? Or, losing a wing? Or, losing both her wings? The humiliation..." and she held up a hoof to her face.

Bow reached out to her, giving her a comforting pull as his head touched hers. "She won't be injured that easily. She's a Wonderbolt, remember?"

Windy sniffed, taking another tissue and wiping her face with it.

"I didn't ask for our only foal to leave us with an uncertain future!" Windy spoke, almost screaming. "We thought of the Wonderbolts as the perfect group for Rainbow to join so that she can show Equestria—the world!—how awesome she is! Then, when they—and then he—and then she—and then everyone else—"

Hyperventilating.

Bow got out of his seat and pulled her closer to him.

Mrs. Shy stood up. "Do you need some medicine? I have an encyclopedia about it—I'm sorry but I don't know how..."

"N-No!" Windy said as she slumped on her chair. "I'm...I'm alright. I've done this before—always fine."

The Shys looked at her—cautious in their eyes.

Then, some shambling and thumps from the backyard.

All their ears perked up at that and all, except Windy, turned their heads toward the opposite side of the house.

Mr. Shy flapped his wings. "I'll see what Zephyr's doing now."

Mr. Shy opened the door leading out to the backyard.

Under the night, it was a quiet place to be in. The "lawn" was still made of clouds although, upon closer inspection, there were faint reflections of the moonlight on them—silver linings, maybe. Flat rocks formed a path to a tiny building.

This building had brick walls, stone floor, and cloud roof/ceiling. All its windows were on one half of the circular structure, under those windows being a cute patch of flowers—dandelions, tulips, sunflowers, roses. The other half contained shelves where glass cases were sitting on while holding clouds of various kinds—simple white clouds, rough gray clouds, stormy black clouds, damp rainclouds pouring out rain while not filling up the case with water and cold snowclouds pouring out snowflakes while not filling up the case with snow.

And there was Zephyr Breeze—sea green but slightly bluer, yellow mane in a beehive fashion and yellow tail in a plain way, stubble under his mouth. His cutie mark was an orange feather and two thick and curved lines.

"Uh, Zephyr?" Mr. Shy said as he poked his head into the building. "Wh-What are you doing?"

Zephyr wiped the sweat off of his face and then pointed at the wooden counter in progress under the shelves. "Don't you see what I'm doing, dad? I'm building myself a coffee shop!"

"A what, again?"

"You know, dad, those coffee establishments where they brew coffee!" Zephyr said.

"But, I thought you were, uh, trying to get into mane therapy for the eleventh time, son," Mr. Shy said, his voice becoming softer.

"You've got to face the truth, dad," Zephyr said, picking up a screwdriver. "Whoever's running the show there—they're entrenched in old traditions and they're deep-seated there. If I can't convince them that a new sensation is arriving, a revolution that will stir up stylists to revolt against the current order, then nopony else can!"

"Uh, but why...this?"

"Anypony can make a cup of coffee and slap a price on it!" Zephyr said. "Easy, affordable, and I like coffee. This is going to be my windfall season!"

Zephyr was silent as he looked around inside the room, seeing the wooden planks and boxes of nails and screws. He looked at Zephyr—"I almost forgot to tell you, Zephyr: Rainbow Dash's parents are here. You could talk to them—if that's what you want because I wouldn't want to, uh, interrupt your work."

"Huh?" Zephyr took a step closer, peeking at the house with its lights. "Why?"

"They're quite sad over Rainbow Dash leaving for the battle at—"

"Rainbow Dash left?!" Zephyr shouted, a hoof on the wall. "She's not here?! In Cloudsdale?!"

Mr. Shy nodded sheepishly.

"How come you didn't tell me sooner, dad? I've gotten my love letters and love poems ready for the occasion!"

"It was on, uh, short notice."

Zephyr tapped his hoof. "I don't blame you. It's just Rainbow Dash—" a sigh "—she's just a mare who's looking for any excuse to hide her love for me." He turned his head up. "She would want to be anywhere else but here, wherever I am—not because she hates me, but because...well, it's a love that goes beyond mere friendship."

"That's...nice," Mr. Shy uttered as he stepped to the side. "Now, I guess you are leaving, right? Taking a break? Your mom made some cooked—"

"Actually," Zephyr said, raising a hoof, "tell her that I'm going out for the night. The sudden news of Rainbow Dash leaving—I need to talk to a few respectable colleagues of mine to sort the next few days out."

Zephyr then flew past his father and around the house.

Mr. Shy stretched a hoof out, about to say something to him.

But, he was out.

Halfway to Middle North Point

In the more commercial parts of Cloudsdale, several stores advertising and selling their wares shone their colorful lights, giving the cloud-lain streets a gaudy atmosphere as the lights clashed with one another, vying for anyone's and everyone's attention—with mixed results. Laundromats, fast-food chains, bookstores, souvenir shops, flying apparel—these were only some of the many kinds of businesses that had been set up there.

When it comes to a city in the clouds, walking was not the only thing done there. Flying, too, was a viable (if not much more than walking) option of transporting one's self from point A to point B. So, unlike the normal scenes of sidewalks with ponies walking there, there was that combination of walking and flying inhabitants and travelers—in fact, some sidewalks looked so frequented yet not a single hoof had touched it for hours if not days. Even as pegasi entered the buildings to buy and sell—and chat, too—it was not only possible but also common for a pegasus there to conduct his entire day without ever touching the "ground".

But, back to Zephyr.

That pegasus ignored all the allure of the establishments there, resisting every attempt to sway to one side or the other. He flew over the street and moved on until he reached a square.

It was a relatively empty square with only several bulletin boards posted here and there with announcements and headline newspapers tacked on. A good number of pegasi were over there, reading them and then talking about what was there.

A tiny clock tower stood in the middle of that square. It had a bright light on top of it and, since it was the only adequate source of light within the square—there were smaller lights above each bulletin board—it gave the square a somber, solemn feel to it that contrasted against the explosion of color found in the rest of the district.

Zepyhr took a good look at the clock.

It was about seven-thirty in the evening.

He walked up to one of the bulletin boards where one stallion and two mares were discussing amongst themselves. These were: Buddy, a blue stallion with gray hair and cyan butterflies as his cutie mark; Lavender Sunrise, a gray blue mare with lavender hair and a depiction of a sunrise as her cutie mark; and Flower Flight, a pink mare with blue hair and flowerbuds as her cutie mark.

"So, what's going on?" Zephyr asked smugly, brushing his way into the group.

The three stopped talking and blinked at him.

"You haven't heard?" Buddy spoke.

"There's rumors that the mayor's going to round up every stallion old enough to fight," Lavender Sunrise said.

It was now Zephyr's turn to become silent and blink. Then: "Well, it's just rumors, right? Never say it's actually true 'till it's actually true—is that how they say it?"

"I wouldn't say that if I were you, Zeph," Flower Flight said before pointing a wing to one of the notices posted on the board.

Zephyr read it.

"'Notice: To uphold the integrity and honor of Cloudsdale's military legacy and history, the mayor will hold a city-wide referendum concerning the question of conscription. Time of attendance is nine A.M. tomorrow."

His eyes went wide.

"What?!" Shaking his forehooves as he slowly hovered away: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"I know," Buddy said. "Things are going to get very hectic if most of us are marching our way out of here."

"Hectic?!" Zephyr shouted. He landed firmly on the ground, close enough to the board though. "Fighting?! It's...bad. I may be a pony of strength—" taking on a calmer tone as he pointed to himself and made another smug face "—but I would rather use my strength in more peaceful ways. I don't want to cause anyone harm."

"Me, too," Buddy said. "But, it's a service I won't regret doing if it comes to that."

"B-But, what about my mom and dad?!" Zephyr yelled, moving his hooves about in exaggerated panic. "What about Fluttershy? And my love: Rainbow Dash?!"

Flower Flight giggled. "You still think she loves you?"

"Yes!" Zephyr shouted in reply with more irritation than before. "Rainbow Dash is the kind of mare that's secretive about her feelings. She's a tough gal on the outside, but wait until I get to her heart!" And with that, he looked up with wistful eyes.

Lavender Sunrise grumbled.

Zephyr glared madly at the notice and ripped it out.

The two mares gasped.

Buddy held him back, trying to get the notice back.

Lavender kicked him in the head and retrieved the notice.

She put it back on the board—tacking it there.

Flower Flight helped him up.

"He's in one of those 'love spells' again," Buddy said as he propped his friend up on the board as he struggled and grunted. Looking at the two mares: "Should we bring him home?"

"I'm waiting for Sprinkle Medley to come by!" Lavender said.

"OK—" turning to Flower Flight "—help me bring him home. We've got to have a good explanation for him being like this!"

Flower Flight nodded.

And the two dashed away with a whining Zephyr in tow.

Lavender Sunrise sighed as she was the only pony now in front of that board, one of the few who were in the hushed square as the noises of Cloudsdale nightlife blared from beyond, from across the street.

The Cloudsdale Post Office was an underwhelming sight.

It stood in front of a wide avenue, but that was it to its potential distinction. The building itself was a short, one-story compound of bricks and clouds and many windows that gave anyone passing by a sweeping view of the entire premises.

Those premises were even more underwhelming. It was a drab gray working area brightly lit by industrial lights. A flat surface where long rows of metal tables and conveyor belts contained hundreds of letters and parcels all stamped and labeled. More of such mail could be found in the wooden cubby holes nailed to the wall. A few ponies—every one of them pegasi and wearing mailpony uniform of blue or purple coats and caps—were laboring there, sorting out mail and putting in more mail into their bags for delivery.

Two guards were stationed at the single door entrance.

Lavender Sunrise walked up the short flight of stairs to that door.

Then, she was slammed by the door opening and fell down the flight of stairs.

She opened her eyes and saw a gray pegasus with a proud look on her face, her saddle bags packed full with mail.

"Ah, Derpy!" Lavender said, exhausted though reassured, hoofing the rectangular parcel to the mailmare. "Send this to Sprinkle Medley in Ponyville!"

"Will do, ma'am!" Derpy said, saluting her with a wing.

And then she took off to the sky, flying fast and leaving Lavender Sunrise at the foot of those stairs.

In Ponyville, there was a clock tower that stood on the crest of a tall green hill. Lights shone on the clock's face, letting anyone passing by know what the time was—which, now, was a little past seven-forty-five.

Derpy flew by the tower, barely staying clear of it as she stubmled in the air but regained her balance before she landed right in front off the town hall.

There, some ponies were running and galloping about, carrying papers and ballpens about in their mouths, wings, and hooves. Meanwhile, Mayor Mare, accompanied by Rarity, were walking out of the door as the din of a crowd's collective clamor went about inside.

"Wh-What's going on?" Derpy asked, approaching the mayor.

"Nothing too important," the mayor responded—tired, rubbing her glasses.

"If you must know," Rarity spoke as if in a hurry, "we're evaluating our position as a town."

"And, what does that mean?" Derpy asked.

"Giving everypony who could attend a free seminar on preparedness," Rarity said. "We've managed to invite the world-renowned Spearhead to teach every single one of us what to do in case of an invasion." She took notice of her bags. "Do you want to join? I'm sure there is no trouble in accommodating—"

"N-No, miss!" Derpy said, nodding as she backed out. "I have mail to give!"

Rarity frowned a bit. "If that's the case, you could stop by anytime before it's too late!"

Then, Derpy was away.

After half a minute of flying, she finally reached the correct house.

A mailbox stood in front of the house.

The house itself was a lot like the rest of the cottages in Ponyville—of wood and little brick, thatched on the outside, and all topped with a hay roof. There were some flowers growing from pots and right in front of the walls.

Derpy opened the mailbox and put the parcel inside.

She looked at the mailbox again.

The little red flag was already up.

Derpy smiled, content.

A little post box stood at the Ponyville train station.

The station was lit up well at night with bright yellow lights, illuminating the outside grass and dirt with a piercing light. The ponies at the station tower were still watching and observing, looking here and there as they guarded with their vision.

Derpy, with one of her saddle bags open, scooped up the myriad of letters and parcels and, scanning each one, either threw it into the post box or discarded it back into her bag.

It took the the mailmare a minute.

Then, she zipped up the bag, slung it around her torso—positioning it carrefully, making sure it would not snag her wings—and smiled even wider at the task accomplished.

Then, her smile went away.

She peeked her head around the wall.

She saw the full length of the train, that same Friendship Express. Standing on the platform were a few ponies, but one of the ponies she considered the most was a certain lanky stallion.

He was an Earth pony with curly mane and curly tail. Wearing a pair of black eyeglasses, he had a grilled cheese sandwich as his cutie mark though the sandwich had some black lines on it.

Derpy placed a hoof on her chin. "Huh?"

The doors of the train opened.

A few ponies went out, a few ponies went in—including the lanky stallion.

Seconds passed and the doors closed.

A shrilling whistle from the pipe at front.

The train accelerated again, slowly at first.

Cheese Sandwich, that Earth pony, huffed as he took a seat beside two mares.

The train was almost full, with every seat having at least one passenger on board. Carriages, baggages, luggages—these and more occupied those seats as well. Everything here was under the glare of the lights on the ceiling and on the walls.

In this train, an interesting profile could be made of the attendees for the ride: several ponies of the three tribes were bringing along weapons such as spears, bows and arrows, lancets, and so on. Armor was either put on the space beside them as if for display or hidden underneath the bags and cases. Reporters, made evident by their cameras and notepads, sat close to ponies in business suits and other fancy attire, these ones having nametags to differentiate them from the rest. The military officers within the ranks—they could be identified by their caps—often sat beside their soldiers whether they were fresh recruits or hardened veterans (although as "hardened" as a soldier who had been on the job only in peace could be).

Cheese Sandwich sighed as he rested his forehooves on his hindhooves, sitting upright as he looked to his left to see who was beside him for the journey.

Two mares. One pink and one gray. The pink one had droopy yet straight hair—a more colorful pink—her blue eyes were downward toward the floor, together with a sad face. The gray one had a more reserved expression—none—with eyes half-open, eyelids of purple and so was her hair (which was also droopy yet straight); she wore a single piece of clothing: a blue shirt that extended to all four of her hooves, covering much of her body.

"Uh, hi?" Cheese greeted, waving at the two awkwardly.

The pink mare looked up, her frown lighting up. "H-Hi, there." A pause—it was a very high-pitched voice. "What's your name?"

"Cheese Sandwich," he said. "And yours?" as he weakly stretched a hoof toward her.

"Pinkie Pie," she said, making a smile though faint. She motioned a hoof at the gray mare. "And, this is my sister, Maud Pie."

Maud greeted Cheese Sandwich by staring at him with that neutral face.

"O...K?" Cheese managed.

Maud looked back outside, the outside under the night sky as the landscape slowly changed as it glowed a little by the moonlight.

He gulped, turning to look at Pinkie before noticing the saddlebags on the floor in front of them. "And, where are you going?"

"Middle North Point," Pinkie replied. "Our parents wanted us to help out in the war effort. I mean...we're Earth ponies, so we have raw strengh to rely on. But, Maud—she has unseen power. She can cut through rocks like they're nothing!"

Cheese smiled as he looked at Maud.

She blinked—slowly, taking some seconds to complete the blink.

"And, what are you here for, Cheese Sandwich?" Pinkie said, poking the stallion on the cheek.

"Uh..." before he scratched his head. "I'm not really sure myself."

"You went on a train not knowing where it's gonna end up?" Pinkie asked. "You're a unique pony, I say!"

"I didn't know it was going to that...place where they'll attack each other."

"You mean the frontline, silly!" Pinkie smiled even wider—before checking herself and keeping that one down. "Where are you from? I haven't seen you before and I have a good memory."

"Oh. I'm from Manehattan."

"A city pony, eh?" Pinkie said, whisking some of her mane away from her face. "I'm from Rockville."

"Rockville?" Cheese turned his head a little. "I haven't heard of that place before."

"It's in Western Equestria," Pinkie said. "But, I understand. It's not exactly a tourist magnet."

A pause. "What do you do there? Or, what did you do there?"

"We worked on the rock farm—all four of us. Me, Maud, Limestone, and Marble. You'd think they'd send all four of us out there, but somepony needs to take care of the poor rocks on the fields. Who else is gonna move everything to the southern field?"

"You're right." Cheese looked down as well, seeing the saddle bags once again. "And what's in those bags?"

"Everything a warrior needs," Pinkie said. "Armor, rations, clothes, building materials, weapons of all kinds—you name it."

Cheese gulped again. "I know this might sound out of nowhere, but—" lips quivering "—how likely is your survival?"

"It depends," Pinkie said matter-of-factly, shrugging. "You should ask Maud because she's the more appropriate pony for that question."

Cheese opened his mouth to ask.

"However," Pinkie interrupted, placing her hoof on his face, "you may be asking yourself, 'Why are you here, then?'"

"Uh—"

"I'm not really here to fight," Pinkie said, backing her hoof away from his face. "You see, the reason why they sent me to battle and not, say, Limestone—she's fierce—is because of my talent."

Cheese looked at her cutie mark.

It was three balloons.

"Your talent is...balloon-making?" Cheese asked. "You're good at airship construction?"

"Airships? Now that's absurd!" Her smile grew. "All you have to do is shoot an arrow and—poof!—down it goes! Well, if it's made of one super big balloon."

Cheese lowered an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"My talent has nothing to do with flying things," Pinkie said. "Well, except balloons. But, it's not just balloons."

"Why would they send a balloon pony to fight?"

"I'm not a balloon pony. It's not obvious to some, but I'm actually a party pony!" She spread out her forehooves into the air, grinning.

Cheese tilted his head. "And warriors like parties?"

"They don't just like parties," Pinkie said. "They need it. How else will they keep their head above the ground while they think about the chances of them getting hurt so badly?"

"And that works because...?"

"I throw a party!" Pinkie said. "What I didn't tell you about what's inside these bags—" picking up one of them "—is that I also brought all the party fare with me! Confetti, streamers, cake, pies, even cakepies! Oh, and balloons, too. Brought some records and a vinyl player of fun party music, also."

Cheese smiled.

"I'm not going into this thing blind," Pinkie said. "War is a thing that hurts lots of ponies and makes them very sad. But, if I and my sister are going to protect Equestria this way, then there's no other way, sir!" She sweeped a hoof across the air to emphasize that.

A pause as Cheese kept on smiling. "You have the passion. I admire that."

"Why wouldn't I?" Pinkie said. "My destiny is to make ponies smile! And who need smiles more than those poor ponies out there who risk their lives everyday? That's not counting the ponies who will have their towns invaded by those meanies—and, even those 'meanies' aren't really that mean when you take off those mind-controlling thingies from their heads."

Cheese blinked as he adjusted his glasses a little.

"You know what, Pinkie?" Cheese said.

"Yes, I know 'what'!" Pinkie said back. "It's a word!"

Cheese did his best to stifle a giggle. "That's not what I meant."

"Then, what did you mean?"

"Never mind," Cheese said, rubbing his head. "I guess what I want to say is—you're a unique pony."

"Me?!" Pinkie said, half-gasping the word out.

"Every pony I met who was going to fight—they're...not as happy as you, Pinkie."

Pinkie coughed.

Cheese blinked at that.

"Sorry!" Pinkie said. "It's just...I don't know...."

"Don't know what?"

"What to say," Pinkie said.

Cheese kept his mouth closed.

Pinkie looked at him—pensive eyes.

"Um, thanks, Pinkie."

"Don't mention it. I made you happy even if it's just for a moment, so I'm happy, too."

And Cheese laid his head on the divider, feeling the hard and rough thin surface.

Closed his eyes.

Cheese finally stepped off the train—the last one to do so at that station.

And the train left, disappearing after a short time.

Cheese Sandwich looked thoughtfully at where the train had gone.

Then, he looked at what was before him.

Neighagra Falls.

It wasn't one waterfall. It was multiple waterfalls cascading and descending, most of them into one another—layered waterfalls—from multiple different rivers with their different winds and turns to convene in a picturesque wonder as the water smashed and waved—the crashing of the water. Mist and fog of white foam covered some of those falls, cloaking some of the beauty in mystery, adding to its natural oddity. Rocks and stones that rose above the water gave the falls a varied taste—coupled with the trees and grass that grew from rocks jutting out of the cliffs and hills, it was simply a pretty place with such magnitude for Cheese felt lonely and small—and shivered out of the coolness that the water emitted—before this great corner of Equestria.

"Halt!"

Cheese turned around.

"May I have your identification?" the guard—white coat, golden armor, pegasus—said, walking up to him and then laying out an open hoof.

"Oh, my...identification!" Cheese pulled out an ID card. "Here!"

The guard inspected the card. Then, he placed it back on Cheese's hoof. "You may go."

Cheese leaned to the left.

The road to Light Doze had a few guards on each side. The buildings—houses, shops, diners, museum, government offices—had their lights on as usual. Ponies walked about outside under the night—over there, a pony was planting some tulips on the open grass.

"What's going on?" Cheese asked, tapping the guard and then pointing at the road.

"This area is within striking distance of the Crystal Empire," the guard said. "There are transports of soldiers coming by, including the train you were in. The entire town will be walled up by Saturday."

"But, why the—"

"We don't want any enemy infiltration to be done here," the guard replied, cutting him off. "You are a good citizen, but not even that's enough—for all we know, the Crystal Empire might be utilizing changelings."

"What?"

"Unbelievable? I know. But, orders are orders and the safety of the ponies here are in our hooves. One misstep and everyone here suffers—including you, Cheese Sandwich."

Cheese's ears drooped.

"Don't worry," the guard said. "Go along. I'm sure whatever you want to do in Light Doze is of innocent matters."

Cheese nodded as he walked to town.

Light Doze was another waterfall-side town. Unlike Leftlead, though, this town stood a respectable span away from Neighagra Falls, which was good for the camera ponies who now had the option of staying and sleeping in a place where the morning background was the falls themselves in a photogenic angle. This was also good for ponies who could not sleep with lots of disquiet beside them; they surely would've been bothered by the constant crashing of the water.

The houses there were blocky though that did not automatically mean dull and boring. Though they were squares and rectangles, the walls were painted in a rather unconvential manner—not one, two, or even three color schemes. They were painted with murals in mind—each house having a different artist's interpretation of the falls that were there. One was as realistic as could be, as if the waterfalls were the walls of the house. Another chose to go for a more abstract route: blue and white streaks rushing and running over green and gray, making for a house that would fit, if only by a little, in a normal upstart village.

The rest of the buildings there followed the same pattern as if telling tourists to take as many pictures as they can in this one-of-a-kind settlement. Wide and clear windows showed to everyone what was going on inside—whether it was customers eating food cooked by chefs, clerks and cashiers selling items to buyers, or musicians practicing their skills for all to see and hear.

It was not crowded though the town itself was not big either—around three-quarters the size of Ponyville, it could be said.

Cheese Sandwich entered a music shop.

It was spacious. Various ponies were at the aisles filled to the brim with tons of musical instruments—from the famous pianos, guitars, violins, and drums to the lesser-known triangles, oboes, clarinets, flutes, trumpets, and saxophones to the occasional and even somewhat unwanted bagpipes and accordions.

And Cheese Sandwich spotted the accordion section—those squeezeboxes of piano-like tunes.

As he walked over there, a smile on his face, he passed by two creatures talking in whispers.

It was a pony wearing a tie and a griffon wearing a visor.

To Ask for Help

Between the shelves of banjos and bass guitars, the pony and the griffon stood although at the side of the banjos.

The pony was a rangy middle-aged stallion with a bushy mustache—lighter than sky blue in coat, hair as swirly as a cloud (and colored like one, too). His suit and bowtie covered much of his body so his cutie mark could not be seen. The nametag pinned to his suit read: "Steer Straight, Equestrian Ambassador to Griffonstone".

"So, Galena," he said, fixing his tie for the umpteenth time, his voice exasperated, "would you please consider helping us even just a teensy bit?"

The griffon wore nothing but her visor. Her brown feathers were on her head, her beige ones were on her wings, and the rest that covered her body were brown-yellow with black stripes. Four legs—forelegs of claws, hindlegs of paws—were typical of her kind.

"I don't know if you've heard, sir," she said, "but there's not much we could do. Griffonstone is in shambles, even more when we've had the massive leave of girffons recently to your home." She poked her companion with a claw.

"I don't have a single griffon in our home," Steer Straight said, backing down in his tone. "I only have my wife and my daughter in my home."

Galena groaned and slapped herself on the face. "I'm not saying that you're harboring any griffons in your house. I'm saying that griffons are going to Equestria, your home—your national home." A tense pause. "Who assigned you here, anyway? You're not even a smidgeful of the last guy!"

"He's on vacation," Steer Straight simply replied.

"Permanent vacation?" and Galena raised an eyebrow of suspicion.

Steer Straight brushed the air off from before him with his hooves—a move that showed exhaustion. "I'm...I just got the post on the spot. I mean, I know more about you than the average pony, and I have wings—"

"Just like the last guy," Galena interrupted. "One of the job requirements is that you have wings."

"Well, I don't know!" he shouted and turned away, resting his head and a hoof on the racks of banjos. Sighing, he picked up a banjo, tuned it, and strummed a few solemn notes.

"You wanna buy that or what?!" the cashier yelled from afar.

Steer Straight moaned as he hastily returned the banjo back to its place.

"I want to make myself clear," Galena said, flapping her wings and crossing her forelegs. "Griffonstone is not in a good state right now. I'm doing my best to round up some pride—about everyone's sulking off and hoarding gold with no care for each other. I'm tempted to focus on my hoard as well, but I've kept it as modest as I could. I'm grasping at straws here: I've sent out an expedition to look for our lost idol, I've sent some miners to dig up some gold and other precious metals for trade, I've started some efforts to make our capital city look pretty. I'm running out of ideas, resources, and time—and that's just for my own home. I don't think we have enough to even discuss a mutual agreement with Equestria."

"I haven't tossed up some terms in the air yet," Steer Straight said. "We could, uh—"

"And what?" Galena asked. "I'm not ignorant about what's going on with your civil war."

"It's not a civil war!"

"It's one pony against another," Galena said. "There's not much else to it, even if those other ponies were gone for a thousand years."

"Then you must know what's going on!" Steer Straight told, raising his voice, stepping forward on the tiled floor and away from the banjos. "The Crystal Empire is a strong empire. It may not have as many ponies as we do, but it has...crystal-based magic on its side."

"And what do we griffons get if we help you win?" Galena asked, eyes narrowed down and glaring at the pony delegate.

Steer Straight gulped. "Uh...I didn't think that far ahead into the future."

"Eh, I expect your silly war to end shortly. Either the empire conquers everything or you conquer everything."

"Just—please, I beg you!" Steer Straight pleaded, on his knees. "Your griffon fighting forces might be the extra push we need! They might be the tipping point, the tide-turner of this war that will end it all before we know it!"

"Not likely," Galena simply said, shaking her head. "What happens if you guys lose? We'd be losing a lot of our best persons for nothing. They'll have passed away in vain. Of course, I'd want you to win, but that's not happening anytime soon, right?"

Steer Straight sighed one more time.

He stood back up on his four hooves.

He breathed slowly, looking down on the tiled floor and on her claws.

"Well, then."

Steer Straight fixed his bowtie.

"I'll send you a letter detailing the whereabouts of our next meeting. I hope that will be fruitful."

The pegasus flittered away and out of the music store.

Galena looked on at that pony until he was gone, out of sight.

A few ponies were standing still, having had watched what had gone on between the two delegates, the two ambassadors. Those few breathed out sighs of small sorrow and moved on with finding which instrument was the best for them, although with sadder faces and quieter voices.

Galena scratched her chin as she eyed one of the banjos in front of her.

Galena, with banjo roped around her body and around her wings, walked the dark and quiet streets of Light Doze.

A few civilians were walking around, most of them in an unexplained hurry and rush. Eyes wide, mouth shaking—no words, just a quick dash from one place to another and inside the building.

On one main street, a platoon of guards—all but three with white coats, those exceptions bearing gray coats—were gathered up. Some bystanders watched the group of almost thirty soldiers look at their leader, his armor slightly bigger than the rest.

Their faces were as stoic as any of the other guards.

She could hear whispers behind her and around her—hushed conversations as the ponies that were still outside held their hooves to their ears.

But, Galena spread her wings and flew, banjo in tow.

The griffon flew in the clear and starry night. The many stars twinkled in and out and back in again, bedecking the sky with their lights beside the full moon.

Her eyes twinkled, too, reflecting a bit of that moonlight.

Below, sleepy hills of copses and small forests lay. Dirt and paved roads winded and spun and turn around, but they were mostly straight. Over there, a railroad ran along though no train was in sight nor was there that familiar whistle, that deafening whistle.

Then, she flew over a barren wasteland.

It was a jarring transition. One mile was filled with yet another lush forest, the next was dotted with rock formations on the dry ground. There were no plants for long stretches—only weeds and dead trees with no leaves.

Galena heard something past the gust high up in the air.

She looked down.

Lights.

"Wow," she said to herself as she stopped to hover above the town. "Last time, there was barely any infrastructure in this part of town—"

"Who goes there?!"

Galena turned around—defensive position: claws raised.

A navy blue pegasus. Tired hair, baggy and disheveled eyes, and a spear in hoof about to prod the ambassador.

"I was only passing by," Galena said, a little scared and a little irritated.

"Hmph!" The pegasus returned her spear to her side. "It is alright, then?"

"What's alright?"

"Nevermind." She shooed the griffon away with a hoof and wing.

Galena shrugged and flew off.

"Will Starlight think much about it?" Night Glider asked as she flew down to the lit up village. "Nah."

Pre-dawn

Princess Luna then walked through a few more hallways and a few more rooms. All of them were occupied by guards of their white or gray coats, all armored. They gave her a nod as she passed by each of them. She nodded back, a subtle smile on her face.

Then, she reached another double door.

She lit up her horn in a blue glow.

The doorknobs glowed, too, as they turned.

They opened.

What lay before her was a short balcony with stone railings.

What lay before that balcony was a vast hall jam-packed with guards standing in their individual platoons and companies. Hoofsteps and murmurs echoed about, combining to form something that could not be understood—only general noise. These were equipped with weapons—spears, lancets, bows and arrows, crossbows, cannons. Earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns were all here, standing with not much else in movement.

The hall itself had no windows. It was all illuminated by artificial lights hanging from above.

On the balcony was none other than Princess Celestia watching over her guards.

Luna stepped forward to her sister's side.

The two stood beside each other, looking down on the substantial military before them.

"Sister," Luna began, "are you absolutely certain about this? They are already fiercely loyal to you. You do not have to go out to battle with them anymore."

Celestia sighed as she turned to face Luna. "These are different times. I wouldn't have done it if it was not that important. But, this is an unpredictable time. I do not know what the future holds."

A step forward.

"I must confide it to you, Luna, before I forget."

A look down before she looked back up, back at her sister.

"It is awful enough to send our ponies to fight, to risk...being able to come home to their families and friends. It is awful enough to strike foes when you know that they, too, feel and live like us—that we could not settle things in a more peaceful manner. But, we are forced to attack our fellow ponies and that is...that is..."

She looked down again.

Luna patted her sister on her head, reaching a little to do that.

"I...I can't use the Elements of Harmony that way," she said, her voice diminishing to a pained hush—away. "Knowing what...you went through—it is foolish to think that they would single-hoofedly solve everything."

Then, a hoof on her shoulder. "Does this mean you do not plan to use the Elements against Sombra?"

"It's against all reason. All will say, 'Take Sombra out!' It makes sense: the Crystal ponies don't want him, he's an evil tyrant with no care for any life but his, and he has a one-track mind bent on conquering the world. Is there revenge? Is there an ulterior motive beyond just that? I know he is more than just a face, a shadowy figure..."

Luna pulled her a little closer. "Sister, you're acting up again."

Celestia covered her mouth, closed her eyes and turned downward.

"I understand. But, at least you saw that I had good somewhere even then. Sombra is...much more mysterious."

Celestia glanced at the guards, none of them looking up. "Here!" she whispered as she guided Luna toward the doors.

Hiding from their soldiers below.

In front of the open doors, faces close to each other, their individual manes streaming endlessly.

"I...have a hope. There is a chance that I could save him from himself. There is still time—if we could just get him to talk—"

"You know he will not talk until he is overwhelmed," Luna said. "And, in order to overwhelm him, you must wage war."

"That is the cost," Celestia said. "Even if we end up victorious, many innocent ponies will..."

A choke.

"We are the wielders of the Elements. This war—it goes against what harmony stands for. Honesty clashes with espionage, kindness is incompatible with brutality, laughter is irreconcilable with cold-bloodedness, generosity thrives without greed, and loyalty destroys disloyalty—where I have to convince the Crystal ponies that who they are loyal to should not be served."

A leg wavered.

"Celestia," Luna spoke, holding her closer and tighter, "you're not in a right state of mind. You should let somepony else lead the way for now. You...you haven't slept yet and it's already the next day."

"I have to go," Celestia said, placing a hoof on her sister's shoulder—a face of sorrow, of hated anticipation. "These soldiers need one of us. This is the time when I have to go out to battle, to provide them the encouragement and the help they need."

"What if you get captured, sister?" Luna asked—worried, anxious.

"I have my ways," Celestia said, backing away from her as she did her best to make a smile. "As for you, go. Return to the dream realm and help the ponies still here. I am sure that you can comfort them."

And Celestia spread her wings and flew off the balcony.

The train at the station was a different one.

Instead of the colorful style and scheme of the Friendship Express, this one was as utilitarian as it could be—no paint, for example. Instead, the wooden planks and the metal parts were there for all to see in their unmodified appeal (or lack of appeal). There were no heart-shaped lights—only the basic lightbulbs in their circular compartments. The pipe coughed out black smoke and a rustic pony with an unshaved beard was handling both the coal and the train's controls.

As the long lines of troops slowly entered each carriage—and, when a few were full, the train would move a little forward to accompany the next batch of stoic soldiers—the other ponies who were awake so late (or so early) watched the unannounced parade. Princess Celestia herself stood on the sidewalk as she saw her ponies march onward, their hoofsteps stomping in unison as they brandished their weapons gleaming under the streetlights.

Camera flashes appeared only to disappear; pictures were printed out in an instant.

One of these reporters was Eff Stop, all perked up though with no smile. His hat was still there, clean as ever.

The parade lasted for a good ten minutes. No disturbances were caused and no one was disturbed from their sleep. The lights that were not on at the beginning did not turn on throughout. If one could strain their ears during this event, one could still hear the uninterrupted snores of some nearby Canterlot pony on his bed.

However, the parade did have to come to an end, and so the final soldier—donned in his military uniform, holding a spear close to his chest—was no longer to be seen as the final soldier's carriage closed.

"Civilians of importance!" a voice shouted from inside the train. "Civilians of importance! Your carriages are to be occupied now!"

And several ponies rushed to the train.

Diplomats and ambassadors in their suits and ties, express passengers in their khaki shorts and airy shirts, and reporters with their hats and cameras—Eff Stop was one of those "civilians of importance."

The final carriages were shut, the train whistled, and the wheels rolled.

It was pitch black inside.

"Hey, uh, could we have some light in here?"

"Oof! Don't touch me!"

"I wasn't touching you!"

"I feel cramped! Are you sure the windows are up?"

"Your disgusting cologne is rubbing off on me!"

"Guys, let's calm down and keep it civil."

"Can we open the doors?! I'm running out of oxygen!"

"Nopony's opening the doors! You should feel privileged for being able to get inside!"

"When I asked for the fastest ticket out of here, I wasn't asking to stay with officials!"

Then, a candle lit up, revealing everypony's faces under the muted light.

Coughs and wheezes.

"This carriage isn't ventilated! We're going to end up on stretchers thanks to you!"

"You've got someone else to take care of, then!"

"Get me out of here!"

The candle dropped and a few grunts.

The faint moonlight appeared.

Then its sliver was gone.

"Alright, who had the bright idea of opening the door while the train was moving?!"

"I'd rather stay healthy!"

"It's either you get a little sick or you get mighty sick when I throw you off board!"

"Don't step on my dress!"

"What did you expect? This isn't the longest train in the world!"

"They could've at least made seats!"

"I want seats, too!"

"You stiff Canterloters!"

"That's not how you call a Canterlot pony!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"Will you stop?!"

Then all was quiet in the pitch black room.

A flicker of a match and then a candle. Everyone could see each other again.

The pony holding this candle had a cap and glasses. "Can we agree to endure this ride until the very end? Can we agree to not annoy anyone until we're out?"

The faces nodded silently.

"Good. This won't take long anyway. Estimated at about one hour and a half."

"One hour and a half?! How are we supposed to survive that with your candle?! And the smoke?!"

"Ask the charcoal guy. He probably knows a lot about it."

"I want to live! I don't want to die undignified in the middle of a train! I should've volunteered! If I die here out of smoke, I would have died on my way to serve Equestria, not as some onlooker like all of you!"

"Then, why didn't you enlist?!"

"I'm afraid to get hurt!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

A hoof threw the candle—and the light—away, plunging the carriage into pitch black again.

"OK, who did that?!"

"I'm hungry!"

Then, an irritated chatter arose from them.

A groan. "I was tasked to handle mature ponies, not babysit a couple of whiny whiners."

Many ponies gasped for fresh air as they stumbled on terra firma.

The ground, however, was not as fresh.

Actually, the air was also cold. Bitingly cold.

A windy gust, a freezing and chilling gale whipped up their manes into a flying frenzy as snowflakes shot past them at blinding speed. The snow was inches deep and unicorns resorted to creating magical shields to bring the civilian passengers to safety.

They sludged through the snowy wasteland; in almost all directions, there was nothing but the cloudy starless sky and the endless rolls of snow.

They could see some tall silhouettes in the distance.

The passengers were silent as the barrier unicorns held their shields up, bracing the brunt of the raging weather both in snow and in wind.

After a minute, they reached those silhouettes.

It was actually an imromptu residence for the military—billets, in other terms. Small wooden one-story houses lined up and spaced out evenly, and wooden frameworks indicated the construction of even more despite the harsh conditions—mostly Earth ponies making up the building crew as they hauled over long logs of timber and heavy boxes of nails and hammers, wearing (among other things) goggles that shielded their eyes. The soldiers that were there did not wear goggles but, instead, kept their armor intact and unchanged. Some were sitting on rocking chairs as they downed hot cocoa in seconds before hurrying back inside their rooms. Pegasi were hovering and flapping their wings high up above the billets, attempting to divert the winter's flow away from their fellow warriors.

The road was not visible. It was covered in a blanket of snow accumulating even more snow. Deep hoofprints were on the slightly unstable ground.

Then, all without a word, one of the unicorns pointed at a large building. It was larger than the rest of the houses and, unlike those also, it did not have a flat roof—it was slanted.

Everyone got inside.

Most of them slumped on the couches and on the chairs and on the tables. Some stretched their hooves into the air, mimicking the motions of a pony about to faint only to be sternly told that it was only a tenth-of-a-kilometer trip. A lot of them were quick to warm themselves in front of the two fireplaces over there, rotating their hooves near the blazing fire while they sat on rugs and carpets.

Eff Stop was one of them.

Then, hoofsteps from behind the counter at the far end.

Everypony looked at him.

He was a pony with a thinning yellow mane and round thin-rimmed glasses. He had a long jaw and his cutie mark was a brush dipped in blue paint.

"I won't let you stay long here without knowing the rules," he began. "Every single thing in this place is important;
anything could be given away to the enemy. No one speaks and we'll be over in a minute or two."

Everypony else blinked quietly; the fires cackled and cracked; the snowstorm outside tore any silence apart.

"One: Be transparent. Two: No leaking of information. Three: Reveal to others only what we'll let you reveal. Any questions, come to me."

Then, the glasses-wearing stallion went through a door and was then gone.

He closed the door.

Sounds of locking.

A few more seconds.

And then the crowd erupted into chatter yet again; this time, there was less complaining and more inquiring.

Eff Stop, alongside other reporters, was furiously scribbling down notes on his pad, sticking out his tongue as he thought ahead of his quill.

Then, he laid it down, placed his pad on his hat, and sighed, resting himself on a window pane.

The pegasus ignored the constant talking in the room and looked outside.

He could not see much. The fog of the snowstorm, coupled with the darkness of the night, obscured his vision. Yet, after squinting his eyes, he could make out two figures, barely outlines in the vigorous haze, standing across each other.

"Good thing I found you!" the soldier yelled as he and Special Delivery—still in mailpony uniform—stood across each other in the middle of the snowstorm.

Special Delivery held a wing to his face, blocking much of the incoming snow from impacting his head.

A letter on the soldier's hoof.

The mailpony grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag.

The letter's owner ran away, departing from view, entering the unclear fog—the rage of the storm.

Special Delivery entered the train and closed the door himself, escaping the bleak weather and leaving himself in the company of a few other ponies, all but one of them sleeping and that one being the train's conductor and coal-digger.

The train started its way backward.

After a while, the train stopped and Special Delivery flew off into the purple sky.

Streaks of sunlight were pouring in, though the sun itself was not there yet.

The mailpony flew past the Ponyville cottages and town hall, dodging streetlights and trees and signs.

Finally, he landed in front of a house, inserted the letter in the mailbox, and flew away whistling.

"Huh?" a voice said.

Applejack steered from her path and walked to the mailbox.

Only she and the mailbox were under the nearest streetlight.

Crickets chirped from the grass, although she could hear a bird's song.

She looked at one of the trees.

Indeed, there was a bird perched on an overhanging branch.

"Thunderlane's family usually don't get letters this early," she said to herself, placing a hoof on her chin as she pondered. Then, she gasped.

Applejack took off her hat and solemnly put it on her chest.

"It's his first letter."

She stood there for a moment, her hat still on her chest as she remained before the mailbox.

Then, she took her hat on again.

"Reading it first ain't right. I'll head my way to the market."

And so she did, leaving the mailbox.

The Ponyville Marketplace, as it was officially called, was a wide open area where stands and stalls were aplenty. All kinds of things were sold here: fruits and vegetables, utensils and jewelry, chocolates and candies, books and art, fans and instruments, ketchup and mustard. Ponies were already flocking to the marketplace, a good number of them setting up their businesses for the day while they paid attention to the early-risers who were up and out even before dawn. They placed their price tags and stocked their displays, some of them adjusting this or that item ever so minutely so as to make the perfect attraction.

In the marketplace, however, was not much talking or camaraderie. Instead, there was a deafening silence only broken by hoofsteps and the occasional cough and "Excuse me." In spite of that, their smiles reigned the atmosphere as they proceeded to buying and selling, to getting and giving—the clinking and clanking of bits becoming commonplace once more.

Applejack, with empty saddlebags on her body, looked about her, seeing the varied kiosks and mini-retails. She saw a bigger store by the side and saw that business pony, now with slick mane again, flip the sign from "Closed" to "Open".

Then, the sun rose.

Known Unknowns

The sky turned a bright blue again, telling all that the day has arrived—a new day.

Many ponies looked up at the sun as it rose, bringing its enveloping glow on to all the land.

Applejack breathed a sigh of relief as she then headed her way to that bigger store.

It was taller than the rest of the stalls there in the market. In fact, it was the only proper building in the market. Its facade was an open-air section where antiques and bargain-value hats were on display. Above the wooden glass doors was its distinguishing sign: it had a blurred smorgasbord of goods.

She walked past the glass doors and entered the store proper.

The Earth pony stepped on to the floor, away from the ground.

"Why, hello, Applejack," the business pony said behind the counter and the cash register, somewhat despondent.

On the walls' shelves and on the aisles' racks was an assortment of products, a mini-mall on its own. Beyond the fruits and vegetables that could be seen back outside, there was butter, jellybeans, donuts, window curtains, timber, power tools, paint, paintbrushes, combs, fabric, toys, stationery, sofas, quills, even cash registers. The piece de resistance, however, was a round platform between many aisles. This platform held lots of apple-based products: apples, apple juice, apple cider, apple jam, apple fragrances, fake apple bushes. And, what was the very thing that made it the highlight of that magnificent exhibit? Jars of rainbow-colored jam, proudly labeled with a flourished hoofwriting: "Zap Apple Jam from Sweet Apple Acres!"

Yet the business pony himself had his eyes downcast, his muzzle downward also.

"Hi, Mr. Rich," Applejack said as she walked to the counter. "I jus' need some shears and some others. Rarity's gettin' swamped with the additional work with all that dull gray garb they need over there. I reckon Winter Wrap Up's animal ponies need a helping hoof on that."

"Sure do," he said, only moving his head as he leaned on the counter.

She turned around to gather what she needed, taking down her saddle bags first and then gathering the items.

Mr. Rich watched as she progressed through her shopping list—the first and, so far, the only customer of the day. He glanced at a picture beside the register and held it close to his eyes.

A happy photograph. Him, his wife, and their daughter. Filthy Rich smiling as he wrapped his family all in one hoof, a single-hoofed hug. Spoiled Rich with a snooty, upward smile that implied disdain at the very pony taking the picture. Diamond Tiara smiling widely, her tiara sparkling under the camera's flash.

The stallion sighed as he then hugged the picture.

"Uh, am I interrupting somethin'?" Applejack asked.

Mr. Rich's eyes went wide as he speedily put the picture back, turned around, and smiled—only for that smile to be gone. "No," he then said with no energy.

Applejack placed her packed-full saddle bags on to the counter.

Mr. Rich then began the process of checking each item and placing it on another side of the counter.

Applejack merely watched.

No words were said. Only the sounds of plopping things on to the counter.

Then, after pressing some buttons on the register, he said, "That would be fifty-three bits."

Applejack brought out a tiny bag of bits and dropped it on the counter.

Mr. Rich untied it and let the stack of bits topple.

He grabbed the fifty-three bits and stuffed it into the register, leaving the change untouched.

"How's your family?" Applejack asked as she picked the remaining bits up.

"Doing fine for the most part," Mr. Rich replied, looking off. "Diamond is doing well for herself in school despite the...difficulties we're all having with the war going on. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

"Why, I just passed by Thunderlane's house right before I got here!" She took one step back—surprised.

He furrowed his brows, looking at something underneath the counter. "I am proud of your sister for comforting his brother through this troublesome time, though," he continued. "She is a compassionate fellow, and, while I'm sure none of us want this to go on, she'll do great when it comes to helping others when their families...well..."

"It's alright," she said, lower than usual. "It makes my heart melt to see my little Apple Bloom grow up good."

Mr. Rich turned his head a little. "Spoiled, on the other hoof..."

"Oh, you mean her?" Her voice became bothered, a playful smirk on her lips.

He sighed, noticed the register was still open and then closed it. "She's telling me that I should capitalize on the fact that we're at war. Even told me to sell spears because they'll be as hot as hotcakes in an amusement park! I do appreciate some more money, but I could never round up the courage to do such a thing."

Applejack bit her lip. "You are bringing her more often in your down-to-earth trips, aren't ya'?"

"Might as well be a chronic disease."

She groaned.

"Yet, many ponies have been cured of chronic diseases. We have a hospital here, so it can't be that bad."

Applejack smiled. "You've got the hope, Mr. Rich."

He smiled, too—his tired eyes over it. "We all need it, Applejack." A pause. "And, thanks for stopping by."

"Yer' welcome."

She waved as she left the store.

He waved back at her.

Back in the marketplace, Applejack walked with her full bags and showing no signs of struggling to carry them both.

"Applejack? Is that you?"

Her ears went up. "Rarity?"

The unicorn walked past the stalls, her gait being regulated and ordered. She also had two saddle bags on her body, though unlike Applejack's, they were not full although the farmpony could not see what exactly was inside besides some rolls of felt.

The two stood right at the path's center where many ponies came and went with bags, baskets, and other sorts of containers whether full or empty or somewhere in between.

In the sky, three pegasi in armor patrolled the town from above.

"How is everything going, darling?" Rarity asked. She took notice of the stuffed bags on Applejack. "Looks like somepony is going to hibernate for the winter. It's spring. We have yet another season betwixt now and then."

"'Betwixt'?" Applejack rolled her eyes. "Is that even a word?"

Rarity giggled. "Joking aside, Applejack, I deem it almost useless to continue this...rivalry."

"I was kinda' surprised when you sported that uppity attitude of yours," Applejack said. "But, I take it that you're doing well with...uh, whatcha' call it?"

"I am no expert on these...things myself, darling," Rarity answered, throwing an imaginary thing with her hoof, "but these uniforms are so...lifeless. Yet, they are what the ponies over in Canterlot say are the most efficient."

"You've got some machinery in your boutique?" Applejack asked. "'Cause, I don't think there's not much space when it comes to hoof-made art."

"I have standards," Rarity said, her horn glowing as she floated a few rolls of felt into view. "Instead of having not a single bright hue, I've taken the liberty of adding these things to their apparel's repertoire!"

"Rarity, you're missing the point," Applejack said, walking up to one floating roll and grabbing it with a swift hoof. "Haven't ya' learned anything from the first ever battle?"

"And that is...?" Rarity said, tapping her hoof impatiently.

"Having 'bright hues' on uniforms makes you a sittin' duck. That's why they're researchin' on those...hidin' and disguisin' clothes—"

"Camouflage. It's camouflage."

"Whatever you call it."

It was Rarity's turn to roll her eyes.

The two then walked down the wide path, passing by the market's many small booths of goods.

"So, really, Applejack. How are things?"

Applejack had a lump on her throat. "Smoothly as usual. We've been able to keep up with the increased workload, having to supply more than just Ponyville, you know."

"Are you able to get by?"

"Yeah." Applejack looked up toward the sky; barring the pegasi tainting the scene, the sky was even brighter and even bluer. "It's makin' us sweat and tired more, but that don't matter when you realize that everypony's dependin' on ponies like us to keep them alive, 'specially the soldiers."

Rarity hummed an approving hum.

"So, how about you, Rarity?" Applejack asked. "How are you?"

Rarity then hummed a pondering hum, her eyes looking up. "My father is puzzled about it all. He wants to still be with us, but he has that sense of duty that he must fulfill. He is a unicorn with a strange propensity for mere toughness."

Applejack smiled a bit. "Hondo Flanks was a football player. I'm pretty sure he's useful for the chargin' brigades."

"But, he's mellowed, darling," Rarity answered, twirling her mane with her magic—glowing blue. "He's not as strong as before."

"Jus' give him some trainin' and he's gonna do swell," Applejack suggested. "Trust me."

Rarity smiled, too. Then, she pouted. "But, if he does regain the strength of his youth, then that's all the more reason to send him off! And, I don't want to leave my dear sister without a father even if it's for one week!" Her voice strained.

Applejack sighed as she looked down, the two of them still walking. "Then, let's hope that it's all gonna be over soon. Quicker it is, better it'll be for all o' us."

Rarity nodded in agreement. "You are right, Applejack. I'll do my best to keep my father from serving there. Am I not already serving by producing good clothes?"

Applejack snickered. "What about you go ask a real soldier? Take his advice, hm?"

Rarity looked up again, thinking. "Why not? Certainly better than doing it all in the dark."

Applejack smiled again at that.

Sugarcube Corner could be described best as a gingerbread bakery. Although the bakery itself was not made up of edible material, it was mouthwatering to behold. Gingerbread all layered in white frosting and cream, a cupcake on top, candy canes on top and between the pink door, purple flowers on the side—these are all just analogies, for the bakery looked like a gingerbread bakery but it certainly was not made up of actual gingerbread.

As Applejack approached it, about to walk up the few steps to the entrance, the door opened and out barreled a yellow stallion with a cowpony hat and a vest. His blonde, tacky hair was not short. His cutie mark was one apple.

"Applejack! Boy, is it good to see you!"

"Braeburn!"

The two Apple ponies hugged each other in front of Sugarcube Corner.

"Oh, Applejack! You're safe and sound as a turnip preserved in a shelf!" He ruffled up her mane and then held her at hoof's length. "You are safe here, right? Being closer to the Empire than us Appleloosans—I was just worried every night ever since we got the news! Even worse—the Oranges, too!"

Applejack let go of his grip. "I'm fine, Braeburn. It's good to be seein' you, cousin."

"Excellent!" Braeburn exclaimed as he hurried to the steps. "We can talk about lots o' topics and what's what—is everypony else safe as well?"

Applejack followed him. "They're all safe. You don't have to think too much 'bout us. We won't call for help unless—"

Then, Braeburn yanked her and brought her inside the bakery.

If the outside of Sugarcube Corner was that of a gingerbread house, then the inside was just as colorful and cheery. Cyan planks of wood, luminous walls of yellow, candy cane columns, glass displays of creative cakes and pies (but no cakepies) beyond the normal ones: peanut butter orange cake and salted chili chocolate pie were only two of the more exotic choices to be found there.

And, of course, the sweet scent of sugar permeating the bakery.

Attending the counter was Mrs. Cake, also known as Cup Cake. She was a round pony with swirling mane that could be mistaken for cake frosting.

"Hi, Applejack!" she said as she saw Braeburn accompany his cousin inside. "Braeburn was waiting for you ever since five!"

"Five?" Applejack expressed, then looking at her cousin with a strange look. "That's mighty early for ya'. You somehow got a train at that time, too?"

Braeburn nodded as he sat down at a small table that had a plate of half-eaten strawberry pie. "I couldn't take it any more; my sleeps were gettin' shorter and shorter until I couldn't handle it! So, while everypony else was sleepin', I sorta' snuck out—I got Silverstar's permission and he was very understandin'."

Applejack placed her hat down in front of the pie.

"Are you yearnin' for something to chew on, Applejack?" Mrs. Cake asked.

"I already had my own breakfast—thank you."

Mrs. Cake looked at Applejack, concern on her face as she then peeked into the kitchen.

"Good thing we have a sturdy family to fall back on," Braeburn said, bringing Applejack closer with his hoof. "We've got each other, cousin! Even if Equestria falls, they'd have to get through the Apple family first before they eliminate us forever!"

Applejack pulled herself out of his grip again, narrowly avoiding getting her face smacked with a mouthful of pie.

"Anything else goin' on, Applejack?" Braeburn then asked. "You look a bit frail. Overwork?"

"Nah." Applejack shoved the qusetion aside. "These...news, Braeburn. I...Granny Smith said she never saw conflict like that ever in her life." Her voice became breathy. "She's seen some scuffles before. But...I don't think we've seen the beginnin' of this."

"Aww, don't be such a sour spot!" Braeburn said, resorting to ruffling her mane again. "Besides, the Crystal Empire is teensy tiny! Even if it's chock full of ponies, they're not enough to take over us! Any setbacks we're havin' on our part—just bad luck and bad decisions. We're gonna make it a-OK," and he ended that with a grin.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that if I were you."

After a while, the two cousins left Sugarcube Corner and parted ways—Braeburn to the train station, Applejack back to roaming around in town.

As she walked the roads of Ponyville, she passed by the same houses, the same stores, the same old buildings; passed over the same rivers on the same wooden bridges.

She looked on at the ponies who were seated at the tables in one of the restaurants. Their faces, though smiling, were subdued, as if their smiles were only there because that was tradition.

"Braeburn oughta' be right," Applejack muttered to herself as she walked, passing by some trees and then approaching Rarity's boutique—a tall and fancy (if not regal) thin structure of pink, blue, yellow, and white; canopies, model horses, and a flag on top.

"But, what if he isn't right? What if I'm the one who's right? That this ain't the beginnin'? I don't want to know how long this is gonna last. Will...will I live to see the end of it?"

Then, she shook her head.

"Heh. Maybe I am overworked."

A pause.

She frowned as she stopped right in front of the boutique.

It was a face of despair.

"No. I'm not."

Novo Riche

As Applejack headed back to Sweet Apple Acres, she encountered a pony struggling with some fallen knapsacks. She rushed to her aid and picked up some of the dropped items—papers, quills, images, folders.

"I know what yer' gonna say, miss," Applejack said, noticing the pony's mouth opening to say something. "You can keep the gratitudes for yourself."

"Ah," the stranger's voice being a mix of high-falutin and countryside, "to be helped by none other than an Apple! You must be thanked in some way." She closed her bags and placed them on her torso. "But, if you want to have it that way, then I'll respect it."

Applejack smiled, though she examined the stranger—clothed in a purple suit and a pink scarf, her well-combed mane implied a regular groom. She also had large earrings and her cutie mark was a trophy. "Well, before you leave, I'd like to at least know your name."

"Very well—it's only a trifle," she answered, nodding. "I'm Ms. Harshwhinny. As you could tell, I'm in a hurry to some official business in Dodge Junction."

Applejack stepped aside.

Ms. Harshwhinny zoomed off at a gallop, piles of dust kicked off into the air.

The farmpony coughed and closed her eyes.

"Uh, we're looking for a Ms. Harshwhinny in these premises," a pegasus guard in armor asked in his baritone voice as he and his fellow guard buddy stood in the middle of a large (though mostly empty) intersection in Ponyville—a white-and-yellow chariot behind them.

Lyra shrugged her hooves while she levitated her small lyre. "I don't know. I've never seen such a pony. Maybe if you could give a description?"

"Brown Earth pony with blonde hair," the guard replied. "Wears some clothes. Trophy cutie mark. Also earrings on her ears."

"Hmm." Lyra scratched her chin as she looked down. "Let me think..."

Then, loud galloping steps.

The guards' ears perked up.

Lyra looked over there.

"There you are!" Ms. Harshwhinny said. "Oh, if I'm awfully late for the appointment, I don't know what Princess Celestia would exact upon me!"

She leaped on to the chariot.

The guards hooked themselves to the vehicle.

And off they flew, bringing along the mare that had been asked for.

Lyra had her mouth open wide at the sudden sight.

The wind shook her mane, stringing it along with the breeze and the gale so high up. Breaking through clouds, speeding over villages and cities, the only constants being the bigger dirt paths and the reliable train tracks.

At first, the land was composed of plains with hills dotting the distance. Then, it shifted into patches of forests and swamps, rivers galore and in profuse—ruins could be seen if they were not obscured by both the pace and just how far down they were from the chariot. After them was a short run of more plains before it turned into a desert—bare, arid tracts that held not much in terms of life; aside from cacti and other such plants that could survive there, there were the robust rock formations of jagged and ragged form and a smattering of frontier communities.

Then, there was Dodge Junction.

Ms. Harshwhinny looked over the chariot and saw the tiny settlement.

Colorful buildings of varied colors contrasting with the dry one-note ground of brown. What seemed to be the only road was actually the main road, and that's where almost all of the buildings were situated. She could see spots going around town—most likely ponies.

Then, the chariot finally landed right in the middle of the road, between the buildings and the railroad with Dodge Junction's train station.

Ms. Harshwhinny hopped off and headed for that station, ignoring all the ponies that were gathering around the chariot and its guards who went on to pull their carriage to the other side of the tracks.

"Royal duties," one of the guards announced to the citizens, holding up a hoof above the railway.

"Aww!" was what many ponies said as they stomped away, disappointed and frustrated.

The train station here looked a lot like the one back in Ponyville. It, too, was somewhat run-down; worn. There was no separate tower—only the main building.

Inside was a rotating fan that blew cold wind—as cold as it could get in the burning climate in Southern Equestria. Rows of chairs alternated with tables where a scant number of ponies merely passed the time by playing some cards. The day's schedule of arrivals and departures were tacked on the wall, with scraps of paper indicating that the same tack had gone through many days and many schedules. The window let in the glaring sunlight; the lights on the ceiling were broken for the most part, though an electrician—made obvious by his goggles, his hard hat, and his thunderbolt cutie mark—was among the card-playing ponies.

In a secluded area of the building, at a small table behind some dividers and barriers and potted plants, was Ms. Harshwhinny holding a few documents and papers, straightening them up.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said, "you are Queen Novo of Hippogriffia."

Novo, who sat on the other chair, was a hippogriff. Her massive white-pink wings were closed, her purple mane and her purple tail were both made up of feathers, her yellow beak complemented her yellow crown with blue plumes, a huge white necklace adorned her—her legs had short blue-and-white feathers; forelegs had claws, hindlegs had hooves. She was also bigger than Ms. Harshwhinny.

"Yes, I am," Novo replied. "And, we are to talk about...?"

"This is an earnest request from the Princesses themselves," Ms. Harshwhinny said, placing the papers down on the table, her voice abrupt and blunt. "What we have here is a state of calamity."

"I don't see a single bit of calamity here in your peaceful kingdom," Novo said, lifting a claw. "The reception here has been quite warm—nothing of the panicky sort I was expecting."

"There's a reason why I called it here and not over at Canterlot," the pony told. "If we have it at the capital which is closer to the actual fighting, then we would be risking a disaster on our hooves. Crystal Empire scouts have already been caught as far as three miles North of Canterlot!"

"But you were able to take them down, weren't you?" Novo asked, raising an eyebrow about to dismiss.

"Y-Yes—"

"Then, see to it that you resolve this problem between yourselves." She waved it off with her other claw. "It's high time you got up."

"Queen Novo," Ms. Harshwhinny spoke, rising a little—a hoof on the table— "if you want to show to the rest of the world how great Hippogriffia is, now is your chance. Not only would you be bringing out your unique soldiers for all to see, but you would also be gaining a certain ally."

Novo narrowed her eyes, looking at the papers on the table and the quills over there. Then, she looked at the pony again. "It isn't that easy. Even if we do agree to send our volunteers to you, there is the undeniable fact that there's lots of space for them to cover to even reach Equestria, let alone the frontline which, if you're telling me right, is in the northern part. Setting aside logistical issues, we've benefitted from our historical isolation—nopony knows too much about us, nopony can strike us. Take the mystery of Hippogriffia away and some of what being a hippogriff is will be lost."

Ms. Harshwhinny sighed. She faced her—pleading. "Look, Queen Novo. I know that your isolation is good for you. But, why not open up?—not everything, but some things. You have lots of knowledge and art stored up there—well, we have lots of knowledge and art stored up here, too, and we share it freely. Our cultures could join together and we might make wonderful things from this friendship. You don't have to go all out on it for now—small steps, Queen Novo. This is not just us asking for your help. This is us asking you to let your kind soar and...prosper with us, much more after the war's over."

"Hmm." Novo leaned back on her chair.

Silence between the two.

"Honey—what you said reminds me of my daughter." She looked up, thinking. "Skystar's heard more than enough tales from the outside and she's fed up with having to stay in our kingdom all the time." She smiled, still looking up. "And, she'd be more than happy to have more friends—you could only befriend so many when you're stuck on an island." She let out a short, muffled giggle.

"So...will you accept?"

Novo placed her claws on the table. "It is not a simple matter. This could snowball into terrible proportions. I'll have to consider it thoroughly—and, maybe my daugher might push me to saying 'Yes'."

Ms. Harshwhinny sighed—happier. "That is indeed better than a flat out 'No'!"

She placed the papers back into her bags.

Train of Thought

Ms. Harshwhinny sped out of the train station, leaped on to the chariot—catching the two pegasi drivers off their guard as they hooked themselves to the vehicle and took off.

Soon, they were high up in the air, back with the clouds.

"Will you report to Princess Celestia, ma'am?" one of the guards inquired over the breeze's din, still flapping his wings along with his fellow pegasus.

"Most definitely," she said, that smile remaining. "It is not the most ideal outcome, but it is an assuring one nonetheless."

"Did they finally break out of their shell or what?" another guard asked in half-jest.

"Quiet!" the first guard snapped. "What if their queen wants to overhear all of our conversations? Equestria will be at war with two kingdoms all because of you!"

"Oh, come on, Depth Defense!" the other guard said, still having a bit of that jest in his voice. "It's not like she can send spies that hide in the clouds—"

"Shush!" Depth Defense yelled. "You want to get us imprisoned?! You can't talk about our spying efforts even when it looks like nopony's watching! You won't even be living up to your name!"

"Look, if my name is 'Securus,' then how could I possibly mess up national security?" He pointed to himself smugly, still pulling the chariot alongside Depth Defense.

"Princess Luna can be awake in the day and nopony does anything about it. Do you understand what you're—"

"If the both of you don't stop your quarreling," Ms. Harshwhinny interrupted, "you're going to crash on some mountain!"

The two guards gulped, looked ahead, and flew even faster—prompting the mare to hold on tight to the chariot.

In the sky over Ponyville, one could see that chariot zooming by, descending as it neared the not-so-far city of Canterlot that could be seen in the distance.

The clock tower rang on the hill.

It was seven o' clock sharp.

Two white unicorns left Canterlot Boutique: Rarity, wearing a posh chapeau, and Sweetie Belle, her younger sister of curlier mane. The latter looked grumpy.

"Now, now, Sweetie," Rarity said, looking at her as they walked on the street, "the only reason why I have to accompany you to school is because I can't risk an ambush taking you away from all of us. For all we know, the enemy might be hidden in the crowds—you know how eye contacts have developed the past decade or two!"

"But, Rarity!" Sweetie Belle whined.

"But, Sweetie!" Rarity whined back, mimicking her sister's voice.

"It's only a five minute walk from here!" Sweetie told. "Are you telling me that you stopped thinking that I could handle even going to school on my own?"

"Dearie, I haven't!" She adjusted her hat a bit, though her gaze was still upon her sister. "These are desperate times, Sweetie, and desperate times call for desperate measures."

Sweetie groaned.

"Remember that this is for your own good," Rarity added. "I am not completely accepting of this, either, since it takes away precious time from the three jobs I have at hoof. Rest is uncommon for such a lady as me—and we're both sacrificing our comforts so that we can live in a safer Ponyville."

The two did not talk for the rest of the trip.

The Ponyville Schoolhouse was a quaint little schoolhouse. It was elaborate with its etchings and its details—heart shapes on the windows, hearts on the roofs, hearts on the bell tower; curling lines and other fancy shapes made it stand out from the rest of the structures in Ponyville. The schoolhouse was mostly red, with white and yellow and pink highlights. A sign stood in front of the white fence on both sides of the dirt path splitting off to it; it showed the symbol of Ponyville—two silhouetted ponies holding a heart—over an open book. A flagpole waved its large red flag—it was very windy. A short tree had its leaves cut so that it looked like a pony wearing a graduate's cap. The playground was over at the schoolhouse's side; standard playground equipment such as see-saws, swing sets, and merry-go-rounds were there. On all but the schoolhouse's front were open fields where colts and fillies could run about and chase each other and play other kinds of games with their noisy yet innocent shouts and screams.

And they were doing that now.

"Farewell, Sweetie Belle!" Rarity said as she headed back, waving. "I'll pick you up before you know it!"

"Thanks and bye, Rarity!" Sweetie yelled, waving, too.

And then, Rarity was out of sight.

Not minding her active classmates outside, she walked into the schoolhouse.

The floor, though made up of wood, was covered everywhere in hay. Stools and desks in neat rows and columns—heart shapes etched, too—stood in front of the teacher's desk which was decidedly more polished than the other tables there. A stack of books and an apple was on it. The chalkboard behind it displayed a few planetary equations on the side; the rest of it was covered in white smudges, the faint outlines of names, dates, words, numbers, illustrations—they were there.

Some ponies were reading their textbooks at their desks.

But, Sweetie did not join them.

Instead, she went back outside.

She rounded a corner and saw a hatch door attached to the building.

Sweetie opened it and went down the dark stairway.

At the end of it, she was in the schoolhouse's basement.

Ponies, also her classmates, were busy at work. Over there, some were typing on their typewriters; over here, two colts were squeezing ink on to the inking machine, printing out rolls and rolls of newspapers; over there, heated discussions were ongoing between those seated; over here, a colt and a filly were presenting something to another group of colts and fillies. All of this was going on while the overly-tall chair behind the wooden desk at the far end stayed empty.

Sweetie gulped. "First day after it started and it's already this bad!"

"Heya' Sweetie Belle!" a familiar voice yelled.

She turned around and saw two fillies on a sideward table. There was Apple Bloom and an orange pegasus.

"Apple Bloom! Scootaloo!"

She hopped on to the only unoccupied chair at the table.

"So the three of us still chose to attend school, huh?" Scootaloo, the pegasus, said. "Didn't Miss Cheerilee say that we could wait 'till next week?"

"I was actu'lly on the fence about it for a while," Apple Bloom said. "We were harvesting apples for the cause. It was only last night when Applejack told me that I should go to class first thing—said that she an' Big Mac were more than enough for the work."

Scootaloo nodded. "There wasn't much to do for me, anyway, besides hanging out with you girls. So, I'm here."

Now, the two were looking at Sweetie.

"Oh, you're wondering why I'm here?" Sweetie said, a little surprised. "Well, I wasn't planning to skip school anytime soon."

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.

"Will Cheerilee add some...uh, emergency lessons?" Sweetie asked.

"What do you mean?" Scootaloo asked.

"Emergency lessons," she repeated. "You know: ducking under our desks, how to defend yourself, using this very basement"—moitoning a hoof toward all of the room they were in—"as shelter in case of a pegasus raid. That kind of thing."

Scootaloo shuddered. "You're right! I hope she teaches us everything on being safe."

"What about yer' scooter?" Apple Bloom asked, turning to her. "You've carried us before on that contraption. I'm sure that, if we have to escape, we could make it out in time."

"I have to carry your families as well," Scootaloo said, the concern in her voice rising. "I can't carry them all. My scooter would break under that weight!"

Sweetie then smiled. "You said you have back-up scooters, right?"

Scootaloo nodded, smiling with closed eyes.

"What about you teach us on riding those scooters?" Sweetie suggested, pointing at her. "I don't think I could carry a lot of ponies, but I've carried more than a few baggages when I traveled with Rarity to her fashion shows."

"I don't know," Scootaloo said with caution in her words, tapping her chin. "My scooter's fine, but there's a reason why I got some back-up ones."

"You don't have to worry about them!" Sweetie countered. "Train us in a safe place and everything will be OK."

Apple Bloom nodded, facing Scootaloo again. "I think it's a splendid idea!"

"Yeah," Scootaloo began, "but even if I could teach the two of you, I don't think you'll ever use them. The baddies are so far away and we have the Princesses on our side—they control the sun and the moon, remember?"

"There must be a good reason why they're not using them to their advantage," Sweetie said. "But, I have no idea what that could be." She then shrugged.

Apple Bloom sighed, fixing her mane's bow. "We're all here now, so that's that?"

Then, loud hoof falls down the stairs.

Everypony inside looked at the newcomer; he was a stocky, short gray colt.

"Miss Cheerilee's inside!"

And then everypony inside turned off whatever machines were on and headed upstairs.

The day went by, the foals learning more about the world they lived in, how it operated and its past events.

When the bell rang for the final time, it was sunset; the orange-pink sky with cloud streams painted over the horizon as the sun was about to touch and grace the mountains and hills once more.

A rush of colts and fillies blasted out of the narrow door, leaving Cheerilee—a dark purple Earth pony with flowers as her cutie mark—to walk slowly to Ponyville proper.

She noticed a long line at Sugarcube Corner, stretching to the outside.

The lights were on, illuminating the darkening streets.

Beside the line and the open door inside was a wooden sign, proclaiming in no small words: "A.K. Yearling Signing! Meet and Greet! Here is the Author of the Daring Do series!"

"Huh?" was what came out of Cheerilee's mouth.

Then, she attempted to get in, bypassing the line.

"Hey!" a pony yelled in a brash accent, wearing a checkered cap and a checkered tie. "Wanna have a book signed? Get in line!"

"Oh, no, I don't want to have a book signed," Cheerilee said, almost apologetic. "I only wanted to see what the fuss was about and grab a bite."

At the counter were the two Cakes: Mrs. Cake and Mr. Cake who was a thin and tall yellow pony with a strutting jaw and an apron. The two dished out desserts and refreshments on a table in white linen, constantly refilling the punch bowls and the salad bowls and the other bowls.

A few ponies—some of them disinterested in what was going on around them with half-open eyes and tired heads—ate at the tables as usual.

The main event, however, was the line that went around tables and ended on a long one in red linen. Cameras flashed at her as A.K. Yearling opened a book on the very first page and wrote down her signature in striking strokes.

She looked like a reclusive pony. A purple robe covered most of her body, although her face was a gray yellow—her hooves were, too. She wore thick red glasses and a gray bonnet with a white ribbon. What could be seen of her mane was gray.

She was also smiling as she partook in the event.

Each pony in line held books that showed, in some way, that adventurous pegasus adventurer of archaeology: Daring Do. Like A.K. Yearling, her coat was a gray yellow. She also had a sort of gray hair. She wore her famous green shirt and pith hat with its many arrow holes.

"Next!" A.K. Yearling called out.

A stallion went up next—a tan stallion with a mane not unlike Daring Do's. He even wore a very similar shirt.

The writer's face grew annoyed. "Oh, it's you."

"Well, as a fan," the stallion said, placing a hoof on his shirt as he spoke, "I have the obligation to collect every single Daring Do book in existence, even if they are...uncouth to true tastes."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Quibble Pants, when will you learn?"

"I'll learn when I finally see a Daring Do book that harkens back to the good ol' days!" he said.

"We're not having this conversation again, Quibble, not in front of a crowd of eager and—if I may add—more sensible ponies."

Quibble groaned as he slammed a book on to the table. "There! My copy of 'Daring Do and the Basin's Mystery'. If it doesn't end up reviving my hope in Daring Do, it'll at least give me hundreds of bits down the line at the Traders Exchange."

Now it was Yearling who groaned. "Do you even have a shred of appreciation?"

"Some shreds," Quibble shot back.

"Next."

Quibble then walked out of the line and sat on a table, about to take a bite of his chocolate cake.

Then, not so far back in the line, a pony raised his hoof. "Uh, Miss Yearling?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking at that hoof as she signed the next book without looking.

"Uh, why is it that you and Daring Do look like twins?"

She smirked. "You're new to the books, aren't you?—Next!—Talk to a seasoned fan. You'll get your answer."

Then, the hoof lowered, disappearing in the line.

A.K. Yearling finally walked out of the bakery, yawning. She looked at the watch on her wrist. "It's past nine already?"

And with that, she took off, galloping as fast as she could to the train station.

She glanced at the night sky with its abundant stars and its shining moon.

Then, a whistle.

She looked to her left, standing on the platform.

There was a train station at the border of a thick forest. Under the night, the grass and the trees were gleaming in the moonlight. Owls hooting, crickets chirping—these could be heard and only seven birds sang under the nocturnal canopy.

Its lights were on and a sign hung from the ceiling over the platform: "Galloping Gorge Train Station (the only one)".

The train stopped there.

Loud hoofsteps in unison—the soldiers in armor were first, led by the officers, all holding dangerous weapons.

The train station's staff looked at them with awe and terror, taking steps back as they gave way to these ponies as they marched on into the forest with several pegasi flying over them.

Then, it was the civilians' turn.

Various ponies, among them A.K. Yearling, scrambled out of the carriage, pursuing the marching battalions.

And then, the writer turned back.

West of the Galloping Gorge was another forest—or, more appropriately, a mix between a forest and a jungle. The foliage was deep; strange and never-before-seen plants grew in colors other than green, animals that have never been recorded abounded.

Yet, the writer ignored the wonders around her as she walked on the rock path to her house.

It was a cottage. It had a hay roof that drooped down even to the door. It had two floors and a chimney. A barrel and a wheel were its exterior decorations.

After unlocking and then opening the door, she went inside.

It was a small delight. The gray green walls and plain wooden planks held an assortment of tidbits and novelties: ornate carpets, old spears, lavish oars, and some treasure chests of different designs. A few jewels and diamonds sat on the edges of a writing desk fitted with its cabinets and a heavy, decaying typewriter where an unfinished page of another novel sat, flapping in the cool breeze that entered through the open door.

She sighed at the sight of her home.

She trodded the short staircase down to the floor itself and placed some bags down on a table.

"Some rabid fans I have," she muttered before she headed to the writing table.

She sat down, typewriter in front of her.

Yearling looked at the windows.

"Well, closing the curtains won't harm anypony."

She walked over to the windows and closed the curtains. Then, she turned on the lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Ah. That's better."

She trotted her way back to the writing table.

Then, the door broke down.

Yearling turned around.

A group of ponies—except helmets and masks over their faces. Their eyes glowed green. Spikes on their masks' throat, spikes on their shoulder pads, spikes on their armor's torso. Black manes and black tails on all of them.

Not a word.

Yearling arched her eyebrows and pawed the floor—gritting her teeth.

Vanhoover

Dashed to them.

Uppercut, swipe to the left.

Punched back.

Kicked back.

Thrown somepony to the fireplace.

Thrown another out the door.

Incoming hoof.

Dodged.

Leaped to a spear.

Held the remaining back.

Poked them at the helmet.

Lunged.

Threw them out.

Punch, kick, a few more kicks.

Knocked her glasses off.

She growled.

Threw herself at him.

Punch, kick, kick, more punches, more kicks.

All down.

All unconscious.

Yearling heaved a sigh, picked up her glasses and wiped the sweat off of her brows.

In front of her lay the near-unmoving bodies of the Crystal ponies—helmets and masks still intact, eyes still glowing.

"This is dangerous."

Vanhoover, not that far away from Yearling's house, was a thriving city, a metropolis to rival Manehattan. Whereas Manehattan was known as "The City That's Always Awake", Vanhoover was known as "The City That Prospers in Everything"—and it shows.

From the mountainous borders of the urban area, one could already see some of its characteristic features: developed lines that supported both steam and "new-fangled" electric trains (no chimneys, no coal, no smoke; of a rounder, more minimalistic design); series of dams spewing out continuous foams of water down regulated rivers; skyscrapers mingled in glass and metal as they reached to the sky; a harmony of pony-made structures and pony-preserved parks with well-trimmed grass and well-cared trees to boot; bridges over the multiple creeks and rivers, spanning huge distances with carriages and ponies riding and walking over; and, finally, at the end of the land, the ports and docks where all kinds of boats and ships—from the humble tugboat to the massive passenger liners (with a few yachts here and there).

And, since it was night, everything was lit up in a dancing display of lights—the sky clear so that the moon and the stars joined in the party—all of them illuminating Vanhoover, busy and bustling Vanhoover.

However, a bit far away from the sprawling centers of activity, at a train station between a convenience store with glaring lights and a brick and mortar diner, Yearling pulled a wagon to the side and stopped in front of a few ponies in police uniform.

They stood in the diner's small parking lot, under some streetlights and parking lights.

"What did you say you have there again?" one of the police ponies said; he wore shades and his cutie mark was a pair of hoofcuffs.

"Some soldiers of the Crystal Empire," Yearling repeated. "I don't know why they wanted to get me. I fear, however, that if they were at my house, then an invading force is not that far away from here."

Another police pony held up a walkie-talkie to her mouth and pressed the button. "This is Officer Gendarmareie. We may have confirmation of impending attack—awaiting further information. Copy."

Yearling raised an eyebrow. "A fresh rookie?"

"Yeah," the first police pony said. "Walkie-talkie 'slang' needs some improvement. But, she's an eager learner." Then, returning to a neutral face, he continued: "Well, show me the bodies."

Yearling uncovered the wagon, throwing the cloth away.

The police flinched at the sight of the unconscious ponies.

The stallion walked forward, held up a flashlight, and examined the ponies and their armor.

"I trust that you'll take care of this?" Yearling asked.

"Leave it to us, ma'am," the stallion said while not looking away, more of his officers gathering around him and the wagon of ponies. "We thank you for your continued service to Vanhoover."

Yearling smiled as she left and walked to the sidewalk.

Bumped into a pony.

The two fell to the pavement.

Yearling got up first and helped the other mare up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss!" that other mare said. "I'm sorry! I apologize for being so distracted! I should've watched where I was going!"

Yearling smiled again. "That's alright! It's my fault, too. I was in a hurry myself."

But the mare flew away.

"Wow. Wonder where she's going."

Fluttershy was a yellow pegasus with long pink hair; her tail even touched the ground whenever she walked, even while hovering sometimes. Her cutie mark was three pink butterflies.

Now, she was in the middle of a lonely road. The train station and its nearby buildings were far behind.

Then, a pair of lights and rough hoofsteps.

She gasped and raised her hoof. "Taxi!"

The rider skidded to a halt.

Shuddering and shivering, she walked to the carriage.

"Where ya' goin'?" the rider asked, wearing a white cap.

"Take me to the hockey place," she said, raising her voice only a bit above normal.

The rider reared and galloped.

Taxi was at full speed and Fluttershy cowered in the back, holding on to her seat and closing her eyes.

When she got to the hockey place, she paid the rider some bits and alighted.

The hockey place's actual name was spelled out in big glowing letters: "Vanhoover Hockey Place". It was a stadium or an enclosed arena; a dome of sorts was connected to the facade structure where lines of ponies held their tickets by hoof, wing, or magic. The closed doors at the back could not muffle out the noises—cheering, screaming—that came from inside.

She looked at her surroundings.

It turned out that she found herself in front of many imposing skyscrapers, although the suburban districts were close at hoof; their brick houses with their many trees and plants could be seen past the fences. There were main roads everywhere—avenues, highways, all but the biggest of roads were here. Traffic was heavy; in some places, it was gridlock as arrays of taxis were at a standstill as police ponies stood at intersections holding up red and green signs, directing the flow of the carriages.

She hurried to the side, not getting smashed by an incoming crowd of excited tourists as they flocked past the line and screamed their way to the actual stadium.

"Must be important," she said.

Positioning herself right at the ledge that separated sidewalk from road, she then planted a sign on the concrete, placed some pictures of animals, and opened a saddle bag of hers.

A rabbit and a duck appeared and stood at her side.

The sign said: "Animal expert. Salary to be talked over kindly."

And many ponies passed by, only giving her a passing glance.

Carriages came and went, ponies alighted and entered.

After five minutes, none took her offer despite her plenty (though quiet) appeals.

Then, a voice above the hockey commotion: "Hey!"

Fluttershy looked at the mare who said that. Her eyes brightened, her smile widened, her once despondent ears livened up. "Yes? Would you like to consider my services, ma'am?"

The mare walked into clearer view. Like Fluttershy, she had a yellow coat. The mare was an Earth pony, had orange hair, and wore a pith helmet. "Can you tame an orthros?"

She gasped, hoof at her mouth. "An orthros?"

"That's what I just said."

Fluttershy nodded fast. "Yes, ma'am. Those are not common creatures. Where did you get such a pet?"

"Not important. I got it from a trade and now I need somepony to keep it under control."

"Oh, don't say that!" Fluttershy said—hurt. "You don't keep your pets 'under control'. You understand them. Know what they want and don't want, know what they desire and don't desire."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She brushed that off with a hoof. "Can you tame it?"

"Why, yes!" Fluttershy nodded fast again. "Where shall we start?"

"At my apartment over downtown," she said. "It's gettin' late. At least he's good at sleeping without disturbing anypony."

And, Fluttershy packed her things and followed the mare away from the hockey place.

And then, Fluttershy was lying down on her bed in the apartment.

There was a glass door with a small balcony overlooking a wide avenue. It was closed so the hoofsteps and the words could not reach her.

On a separate bigger bed slept Teddie Safari, the orthros owner. She snored.

It was a small apartment. Without walls, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room, and the study were together. Counters, refrigerators, bookshelves, tables—even a radio was there.

And, sleeping inside a large doghouse was the orthros, an otherwise normal dog of brown fur if it were not for the two heads it had, one from a different line.

She sighed as she got out of bed and walked to the glass door—never opening it.

Looked at the clock.

It was past one.

"Friday," she muttered. "If Day. If only I knew sooner before I got here."

Getting Across

"Wake up, Fluttershy."

"Ugh..."

"Wake up."

"Uh...don't you worry...Fluttershy's here..."

"You're dreaming, aren't you? Wake up!"

"Eek!"

And Fluttershy was hovering over the bed, her eyes darting and moving here and there—scared.

The lights were off—a dark apartment.

She looked out the window.

Still dark.

"If you don't get yourself ready," Teddie said, putting on her pith hat, "then we'll be late!"

Fluttershy glanced out the window again. "But it's early! What could you be late for?"

"We're getting out of Vanhoover. Now."

Fluttershy gulped. "W-What's going on? Are they actually...c-coming here?" She bit her hooves.

"A newspony rushed up to the door just minutes ago," Teddie said, packing her things up in two pocket-filled saddle bags and placing them on herself. "They've overrun whatever mountain defence force we've had."

"What?!" Fluttershy exclaimed, smacking her cheeks with her hooves. "How is that even possible? Last time I've heard, they were just at the C-Crystal Empire a-and—"

"'Last time' must've been a long time ago, miss," Teddie said.

Fluttershy gulped again.

"You're still under me, Fluttershy," Teddie began, "but this is more important than teaching an orthos new tricks! If you don't get over yourself, you're going to be here when they come and bomb Vanhoover—"

"Bomb?!"

"Stop repeating words, Fluttershy! Time is of the essence!"

Fluttershy nodded, slung some saddle bags on to herself.

She went to the doghouse, but the orthos was already awake. It was wagging its tail, lolling its tongue as it more than smiled at the sight of Fluttershy.

"Huh." Teddie scratched her head. Then, she shook her head. "Get a hold of yourself, Teddie!"

With the two-headed dog on a leash, Fluttershy and Teddie Safari hurried out the door.

At the southern train station, straddling a river that ended at the vast ocean, a crowd of ponies flooded through the doors. Many held their tickets in the air, shouting and screaming and sobbing. The bright lights held under them these ponies—whether Earth pony, pegasus, or unicorn (though mostly unicorn). They were all ready to leave with baggages and luggages in tow.

This train station, while not as massive as its Manehattan counterpart, still had some sway over those who were new to the city—columns inside had mottos etched on them, mottos of the city's various departments; paintings on the ceiling were made clear by the lights that hung there; a gallery of floors made each 'mini-station' unique as one line had a checkered and tiled floor and another had marble and still another had timber and wood.

Yet, nopony was awed or amazed by an architectural art-of-the-state. Some did not see it at all. Their eyes were closed as they cried on somepony else's shoulder. The cries only grew louder as they entered the trains. One yelled, "I'll miss you! Please come back!"

And then the train's doors closed.

"You are leaving Station Seven," a female voice announced over the radio. "Your destination is Tall Tale. Estimated time of arrival: Twenty-seven minutes."

The train was jammed with ponies on the seats at the side. The seats in this electric train, unlike those in the Friendship Express and other steam-powered locomotives, were firmly and strictly on the sides, facing the other side of the train. The ponies sitting down were facing one another across the wider aisle. Hanging from the ceiling were metal rings where ponies wrapped their hooves or wings about, keeping themselves upright.

As the train left the train station, everyone inside could see what was outside:

A twilight sky, about to break into dawn—purple, the final stars fading. Then, streaks of light—closer and closer to the cityscape.

Green lights.

Gasps. Faces away. Slamming the windows. Screams to turn back, screams to hurry forward. Ponies stood up if only to watch what the ruckus was about.

Teddi Safari and Fluttershy, with the orthos on leash, rose from their seats, too.

Above the rising hills and the growing trees—lush trees, flowering with pretty specimens—the green lights stopped on the glass skyscrapers reflecting the horizon's morning color, the night's last hour.

Then, white dots in the air.

Colliding with the green.

To dance around, to go around, to clash and to fight—some dots fell, both white and green.

The sun's rays penetrated the train's windows, blinding some of the ponies for the moment.

Now, it was really Friday.

"Vanhoover is down!" a pony shrieked—a mare on her knees, only to resume her weeping as her family came to console her with pats, nice and quiet words, and promises.

The commotion was silent before that lone mare; all eyes were on her. The family paid no attention to the looks at them. They merely brought her back to her seat, giving her tissue paper.

Sneezes, blew her nose.

Fluttershy sniffed—a tear welling.

"We will be arriving at Tall Tale Station in twenty-three minutes," the announcer declared through the speakers.

The train arrived in a much sunnier day, the coolness of the past hours replaced with a welcoming warmth and a clearing light. Only a few ponies alighted at Tall Tale Station—the great majority of the passengers stayed inside as the doors closed, with one even mocking "Are you crazy?! You're too near!"

Needless to say, he was dragged back inside the train before it got too much speed.

"Uh, a-are you sure that we should stay here, miss Safari?" Fluttershy asked, stammering, holding the orthos with her hooves—he was licking her face in pure joy. "Maybe they're right."

"I live in Tall Tale now," Teddie said matter-of-factly, gazing upon the little village before her. "No use owning an apartment about to be assaulted."

Fluttershy gulped again as they went off the station and on to Tall Tale itself.

This town had a few skyscrapers of its own though not as towering and as imposing as those back in Vanhoover. They were short and simple ones made out of brick and concrete, having an art deco style.

However, those skyscrapers felt out of place when compared to the rest of what the town had to offer to anyone new in the vicinity: one- or two- story shops and houses, most of them either flat or tipped with a rustic layered roof. Plant life proliferated the small place—every ten or so hoofsteps there was a tree in the middle of the wooden sidewalks. Some fishing boats floated about near the sandy shore.

But, even those things were not what caught the ponies' attention there and then.

Over there, they saw factories billowing out smoke. Beside them were fields of cornstalks as ponies in carriages lassoed up the stalks to the massive wagons in tow, leaving nothing behind. A pegasus had a contraption attached to her wings—a metal skeleton or framework of sorts that had retractable baskets and blades. She flew right above the cornstalks and, in a second, they were gone, now in the hold of that mare.

Meanwhile, a yellow Earth pony with a candy cane as his cutie mark was being shoved out of his candy store—inside and through the glass walls could be seen shelves upon shelves of jawbreakers, lollipops, chocolates, and more about to be boxed by a few guard ponies.

"Boiled Sweets," one of the guards said to him in a commanding voice, "you are to be sent immediately to the border of Vanhoover to meet our troops there. Your food is invaluable to us."

"B-But, why me?!" he yelled. "You should be asking Emmer Bran, not me! They have lots of food—"

"But no sweets," the guard said, dragging him into a carriage.

"My family!" And he reached his hoof out. "May I at least say my goodbyes—"

"We don't have a minute to lose, mister," the guard said.

And the candy pony was silent as the carriage whisked away.

"That was awful!" Fluttershy said as she and Teddie (and the orthos) sat at a table, beside a window that overlooked the vast sea with its undulating waves and its dithering boats—they could even hear the waves crashing on the beach, they could smell the tropical scent the ocean gave off, and some droplets of water would appear when a wave traveled perilously close to the restaurant on the pier.

On the table were some plates of salad and containers of sea salt which, as the chalkboard writing on the menu proudly proclaimed, was "collected straight from these very waters!" For the orthos, he had two bowls of generic dog food—crunchy and crispy. Each head was busy with its respective bowl.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Teddie asked nonchalantly.

They were also the only customers present.

"What if that pony doesn't come back to his family? They would be so worried and upset that they're not seeing him!"

"I'm concerned, too, Fluttershy," Teddie began, "but this is no time for excessive pitying and sympathy. They're going to do their job for Equestria—leave it to us to tell the Princesses."

"When will we tell the Princesses?"

Teddie filled her mouth with an entire cabbage leaf.

"Sorry I asked," Fluttershy said.

The two ponies and their orthos were back inside an apartment—another one, though. This one was smaller, had a carpet that covered the entire floor, and had only one pony-sized bed. There were two windows that gave them a seaside view that covered Tall Tale's entire shoreline complete with all the piers, all the boats, and all the ports and docks that could be seen without being compressed.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," Teddie said, looking about in the somewhat bare room. "It's going to be just fine."

"That's what ponies say right before things aren't fine," Fluttershy commented, hiding an eye behind her bangs.

"You're hearing the wrong stories." She took her hat off and hung it on a rack. "Alright, it's only nine-thirty in the morning. What do you want to do? There's...not a lot to do here, but there's a park—"

Fluttershy nodded. "Oh, yes!" she said, shouting as if by whispering. "If there's a park, there's certainly some ponies with pets of their own, too!"

Teddie raised an eyebrow, giving her a suspicious look. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're still my main client, of course," Fluttershy said, "but I get extra money by kindly helping out everypony even in the small ways. It's the only thing I could do for them."

Teddie sighed. "Well, I'll get ourselves some personal gear—survival gear."

Fluttershy gulped one more time. "Survival gear?"

"You better stop repeating my words, Fluttershy."

The park was a peculiar park. It had grass, trees, bushes, rocks, benches—a pond, too, where the ducks swam and quacked. But, there was also a sandcastle in the middle of the grass.

And a brown stallion was tending to it.

He had blonde mane, and a desert island as his cutie mark.

Coco Crusoe was also the only other pony in the park.

"Uh, hi."

Crusoe looked up to see Fluttershy's face.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"Oh, uh, I was wondering if you, uh, had a pet? An animal you take care of?"

He shook his head. "No. I had a pet goldfish once, though."

"What happened to him?" Fluttershy's ears drooped.

"I was clumsy back in the day, so I spilled the fish bowl and—"

Fluttershy gasped. "You let him perish?!"

"It was an accident," Crusoe clarified. "What next? You'll tell the rest of Equestria that I'm a horrible pony?"

"Uh..."

Crusoe sighed, holding a small bucket of sand and turning it upside-down, letting it all fall to the ground. "If you don't mind, I have my own troubles."

Fluttershy whimpered as she flew out of the park.

And Crusoe became the only pony in the park.

"And, if you look outside, you can see the mountains of Unicorn Range," the elated-sounding host spoke through the wired microphone.

Crusoe looked out and so did a few other ponies in the train.

Past a tundra of sparse flowers and tall grass, snow-tipped mountains were close together, rising to the sky. Splendid and beautiful were they—in magnitude, they were astonishing; in length, they were inspiring. Their rugged sides contrasted with the smooth river that bended peacefully past tiny thickets of pine trees.

"What's in those boxes?" a passing pony asked, pointing at the boxes beside Crusoe.

He turned around. "It's sand."

"What for?" The pony took a step closer and visually examined the boxes.

"It's my way of assisting in the war."

"O...K?"

"Sand in eyes. Now you know."

"Oh. OK!"

Then, the pony walked away.

Crusoe smiled as he looked back out the window.

From Friday Morning to Saturday Noon

Crusoe stepped off the train with most of the passengers and walked on Ponyville soil.

He looked up and saw some pegasi patrolling the sky. He then looked behind him, seeing the boxes of sand that he was carrying on his back. "Still safe," he muttered.

Then, passing by the same houses and walking on the same streets, he entered the town hall.

The circular room in the middle was a formidable hall. Tall windows let in the sunshine, the soothing morning sunshine; lockers and metal cabinets with numbers on them lined the walls; banners hung royally, colorful and complicated in their designs and stylings.

As he entered the room, Crusoe's eyes laid on the big table at the room's center and on the ponies surrounding it. Mayor Mare was there and Rarity was standing beside her; a few soldiers in their yellow armor and uniform stood firm, not giving Crusoe their mind.

And then, there was the ironclad unicorn. His white coat and his blue hair shone a bit under the sun's rays; his purple and yellow armor was not full as he held a hard helmet with one hoof.

Whatever hushed talk was going on stopped at the arrival of Crusoe.

All eyes were on him.

"I've brought the sand you've ordered," Crusoe said, hesitating.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"Ah, yes," Mayor Mare said as she trotted her way over to him and then obtained the boxes. "These will certainly be of good use."

Crusoe smiled then, noticing the white unicorn, he bowed a little. "And, thank you, Captain Shining Armor."

The officer smiled back.

And then Crusoe was out.

Everypony at the table returned to looking at it, specifically the map that was on it.

It was a detailed sketch of Equestria and its surrounding territories. A solid line showed the boundaries of the Crystal Emprie. Then, a dashed line went in front of it. There was yet another one a bit farther East, and the another one a bit farther West. A few more dashed lines were scattered here and there in the northern part of Equestria.

"Where was I?" Shining began, looking around. "Right—" half-closing his eyes and making them appear set "—we've gathered enough intel to know several important points about Sombra's strategy."

"What would that be?" a soldier asked beside him.

"One, he has become dangerously shrewd in less than a week. We've only failed the First Battle of the Hessian Mountains on Tuesday because we underestimated his state of mind. Nothing more and nothing less." Then, he put his hoof on a line a bit closer to Canterlot, though still far away. "But, he somehow maneuvered his troops over here, past our frontlines. Granted, the trenches were not even half-complete and maybe we didn't have enough time to mobilize the necessary troops, but we gave Sombra the benefit of the doubt until the very end so we have nothing to blame on that part."

The mayor glanced at him awkwardly.

"Then, we've received attacks from random points here—" pointing to one dashed line "—here"— and then to another one "—and here—" pointing to yet another dashed line.

Everypony else considered the land and the forces represented in those small lines.

"It confused most of us, even baffling high command. There was no rhyme nor reason to his 'unplanned' offensives—a lot of them did not have plenty in terms of population, natural resources, or even much historical value. They were just empty plains or, otherwise, little villages.

"And then..."

He hurled his hoof toward a big city straddling the western coast of Equestria. It was in its North-West, only hundreds of miles away from the arctic regions. The name given to it was: "Vanhoover."

"You've read the mid-morning newspapers, all of you, right?" Shining said, his voice becoming sterner.

"Vanhoover's been taken," the mayor answered—solemn.

Shining sighed, looking at the map below his head. "He distracted us from the real threats. We thought his forces were very few. It turns out that they were only enough to make sure that Vanhoover would fall to the brunt of his army. We were deceived and placed the majority of our soldiers on those 'random' frontlines instead of important areas like Vanhoover.
That's the other side of the story."

The mayor breathed in a quick breath. Rarity brought a hoof around her neck, showing sympathy in her closed and downcast lips.

"I don't know how long will it take for Sombra to realize that we've known a part of his strategy," Shining said. "But, we must take advantage of it while it lasts—that we know that he wants to confuse us and, when we're confused, strike at an unexpected place."

"We'll open our doors!" the mayor suddenly exclaimed.

Rarity and the soldiers looked at her, bewildered.

"Where will the poor Vanhooverites stay if not anywhere else but here?" She pointed at the ground, her passion-filled eyes lit up and amplified behind her glasses.

Shining nodded. "You're a good mayor." Then, taking in another sigh—"Listen closely. We'll talk about Vanhoover later, but listen closely...."

And everypony leaned over the table.

Davenport was leaning on his wooden chair, a leg dangling over and another one on the counter where a cash register was on.

He was opposite the front door and also sleeping.

The space that was between Davenport and the front door was occupied by the two products that his shop capitalized on: quills and sofa. On his left were the sofas—purple, gray, black, and white were the colors to choose from although their different forms and patterns made up for the lack of hue variety; rugs and abstract paintings completed this half of the store. The other half, the one on his right, was where the quills were stored and put on display alongside extra wells of ink on the bottom shelves; some quills came in bundles all grouped together into sleek vases and jars, while others came individually as they lay there almost perfectly straight with labels describing them, their history, and their value—for example, one yellow quill over here was described by the label as "from the plumage of a Dragon Lands phoenix".

Then, the door barged open.

Davenport, startled, almost fell off the chair and then stood up.

"Sir," the soldier said, outstretching a hoof at him, "are you Davenport, the owner of 'Quills and Sofas'?"

He shook his head, shaking off the drowziness. "Yes, I am. What do you need?"

"Half of your sofas," the soldier replied.

Davenport blinked. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, you heard me correctly. I wouldn't know, though, until you repeat what I've just said."

Davenport glanced at the outstretched hoof inches before his nose. "You'll pay me a handsome amount for that—you know that, sir."

"Not immediately," the soldier said, hoof still outstretched and now gesturing for payment. "Also, I won't be paying. The Princesses will."

Davenport glanced at the lone feather below the counter. Then, he closed his eyes for a few moments.

"What is wrong, sir?" the soldier asked. "Are you getting sick?"

"Not exactly," he said, a faint smile appearing. "I was...taken aback by this unforeseen request for so many sofas."

"That includes half the sofas in your inventory," the soldier said, "not just the ones you have here outside." With that, he lowered his hoof.

Davenport pushed the chair aside and grabbed a quill from the top of the counter. "We'll make this official, yes? I'll get some parchment." He walked over to the door behind him when he stopped and turned around. "May I ask why the Princesses need so many sofas?"

"It's for the guard," the soldier replied.

"You're going to use...sofas?"

"We'll split them up into pillows and beds," he said. "Hurry up—it's already dusk and some more batches will go out—"

"Dusk?!" Davenport yelled as he ran to the counter and looked out the three big windows that gave a pretty view of a road beautified with flowers on the sides.

The sky was indeed orange.

And then Davenport opened the door and rushed inside, leaving the soldier in front of the counter—waiting.

Later, in the evening, that same soldier had joined his comrades in pulling several wagons crammed with a peculiar selection of items: besides the sofas that had been purchased, there were caged birds, blank scrolls, quarter-precious paintings, soda bottles with their soda caps, old clothes, even a decaying bench—by the looks of it, it was uprooted, since the metal bolts were rusted and damaged.

Some of those wagons passed by Canterlot Boutique; some of those windows had bright lights on, their own pony-made rays of light emanating forth on to the dark grass patches and dirt roads—armor glimmering.

Sweetie Belle's head popped into view.

Inside the bedroom/workplace, one could see the bed furnished with an elegant cover of refined timber. There was also the shelves of fabrics and textiles of several kinds, sticky notes on the wall, mirrors, mannequins, yarns, spools, sewing machines—

Rarity came inside.

"There you are, Sweetie Belle!" she said, a reassured smile washing over her face. "For a minute, I thought you had gone back with our parents!"

Sweetie Belle turned away from the overlooking window. "I'm here!"

Rarity's smile grew bigger. "Yes, Sweetie, you're here!"

Sweetie scampered to her sister. "What was the hubbub in town hall about? It must be very serious if you came home only now."

"'Hubbub'?" Rarity repeated. Then, rolling her eyes and holding her mane: "That's not important—the word. Well, the 'hubbub' concerned how the conflict's going so far. The Captain of the Royal Guard himself arrived in Ponyville to hold a meeting here—a private meeting, mind you, but it was a meeting nonetheless."

"It'll be over soon?" Sweetie asked—eyes asking as they gazed into her eyes.

Rarity choked—laughed a little, a bit haughty. "What made you doubt that it won't be over? It's only a hoofful of setbacks. It's our fault that we didn't prepare ourselves sooner."

A pensive pause—a harrowing silence only broken by the marching hoofsteps and the squeaking wheels. "When do you think it will end?" Sweetie then spoke.

"Oh, it will be over before you know it, Sweetie!" Rarity said, almost laughing that sentence out. She paced to her bed, grabbing a sleeping mask with her magical grip, her horn glowing. "What day is it? What season?"

"You really don't know?" Sweetie asked, tilting her head—perplexed.

"Of course, I know! Spring just started. If it hadn't been for that grumpy king coming back from a thousand-year slumber, I would've rolled out my 'Springsition' line by now!"

Sweetie glanced at the window.

She walked to the bed, to Rarity's side.

"What will you do now, Rarity?" Sweetie asked—her voice quieter.

Rarity sighed and placed a hoof on her sister's shoulder. "Work. There's an awful lot of work to do—chiefly, soldiers to clothe and to protect." She glanced at the window, too. "It's getting late, Sweetie."

She walked over to the door.

"You better sleep," Rarity said. "Tomrrow's a Saturday so you could wake up later than usual."

"I know that, Rarity!" Sweetie whined as she levitated a sleeping mask of her own. Then, she stopped—floating it in mid-air as a look of awareness was on her face. Then, she faced Rarity again—the door was already open and she was half-out the bedroom. "Why did you tell me that?"

Rarity scrunched up her mouth. "I assumed you changed your habits now that there's a...war." An awkward pause. "Goodnight, Sweetie Belle. Sweet dreams!"

"Goodnight, Rarity," Sweetie said back, levitating the sleeping mask closer to her.

Rarity flipped the light switch and the door closed.

Now, it was dark and Sweetie Belle got up to bed, wearing that mask, and slept.

By late morning, Saturday, that same soldier walked a twisting path that led to the outskirts of town and beyond. By the time he halted, he cast a long look on Ponyville down below—a curious sight yet a familiar one, with its homely houses that harkened back to the so-called 'simple days' that had no idea that there would be hotels and offices made of fifty floors and more.

The soldier took in a deep breath of fresh air—sumptuous to his senses, almost tasting with his tongue that delectable air.

"You're the one who's gonna inspect the sandbags?" a voice questioned.

Alarmed, he jumped and whirled around to see a stallion whose most unique feature was a stubble.

"Are you?"

The soldier nodded. "Yes."

"Brilliant. I'll show you the way."

They approached a small booth beside a stone statue of a pegasus standing guard. The sound of rushing water increased in volume and the soldier could see the dam in its entire extent: light purple in color, concrete and stone in composition; some Tesla coils could be seen at the bottom—glass spheres held up by cones which were surrounded by rings of the actual metal coils. The river was split into two—the higher part before the dam, the lower part after the dam. After that, a rocky waterfall.

The stubbled pony opened the door and gave way to the soldier.

He skipped the controls and the instruction manuals on a desk and looked straight at the pile of sandbags stacked atop each other.

"Unless we had the entire pegasus population of Ponyville or some unicorns with raw talent in magic," the stallion broke in, "we can't stop even limited flooding if the Crystal ponies harm the dam."

"What about some trenches?" the soldier quipped.

"Easier said than done." The stubbled pony gave a mocking guffaw. "We should've upped security here years ago. Last month, we've had a catastrophe on our hooves when a colt played catch and ended up throwing a boulder at the dam. Good thing it didn't break, but repairs were needed and..."

He stopped, the soldier noticing that the stubbled pony had placed a hoof on the door frame, supporting himself on that hoof.

"Go. Do what you have to do." He waved the soldier off as he walked away. "Thinking about it...I need to go to Sugarcube Corner."

By noon, the stubbled pony had entered the bakery.

There was that recognizable scent of sweet sugar. Several ponies chatted as they ate their desserts—or full-course meals of desserts.

Meanwhile, Mr. Cake and Mrs. Cake pored over the one-page letter that rested silently on the counter.

"Sweet Apple Acres is doing as much as it can," Mayor Mare said, standing in front of the couple and the letter. "In spite of that—I'm sad to say—it might not be enough. We're receiving packs of displaced Vanhooverites—we'll house them, give them temporary shelter until our construction crew is finished with Chillwater."

"I've never heard of that place before, mayor," Mr. Cake said, looking away from the letter.

Mrs. Cake looked at her, too. "Is that where you'll move them?"

"We began construction yesterday," the mayor informed. "Only five miles South—far enough from the Everfree Forest, if you were wondering."

Mr. Cake quivered. "And you're saying that we can help out by—"

"Offering less sweets and more plain bread," the mayor completed.

The couple gulped, wrapping each other with two hooves as they looked at the mayor—and then the letter with a quill beside it.

A Heart

And then, it was night. The stars and the moon appeared once again, gracing the sky.

Chirps, hoots, tweets from across the railroad, from the vined forest covered in thick leaves—strange vegetation on that ground. A muscular pony nailed a sign on the one-story train station: "Nopony goes to the forest! It's dangerous!"

The chugging and the whistle of a leaving train faded away as the recently-arrived passengers walked off the station—newly varnished, a little shiny and a bit more beautiful by reflecting the moonlight at its corners and edges.

All of those ponies wore some kind of bag or pulled some sort of luggage. A few had reddened eyes, others held back tears—mouths closed shut, eyes fluttering whenever they could. A mare dearly held a picture in her hooves as she was carried over by some Earth pony assistants wearing hard hats and orange vests—a picture of her, her husband, and two foals. Smiling.

"This is the place?" the husband said—he had geled mane and a bowtie.

"It's the place," one of the construction workers replied, holding the wife's forelegs. "Chillwater."

The two foals—one colt, one filly—eyed that worker. They said not a word but then looked at their father.

"It's going to be OK," he said as he patted the heads of his children—a weak voice, as if straining to get the words out of his lips.

"Will Feuil Leaf be alright?" the filly asked—eyes moistening. "We were supposed to meet up and share some toys."

The father looked up to the sky. Then, with a sigh: "Don't you worry about her. You're best friends. You'll meet up with her soon. Her family took a later train, remember?"

"But, D-Daddy...didn't those evil guys hurt those tall buildings? Maybe they hurt the train station and Feuil Leaf might be hurt, too."

The colt glanced at him—worried.

He noticed it—and became crestfallen. "Bosket," he said to his daughter—an attempt at soothing tones— "she will be fine. You two've gone through worse stuff than this."

"What's worse than...leaving home forever?"

And it ended with a choke—eyes moistening.

"You're a big girl and...big girls don't cry." He hugged Bosket, catching her in his arms—carrying her. "Don't cry for Daddy—show me you're strong!"—in an encouraging manner.

And the colt broke into tears, gripping one of his forelegs.

And the filly, too, cried.

His wife, their mother, then burst out into sobbing once more, holding the picture closer to her face and kissing it madly; the construction workers carrying her winced as they trudged on.

Chillwater was an interesting case. If there was anything that could describe the town accurately in one sentence, it was: "A frontier town in the heart of the city." Or: "If Appleloosa was built right beside Canterlot or Manehattan." It was surrounded, at least on three sides, by open plains, with a dirt road leading out to the train station and, across the railroad, to the Everfree Forest.

The jarring architecture was one thing going for Chillwater's being unusual. Instead of the thin apartment-like houses of the city or the cozy cottages of the village, there were the shelters that looked like they were straight out of an emergency plan: blocky brick houses with unpainted walls and floors, only the bare necessities being the objects inside—no fancy rugs, no clean air-conditioning, no shelves or cabinets, no musical instruments. Only beds, stoves, microwaves, bathrooms, and one electric lightbulb. In short, it was livable and that was enough.

The other buildings in Chillwater fared no better. Retail stores and shops had narrow selections—the "supermarket" touted two aisles' worth of items with a shopping area no bigger than a typical suburban backyard. The "shelter shelters" were obvious aboveground, gray slabs of concrete sticking out from the green grass even at moonlight. Sirens were installed on those "shelter shelters".

There were the incomplete walls of future homes—the first stages of a house. Yet more construction workers and supervisors were present there, pulling and pushing materials into their needed places, each minute making their art look more like some place to sleep in.

Then, there was the river that ran by the town. It was a tumultuous river—blue and white since it moved so fast, crashing against the rocks for a brief moment before it moved on to another rock. A fish would leap out of the river only to land back inside, disappearing in the rush.

At an open space, a bonfire cackled and cracked. Many ponies gathered around it—the pile of sticks and timber, warming themselves.

"Nopony wants to stay inside," one of the visiting ponies—a white unicorn stallion with blue hair, too, but lighter; a thin mustache, a monocole, and a suit he wore—said to Mayor Mare, walking past the bonfire. "Have you noticed that?"

"I know," the mayor responded. "It may prove to be detrimental if they decide to attack Chillwater."

"There is nothing to be gained by taking Chillwater," Fancy Pants, the visitor, said. "There is not much to fear."

"But, what if it's not for the strategy?" Mayor Mare suggested. She stopped and placed a hoof to her head, fearful. "What if it's just to instill—"

"That would do them no favors in swaying adherents to their side," Fancy Pants interjected. "If you want ponies to stop fighting them, you'd have to convince them that he's not that evil. Attacking this faraway town would not help their campaign in the North, anyway. Only mass teleportation of a substantial amount of forces on the other side of Equestria would even begin to make such an attack feasible—"

"Help!"

The two ponies looked back and ran.

He woke up. Snarled, hissed at the bright light.

Looked at his holey hooves—chained to the wall.

"Wake up!" a soldier yelled beyond the light.

Only saw nothing but the light and the approaching soldier, holding the light—a reading lamp.

"You're in prison!" the soldier shouted. "How foolish of you and your queen to infiltrate Equestria with your love-stealing abilities at such a time as this!" And smacked the table.

He saw the glimmer of a spear's tip on the table.

"We'll be sending you to Canterlot straight away," the soldier continued, toning it down a notch. "I and my platoon don't know how to manage you, so off to the Princesses you go."

"T-the Princesses?!"" he exclaimed—apprehended.

The soldier raised an eyebrow. "That's weird. I was expecting a more gravelly voice from you, changeling. You sound just like a young stallion."

"Please!" the changeling shouted—as if begging, yanking his chains to no avail. "You don't know what it's like to starve all the time!"

"Every changeling is love-starved all the time," the soldier said, lowering his voice to conversational volume. "If you think I'll be tricked into letting you go out of pity, you'd have to try harder than that."

"I have a name, sir! If you could just let me go, I'll leave you alone, I promise!"

"Leave this town alone but not the rest of Equestria—that's what you mean!" He shook his head.

"Oh, if there was only another way that I could—"

"There is no other way!" the soldier shouted, banging the table, causing the lamp to shake a bit.

The changeling closed his eyes at the glare.

"You're a changeling! As far as we know and as far as you know, the only way to not get hungry is to steal love! It doesn't matter if you have a name!"

"But, I'm Tho—"

"No interruptions!"

And the changeling whimpered.

"You're good at disguising and acting," the soldier said, calmed down again. "If you weren't so bad, you would've been featured in all the plays at Bridleway—you're that good at fooling ponies. And, I'm not letting a runaway tarnish us"—as he pointed to himself.

The light turned off.

"Take him to the cage." Hoofsteps coming. "Princess Luna will know what to do—let's leave it to her."

"Wait!" the changeling yelled. "What was the whole talk for?!"

"To introduce you to your prison guard, that's what."

All four hooves chained to the cage's bars. Creaky wheels, a slowly changing landscape under the night—the calm moon with its soft light once more. His opal eyes—no obvious pupil to be seen—shone a bit of that, too. Unfamiliar lights, thought-out walls and roofs, tall and dizzying streetlights.

"What a wicked monster!" a clothed mare shouted in a haughty accent.

"Hmph!" went a suited stallion who stormed off the very street.

Most fled. Others stayed to jeer, to mock, to throw some tomatoes at him although a spear was stopped mid-air by one of the unicorn guard's magic grip—turning a blur into a clear weapon glowing his aura's color.

Thorax held a hoof up. Covered his eyes—a whimper.

Escorted inside, he saw the immense hallways—the rows of columns, the stained glass windows, the red carpets, the polished checkered floors, the golden and silver door frames, the intricate doors, the valuable paintings, the floral perfume of royalty, the bouquets of lavenders, the many guards who cast their suspicion on him with their leery looks.

His four hooves were shaking. His teeth racketed except for his fangs—visible to the guards and to anyone else who saw him.

Past an open door, another similar hallway.

Thorax looked out the windows.

He saw Canterlot at night—a subdued scenery of towers and roofs that reflected or, perhaps, increased the moonlight on their tips. The gloomy clouds only made the moon outstanding—to dominate and to capture attention since many stars could no longer be seen. It heightened the bluish colors on the capital, only crumbling underneath the yellow lights—their contrast. The greenery that he was able to see—the flowers, the bushes outside—stood still, never bending.

A scratching sound. The double doors in front, opening.

Saw who was in front of him—and trembled.

The red carpet ended at the throne which stood on a golden platform. More lavender flowers resided in the metal bowls on each side of the carpet, in front of that platform—they smelled sweet, relaxing. A short fountain continued its outpour of gentle water beside the throne.

Ignoring more stained glass windows, banners, columns—his eyes were on Princess Luna, her ethereal mane still flowing.

And she was not smiling. Nor was she frowning.

Instead, she merely looked upon the caged changeling.

He shivered.

Guards went forward and bowed down.

Luna remained standing, looking upon him.

Staring at him.

She walked down the red carpet, down the platform—level with the changeling.

Closer and closer.

She motioned a hoof.

One of the guards raised his head as if wondering.

She nodded.

He looked at some of his fellows and they nodded.

Four of them went to the cage, opened it, and unchained Thorax.

The rest readied their spears and arrows—aimed at the changeling.

The moon shone on their metal tips and on Luna's streaming mane and on his eyes.

"What is your name, changeling?" Luna asked.

Thorax gulped, looking down on his hooves—shaking. "I-I'm Thorax, your Majesty."

Her stoic face remained. "What crime have you committed tonight?"

He stammered—spitting out some syllables, some sounds, but not a word.

"Well?"

Cleared his throat. "I—I was desperate!"

"A strong pony is one who resists against his instincts," Luna said, "if he knows that giving in meant evil and wrong."

"But how would I live? Survive?!"

"I am sure that there is another way." She took a step forward—closer. "I know."

Thorax looked up—his shuddering intensified. "Y-You can't be serious, Princess! How would y-you know?! You've never known a changeling's plight!"

"A changeling who is willing to admit that he is even a little wrong," Luna answered. "You are such a changeling." A pause. "Unusual."

A subtle smile. "Does that mean y-you'll let me go?!" Then, he fell down to the floor. "Princess Luna! Give me a place, a job, anything in Equestria! If that means I'll have to disguise myself as a pony forever and take on a new identity—please! I know that you're kind, you pony folk are kind! There's something about your love that's—that's—"

Luna retracted a reaching hoof. "I can't."

Stepped closer. "Princess, I plead to you! I plead! I'd rather stay here for the rest of my life—I won't even show my changeling form to anyone! No, I won't even revert back to my true form, my true appearance! If that's what you want, Princess, then accept it! Accept me!"

She sighed. Closed her eyes and looked down.

Thorax banged the soft carpet—screaming. "Princess! You can't let me return to her! She will know that I tried to defect! She will know! Her punishments, Princess—do you know them?!"

Luna kept looking down—eyes still closed.

The guards closed in on the desperate changeling.

Luna held up a hoof.

The guards looked—and stopped.

Thorax breathed heavily. Audibly. His head faced a myriad of directions, his vision becoming fuzzy.

Tears streaming.

Fainted.

"What did you call me for, Princess?" Shining Armor asked, bowing down to her—still wearing his armor.

The wind blew just outside the castle, at the bottom of the steps to the entrance. The dark roads and the sparse lights gave the place a sad atmosphere.

It was cold.

"We've captured a changeling spying around," Luna said. "His name is Thorax. We already have guards watching him sleep, but I'm telling you so you'll be aware and alert." She looked beyond him, over his shoulder. "I must go—there are many nightmares and I cannot delay in my duty."

Her horn glowed.

And she vanished.

Shining Armor was alone in the middle of the street.

The wind became a gale and he shot a hoof to his hair—realized that a helmet was protecting his hair from the breeze.

He walked away.

His mansion was a humongous one: four stories tall with three chimneys. Its front yard was twice as big—spanning yards upon yards of lawn that had been mown recently. Fountains, umbrellas, trees: these lined the illuminated stone path to the entrance which was guarded by two guards wearing armor—one wore a six-pointed star, another wore a blue heart; both were on their chestplates.

Princess Cadance—a pink alicorn of pink, purple, and yellow—sat on the stairs leading up to the big white door, rotating her crown in boredom with her blue magic aura.

She looked up. Her face changed. "Shiny! What's happened? Is there an emergency? Do we have to leave?"

"It's alright, Cady," he said in a relieved tone. "It's only Princess Luna giving me a heads-up about a notorious suspect—he's now in custody."

"Who's he?" she asked, standing up—curious.

"She gave me his name." He scratched his head. "Thorax."

Cadance leaned her head slightly. "That's interesting. But, what is she going to do in the morning? Give it to Celestia for further investigation?"

"Imprisonment if not invenstigation." He muffled his own laughter with a hoof.

Cadance's smile diminished. "That's disappointing. Maybe he could've at least joined our pony spies. He would be indispensable."

"He? Join us?" He placed a hoof on her shoulder. "I hope you're not getting sick, Cadance. It might do things to your thinking."

Then, he galloped up the stairs and into the mansion.

Cadance looked at the door left swinging open. "Shallot Leek," she said to the guard wearing the blue heart on her armor, "what time is it?"

"Five ten."

Cadance exhaled and looked up at the sky.

It was no longer such a dark blue. Dawn was to arrive.

Seven Days

She sat at the white table, stirring her cup of tea as if mindlessly. She was not even looking at the cup; her eyes gazed somewhere else—the morning horizon, the apparently never-ending street sided by tall houses and stores.

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

She turned around.

"Oh, uh, hi!" a young pony said through an extreme grin. His bedraggled hair had strands sticking out; under his eyes were freckles.

She smiled. "And who are you?"

"Uh, I'm Star Tr-Tracker!" He stetched his notepad out. "I've gotten the autographs of so many famous ponies! Now, you and the Princesses and the rest of royalty are the last ones! When I'm done, I'll be happy!"

Cadance's smile grew. "And what will you do after that?"

He lifted a hoof and opened his mouth. And nothing except his eyes stayed open.

She snickered while covering her mouth. "You must be really dedicated to your passion, Star Tracker."

"Uh, why wouldn't I, Princess?" he said, regaining his composure. "It's a part of my talent!"

"And what would your talent be?"

"Some...things..." He rubbed his head. "Actually, I'm not sure if I've really grasped everything my cutie mark means." He looked at it: a star with three yellow horseshoes below it. "All I know is that I end up being near a lot of celebrities. And I don't think it's by chance—I sort of lock up when I'm—well, heh-heh-heh!—when I'm in front of you and other famous ponies. But—" He lifted a hoof once again, this time with a show of power in it "—I fancy myself in being a good talker so I could get to them."

"Oh!" Cadance expressed, straightening up in her seat. "That's a new talent!"

"So, uh, if you don't mind...eh-heh-heh?"

And he brought out a quill.

"I have some more ink," he spoke as she grabbed the quill, "in case you, uh, run out!"

Cadance smiled again. "It's just an autograph. I don't think I'll have to ask for more."

"Yes, yes, yes, Princess!" he said fast, nodding.

Cadance levitated the notepad and placed it on the table. She wrote her signature there.

"And, uh, do you have a stamper or something like it?" he asked—quieter and less sure. "I'd also like to have an imprint of your, uh, hoofprint!"

"I don't," Cadance replied—then, her face brightening: "Wait, let me ask the waiter if he has one."

Star Tracker danced in place as he watched the Princess go over to a white-suited waiter.

He hugged the notepad close to his chest as he sat on a bench in the middle of a stone-fenced park. "Yes! One Princess down, two more to go! And, of course, one Prince!"

Then, he gasped.

"Wait! No! I should've asked her where her husband was!"

He looked around. There were carriages moving slowly on the road and there were well-dressed ponies walking on the sidewalk.

There was Princess Cadance, walking on the sidewalk, too. She was levitating a box.

Out Star Tracker went, leaping the final steps with a bound to land right in front of her.

"Ah!"

The box stopped glowing.

It fell.

It halted, glowing again.

He looked at her face—her shocked face.

"Oh, it's only you, Star Tracker," Cadance said before she sighed. "What's the problem? Did you lose my hoofprint? I'm free for another go at it."

"No, I didn't," he said with that innocent tinge. "I realized that I don't know where Prince Shining Armor is! Princess Celestia is here and so is Princess Luna—well, at night, of course, so I'll wait it out!—but I...actually don't know what he does as Captain of the Royal Guard. Is it a day job or a night job? Or does he work whenever? Like it's freelance?"

And her smile disappeared—a yearning sigh, closing her eyes half-way. "He's...he's at work."

The smile on his face only grew. "That means he's not not at work! Which means he's at a fixed place because he's at his workplace and if he's nowhere but in his workplace, then that means that I don't have to guess a lot to see where he could be!"

Cadance blinked.

"Where does he work?" Star Tracker asked.

Another blink—moving little.

"Yeah, you'd think that I figured it all out since, heh-heh-heh, I'm the pony who wants to meet everypony famous and collect their autographs! But, I didn't expect to finish this fast! You know, last Sunday, I was only ninety percent done! Now, I'm ninety-five percent done with all the signatures!"

Cadance unwinded her shoulders, her face becoming melancholic—in a weighty tone: "To tell you the truth, Star Tracker: he's not here. He's near the Crystal Empire...commanding his troops."

He covered his mouth, stifling a loud gasp. "Oh, no!"

She nodded her head, only confirming. "I know that it would disappoint you very much if he ends up...not returning. I don't wish such an occupation upon anypony, much less my love." Then, turning away from his attentive look, that attentive mind: "But, we did fall in love and he pursued his job and...now we're here—or, I'm here, he's there and—"

Stopped herself.

"Oh, I apologize for being so personal, Star Tracker," she said, levitating the now-open box—he could some frames sticking out. A mellow smile returned. "You could say that I wasn't myself."

"B-But, you were so calm just a while ago!" he said, pointing at her in awe.

"You chase after famous ponies for autographs," she replied, closing the box with her magic—frames now out of view. "You should know that we put on a good face for everypony else, especially when you're a Prince or a Princess. Everypony's trusting in you to take care of them right, to lead them."

He looked away from the sky. "Well, I'm sorry, too, Princess, for making you so emotional in the first place."

Cadance held out a hoof. "No. It's entirely my fault—I should've restrained myself."

"But, you're still cool 'cause you're a Princess, right?" he then asked—giddy.

Cadance giggled. "I guess I still am."

Then, Star Tracker went off across the street.

"Wait!" Cadance yelled. "Whose autograph is next?!"

"I'll think about it!"

And his voice faded away as his figure disappeared round a corner.

Trenderhoof, inside a carriage at full speed—the dust kicked up even made him cough—saw a few ponies whizzing by on the sidewalk. He raised his eyes at the sight of a particular pony holding a notepad in his mouth.

"Must be that crazy pony trying to get all the signatures in Equestria!" he muttered.

He was a unicorn, thinner and taller than the average one. Brown in coat and blonde-white in hair, he was wearing a green-orange shirt with diamond-equse designs—a slanted checkerboard in pieces, one might say. His cutie mark was another such design. What completed his outfit was a white pair of clear glasses.

After a minute more of the ride, the carriage slowed to a halt.

He got off and gave the driver a hefty bag of bits—to which he reacted by saying "Thank you for the bits!"

"Don't mention it!"

The carriage exited, leaving Trenderhoof on the red carpet.

On both sides, crowds of excited ponies displayed various levels of such excitement: from the earsplitting screams of the crazed and radical fanponies to the tranquil businessponies in sober ties with their sluggish treading of the ground. Flashes almost blinded him and, before he disappeared into the building, he gave the outside throng a wave.

Their attention shifted to the next carriage in line, the next celebrity to touch the red carpet with his or her hooves.

He walked to the table clothed in black cloth, still assaulted by camera flashes and now furher showered with radiant lights on stands.

He sat down at the back of the table which was elevated on a platform, half a meter above the floor.

The place smelled of fresh grass.

In front: two blocks of chairs where a great audience sat and waited—and some of them did not even wait. They hollered, shouted—

"Trenderhoof!"

"Sapphire Shores!"

"Photo Finish!"

"Zesty Gourmand!"

"Sassy Saddles!"

"Hey guys! The Method Mares are coming!"

And everypony's eyes looked at the acting troupe of four—two mares, two stallions, all wearing quite fashionable clothing of stripes, berets, jackets, sweaters, shades.

The flashes were on them; they waved.

When they sat down at the table, there were no more empty seats.

The reporters stood up, all at the audience's front row, asking questions.

A storm of questions, mixing and meshing and molding, the individual queries becoming nonsense. The rabid fans stood up, tearing them apart with questions of their own.

Guards stood at the ready.

The flashes increased.

Those famous ponies behind the table looked at each other—scared, afraid; one of them, the jacketed unicorn Zesty Gourmand, lobbed a hoof toward a door with the words "Emergency Exit" above it.

Not hearing anything, not even his own thoughts.

Trenderhoof gripped the papers on his table, not noticing that his glass of water vibrated with that grip.

"Rarity!"

"What is it?!" Rarity yelled across the table, dropping the newspaper.

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh, seated at the other sides of the table, continued their lunch of pancakes and apple pie, eyeing the two mares.

The sun shone right through the windows; birds chirped as they flew from one picket fence to another with the apple fields past them.

"Do you mind?" Applejack said. "You've been starin' at that thing for thirty minutes straight!"

"I wasn't staring, darling. I was reading!"

"Ya' can't possibly read a pony's picture for thirty minutes," Applejack commented. "Do you even remember why we invited you here?"

Rarity levitated the newspaper out of the room, her face distorting. Grunts.

"Look, Rarity," she said, more amiable, "we've seen the huge stress you've been goin' through. There are tens of thousands of stallions and mares signing up for the cause and I know that you wanna help 'em in your special way. But, ya' gotta take care of yourself—and I'm the one who's tellin' you this! After all o' these years of scoldin' me about my stubbornness, I've gotta give you a mighty good scoldin'."

And then, she relaxed—rested her back on her chair and breathed freely.

Took a bite of the syrup-covered pancake.

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh now turned their gazes toward Rarity.

"I...I-I..."

"There must be some ponies who're willin' to help you," Applejack conveyed, worried. "Even assistants would do at this point. You can't possibly do everythin'. Bon Bon's good at wrappin' candies—bring her and Lyra 'long."

Rarity rubbed her eyes and levitated a fork, picked up a slice of pancake, and chewed on it—staring at Applejack.

The two siblings looked at her who was fixing her hat a bit. Then, they looked at Rarity again who was chewing on the pancake.

She swallowed it down.

And then, a calmer face though annoyed. "Well, that was un-ladylike of me, anyhow and anyway." She looked at her again. "I'll take your advice for once."

Applejack smiled. "Remember that I'm tellin' you this because we're friends." He placed her hat to her chest, somewhat forlorn. "I'm...sorry if I did act..."

A mad sigh.

"I apologize, OK? I didn't wanna blow this up, but I did. There."

And ate another pancake slice.

Rarity looked at her, the smile now muted.

Apple Bloom and Big Mac then resumed their lunch.

Hours later, it was night in Ponyville. Most of the houses had their lights turned off; those that still illuminated their surroundings stood out and on their roads, there were no ponies to be seen except a passing shadow—somepony late, galloping up and down.

The owls hooted, perched on the trees. The run of the river was as calm as ever, the water splashing under the short bridges.

At one of the many unlit houses, Lyra knocked on the door.

"Uh, hey, Bon Bon!" Lyra shouted. "It's me! Lyra! You know! Trust me!"

The door creaked open slightly.

"How do I know it's you?" whispered someone. "I've already heard reports of a changeling going about. And, the Crystal ponies are not bad at disguising, either."

"That's because you're still waiting on that delivery of imported oats from Seaward Shoals that you've ordered twelve days ago!"

And yanked inside.

Door slammed shut.

In the dark.

Flashlight on, showing Bon Bon's face. "Shush! Quiet! You don't know when secret agents of the Crystal Empire might be breathing down your neck!"

"Eek!"

She clung on to Bon Bon.

The Earth pony sighed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously!"

Turned on one light.

It was a dim light, but she could see most of the living room. The couch, the rug, the shelves, the jars, the plates, the books, the rest of the lights—all there.

"So, nopony robbed us yet?" Lyra asked, shuddering.

"No, and don't say 'yet'," Bon Bon said, placing a forceful hoof on her head.

"Well, at least you got home early from Rarity's work," Lyra whined, flailing her hooves, "while I had to deliver orders straight to Appleloosa!"

"Somepony needed to watch over the boutique while she got more supplies from the market," Bon Bon said, walking over to one of the couches and moved it an inch forward.

Lyra groaned as she walked beside her. "What's for dinner?"

"Those imported oats from Seaward Shoals," Bon Bon said, the slightest hint of a smile just appearing. "They arrived while you were gone."

"No!"

"Quiet!"

Now, it was the dining area that was lit; the living room was back in darkness.

It was a simple place. Bright colors of yellow and white prevailed. The only thing that wasn't remotely yellow or white was the red plastic table.

Lyra and Bon Bon sat beside each other, their bowls of imported oats on the table: those fresh flaky groats with that flour smell. Beside the bowls was a cereal box, its brand being "The Common Oat"; a picture of a pony riding a sailboat was on the cover.

"It's almost a week since things changed," Bon Bon said, serious and reserved. "While you were hiding inside the house, I got some not-so-good news. First, a press conference in Canterlot went wrong; apparently, Hoity Toity made an, uh, insensitive statement and then protesters almost burned his house down. Cancelled right away. The other ponies there were able to escape, but everypony's now suspicious of them."

Lyra gulped, swallowing the oats in her mouth.

"The fight for Vanhoover isn't going so well," Bon Bon continued, now placing a hoof on the table and gesturing around. "The E.U.P. Guard and the remaining police have lost everything but the southern most neighborhood. Spearhead's probably biding his time until he could retreat."

"Won't that send mixed signals to other ponies?" Lyra asked. "If they can't save Vanhoover then—"

"They can," Bon Bon said. "The only problem is that they can't save it now. Not only do we not have enough time, but we don't have enough soldiers as well."

"Come on! It's not like everyone has a sword or an arrow as their cutie mark!"

Bon Bon rubbed her forehead, sighing. "That leads us to the worst part."

Then, Lyra shivered. She held her forehooves closer to her face. "W-What's the worst part?"

She breathed in, closed her eyes.

"Oh, no..." Lyra muttered, watching her with dread.

She opened her eyes.

"Lyra, this war won't be over so soon." A pause. "I know it."

She staggered a bit, almost spilling her oats. "B-But...does th-that mean—"

Bon Bon nodded. "Yes, it does mean that. The Crystal Empire is stronger than we thought, they have a king who specializes in crystal magic that we've never seen before, and we've had a pretty rough start on our side—what with the clumsy bringing of soldiers to the front."

"Bon Bon, I know you know these things a lot." Lyra pushed the bowl away from her, looking at that friend—a pleading face, clenched jaw. "Are we going to live to see the end?"

Bon Bon turned her head away. "I'm not so sure, Lyra. It's hard to tell. But, it won't be over by the end of this month. Or this spring. Maybe it will go over one year, two...and, then..."

She rested her hooves on the table and ate some oats.

A tear went down Lyra's cheek. "But, we'll be best friends through it all, right?"

Bon Bon stopped chewing. A hard swallow. She smiled and a tear went down her cheek, too. "Yes, Lyra."

The clock tower on the hill at the outskirts of Ponyville struck twelve midnight.

The bell rang, resounding a long way its hollow ring.

Thus ended the first week of the war.

It was Monday, eight days in.

Call

And then it was Friday morning.

The sun hovered over the plentiful and vast fields of apple trees once more; many of them still had apples. On the dirt paths was nopony. Only the white picket fences that guarded the harvest. The scent of grass and other crisp plants permeated the air of Sweet Apple Acres. Birds chirped as they flew above, flapping their wings together.

The farmhouse still stood tall.

Inside the dining room and kitchen, Applejack placed a hot fresh pie on the table.

She glanced at the door to the outside, then at the window.

A sigh. "It's gettin' on my nerves now."

Knock on the door.

Her ears went up. "Huh?"

She walked to it and opened.

"Wha? Rarity? What are ya' doing here?"

Rarity sighed, looking down. A thoughtful face, a frown.

"What's goin' on?" Applejack asked, speeding up—concerned.

Rarity walked farther inside and closed the door with a blue glow.

"Come on, Rarity, tell me!" Applejack said, almost insisting.

Rarity gulped. A pause. "My father's going."

The farmpony opened her mouth. Didn't say anything. Only surprise.

Rarity sat on a chair. "He will be going out to battle when he leaves in the nine o' clock train. He's sent us more than enough bits to move to Manehattan and..." a choke. "Everything's in his bags now. All that remains are our goodbyes and farewells."

Applejack looked down, too.

"And, in a month, we won't be here," Rarity continued. "We'll have to live there. He is going to be at the eastern part of the frontline and Manehattan is only some miles away. Sweetie Belle will take up a new school; on the plus side, she will be classmates with your cousin, Babs Seed, right?"

Applejack nodded, forlorn.

Rarity let out another sigh. "A relief. My mother will establish a bakery to support the cause. And, me...?" Yet another sigh. "Uniforms and uniforms and uniforms and uniforms." A pause. "As much as I want to keep Carousel Boutique alive, as much as I love showing the beauty of ponies through fashion..."

Applejack waited.

"That must be gone, too. At least temporarily."

No words from her.

The sky was blue, the apple trees were still there.

"I wanted you to be the first outside our family to know." Looked at the pie. "No matter what our differences are, the fact remains: You've been a good friend after all these years, Applejack. Not just a good friend—a best friend."

Applejack adjusted her hat; her face, forlorn.

"It would not be good to tell your little sister today," Rarity went on. "I've seen her and Sweetie and Scootaloo. That...friendship. It would only hurt her if you told her now."

And Applejack just stood.

Rarity went out of her chair. "That is all, Applejack"—in a teary voice.

She left the farmhouse and closed the door behind her.

The pie remained fresh.

Applejack looked on at the door.

A knock.

Bon Bon opened the door. "Yes, Rarity?"

"We'll be leaving town soon," Rarity said, standing in front of the wide road, the flowers' fragrances wafting upward. "I don't know when we'll be coming back, but we will. Of course, I don't want to abandon my boutique, so I was wondering if you and your friend, Lyra, would be up to the challenge."

Bon Bon looked up, humming as she wondered.

"Who's that?" Lyra asked from the living room and out of view.

"It's Rarity," Bon Bon said, turning to her for a moment before turning back. A smile on her face. "Well, why not? If you want, I could move my candy-making business there, too."

"Actually," Rarity said, raising a hoof as if in a hurry, "on second thought—"

"I can't constantly run here and there the entire day, Rarity." She wore a serious expression. "It's either I move everything there or I don't move at all."

"I'm not absolutely sure about what you're thinking about, uh—"

"That or I don't help you."

Rarity looked up for a few seconds. Then, sighed. "As long as you remove everything that doesn't belong to the boutique when we're coming home. Am I clear?"

"Clear."

Rarity smiled. "I don't need much else, Bon Bon."

And she left, going back on the road.

"What did she want?" Lyra asked, still from the living room.

Bon Bon closed the door, trotting her way there. "Rarity and her family's leaving Ponyville."

Lyra fell off the couch. Scrambling to get on her four hooves: "W-Where?!"

"Manehattan," Bon Bon replied, grabbing the newspaper on the table and opening it up. "She asked me if we could staff the boutique in her absence."

Lyra, finally on her four hooves, looked incredulous. "But, we don't even have a talent for anything related to fashion! Or sewing!"

"Leave it to me, Lyra," Bon Bon said. "I know a thing or two."

"How?!" Lyra exclaimed.

Bon Bon shook her head. "There you go again, acting like there's nothing we can do to stop the advancing armies from reaching Ponyville. Look, Lyra—when I was bored one time, I took up some lessons on fashion. I'm nowhere near Rarity's expertise, but it's better than nothing."

"But, what about me?"

Bon Bon looked up from her newspaper. She dropped it. "I taught you how to make jawbreakers. I'm sure you can help."

"How could you be this calm?" Lyra inquired in a panicked voice. "Do you know something that I don't, even though we're friends?!"

"Yes, I do know something you don't—that we can win."

"'Can'?!"

Bon Bon sighed, looking at her friend from across the room and over a short table. "I'd rather say 'can' than 'cannot'."

"Do you know some kind of thing or what?!" Lyra rambled. She levitated the newspaper. "Is there an event in the Crystal Empire? Can we contribute? Can we escape or hide somewhere safe?!"

Bon Bon tore the paper away from her magical grip. "Lyra!"

Silence.

Her horn stopped glowing, her ears drooped.

"We are safe until we aren't. I'll let you know. In the meantime, make sure you're lying about, wallowing in terror."

Lyra stood there as Bon Bon opened the newspaper and read.

Minutes passed in that silence.

Lyra sat on the couch.

Bon Bon stood at the table, reading—on the front page, a picture of a walled village of several huts, corn fields, wooden statues, and wooly yaks in the Arctic North. Headline: "Yakyakistan Reinforces Defences; Anticipating Sombra".

"I'm sorry," Lyra said.

Bon Bon looked up again, smiling. "Don't worry. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. To be honest, I don't understand why you're scared...but, you are scared and..." looking off, "if you're scared, it's for a good reason."

Lyra nodded. "I'm sorry that I don't understand why you're not scared, Bon Bon." And she smiled.

Bon Bon kept smiling. "Agree to disagree?"

"You're going to get us out of here when it gets that desperate, right?"

"Yeah."

Inside the train, a bulky white stallion with a stubble sat on a seat, looking out the window as the green landscape shifted into the little town of Ponyville. He brushed his purple mustache as he loosened a sleeve of his sweatshirt.

The train decelerated to a halt, and the whistle shrilled forth.

"Argh! I'll be late for my duties for the second time!" Mr. Stripes muttered. "Those ponies think they can delay me arriving. They'll not be so happy when I come barreling through their doors!"

And the train's doors opened.

Sobs from outside.

Mr. Stripes looked up, seeing the first newcomer.

He was also a bulky white stallion, but a unicorn and not an Earth pony; his brown hair and mustache gave him a strange resemblance to Mr. Stripes himself. Carrying some heavy saddle bags and levitating a few more, he did not look inside the train. His vision was focused on the ponies outside.

Mr. Stripes looked out the window.

That unicorn's family. A wife with bunned hair, and two daughters: one with ribbony mane, the other with curly mane. All of them sobbing—crying, waving him goodbye, saying their farewells in muffled and choked voices.

He waved back. "We'll be together in Manehattan! Until then!"

Those voices again, unclear though piercing through.

Mr. Stripes looked on.

No one else was on the platform.

Then, the door closed.

Whistle shrilled again.

Wheels turned.

And the train was afoot.

Mr. Stripes stayed to the window, looking at the family disappearing in the distance—the final waves, the final shouts to be remembered before they would no longer be seen. Distorted faces of open mouths, closed eyes, and streaming tears—hugs, uniting those that remain.

They were gone and so was Ponyville.

On the left and on the right were endless grassy plains. Sometimes, a lone farm would appear, only to be gone in a second. At other times, a tiny village would appear, only to be gone so fast, too. Sole ponies journeyed about even if they could only be seen in a quick glimpse. Over there, there was a pegasus mending the clouds alone.

A loud sigh from across the aisle.

Mr. Stripes looked at that father, that husband, weighed down by the bags around him. "You're joining, no?"

Hondo Flanks groaned. "Why, yes I am." He held a bag with his hooves, gazing.

Silence aside from the shaking of the railroad.

"And you, mister...?"

"Ponies just call me Mr. Stripes," he replied. "Your name would be...?"

"Hondo Flanks." He placed a hoof on his head as if worrying, trying to recall.

Silence.

"You have nice family," Mr. Stripes commented. "They care a lot."

"Yes, they do," Hondo Flanks said, nodding his head, looking away from the stallion across the aisle.

"It must be hard on all of you to live in a town that announces who's going to serve without any opinion."

"No, no. It's not conscription or anything of the sort, sir."

Mr. Stripes eyes went wide. "Volunteered?"

"It's a call that must be answered," Hondo Flanks said, gruffer than before. "You could blame it on what Canterlot's been pushing with these posters lately."

"Ah! The propaganda?" He nodded in agreement. "There's so many in my hometown of Manehattan. Even pretty glass walls get plastered on."

"It's not just the posters." Hondo looked at him.

Yet another farm passing by in the background.

"What is it that made you decide, then?"

Hondo attempted a smile. "A bit of shame."

Mr. Stripes raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"I went to Canterlot yesterday to think about my decision. There's an elisting office or whatever it is there—none of that back in Ponyville. When I stepped inside, you know what happened?"

A pause; Mr. Stripes watched, waiting.

"One of the mares there gave me a hat and a tie and told me to wear it."

A long pause; one more farm and another town passing by. Several green hills and a mountain range coming up.

"So I wore 'em. Everypony who saw me as I waited in line—they jeered, laughed, teased me, calling me words like 'irresponsible' and 'scaredy-pony'. Then, I realized—I only realized it after I signed up."

"It is only a simple thing," Mr. Stripes interrupted, taking on a no-nonsense tone. "You were targeted."

Hondo sighed again, deeper this time. "I know. But, maybe...maybe what they said was right."

Mr. Stripes got out of his seat. "Mr. Hondo Flanks, serving Equestria is a noble duty, yes. But, you know other ways to serve, right? To still be with your family?"

Hondo looked at him. Then, away.

The train was climbing the ascent up the mountains; the plains were getting farther and farther, replaced by jagged rocks and cool trees bending and swaying under the chilling wind.

"I don't get it," Hondo uttered, eyeing Mr. Stripes with mistrust. "I've never met you before. Why are you caring an awful lot about me and my family?"

"I have a family," Mr. Stripes said. "A lovely wife and partner in renting industry. Of course, there's my little Plaid—" and a sniffle. "And, I've found ways to not be in danger and to stay with my loved ones."

Hondo turned away slightly. "You live near combat. One more loss on our side and they'll start their weather attacks on your home."

"So what?" Mr. Stripes said with a light laugh of his own. "If they destroy our house, we can run away together to any other city—I have good names in Fillydelphia and Baltimare, good friends."

Hondo drooped in his seat. "But, if they destroy my house..."

"Then, you cannot run away together because your family's not there."

Hondo set his hoof on the window.

A little more and the descent would begin. Up there, the sky was overcast, a blanket gray.

The two stallions got out of the train at Maneway Station. Past the stairs and escalators, they finally went outside after a flight down the stairs.

The roads teemed with carriages, most of them filled with military passengers of all kinds—dirty faces, injured limbs, fancy hats, shiny weapons, reflective medals; strained whispers, barked orders, low conversations, and silence. The civilian passers-by beheld the spectacle in front of their very eyes, the informal and unscheduled parade of soldiers and officers with no definite place to be. Some went left at the intersection, others went right or straight ahead. Ambulance carriages zipped past the food wagons full of bread and water.

Observing eyes behind the windows from the tall houses, apartments, hotels, offices. Pegasi flying over the roads, moving clouds to certain positions and locations. Earth ponies and unicorns speaking to each other at the stairs, at the doors, at the corners of sidewalks—fast, short, and then away. Only a few stayed to chat for some time.

A concrete smell.

The two stallions walked their way through the urban maze. Every turn yielded at least one poster on a wall—even a "pretty glass wall". One depicted a mare and a stallion bumping their hooves with the words, in bold font, "Join the Guard! A little of your time for many lives." Another showed a stallion wearing the famed yellow armor and helmet with these words instead: "For the defense of friendship and Equestria!"

Finally, they reached the Bridleway Theater District.

Towering high-rises, grand structures and edifices. Carriages cramming the large intersection. But, gone were the advertisements about the next great show to appear on Bridleway, or about another flavor of softdrink, or about some discount in some department store somewhere in the city. Instead, there were advertisements that spurned the heart, the emotions, to "join the Guard!"

Hondo Flanks gasped for breath as they stood in front of Bridleway Theater itself—the red carpet led to a group of glass doors inside. The glow on his horn disappeared and the bags that he'd carried all the way dropped to the ground.

Mr. Stripes looked at him. "You must be tired. You need water?"

"They have water where I'm going," Hondo said in an exasperated fashion. "I know the way from here." A pause. "You're still going?"

"No." He shook his head. "It would be good to be with you, but I have job, too. I'm late, really."

"You're late! I'm sorry for that, mister! I must leave! Thanks!"

And, his horn lighting up again, he crossed the street with carried bags, dodging the carriages all the way to the other side of the intersection.

Mr. Stripes walked up the steps to his house.

It was a normal Manehattan house, unlike most houses seen in the rural areas and even those in other cities. His house, like the two beside it, was a tall building but quite narrow—about four ponies wide. A short staircase led to the welcoming yellow door, as flower pots hung beside it. The small front yard overflowed with vines and bushes and shrubs; in one small corner, there were weeds sprouting. Some trees, too, grew in that yard, already towering over Mr. Stripes with their thick leaves and branches also providing shade and cooling.

Mr. Stripes brought a key inside his shirt's pocket and unlocked the door.

It smelled good—of roses and tulips, actually. Besides that, doors on the wall held rooms where noises and words could be heard: some clicks slamming away, a cello practiced and played, some quiet talks.

He went up the staircase to the second floor and approached one of the doors there.

Knocked on it.

"It's me, Plaid!" he declared, his voice mellowing.

And the door was unlocked, opened.

A teenage filly—orange with purple hair and bushy eyebrows; braces and a plaid shirt with a scarf around her neck. She gasped and grinned. "Daddy!"

The two hugged at the door; closed eyes.

Then, he let go—a step back.

"I wish I could stay, but I have super important clients to take care of."

Plaid Stripes nodded, grinning and showing her braces. "Of course!" Then, hesitation in her voice—"You'll be OK out there?"

"I've went outside many times!" Mr. Stripes said. "I will surely return! Be nice and have fun!"

And she waved at her father as he descended the stairs, his hoofsteps fading until a door opened and then closed.

Knocks on the door.

The room was a comfortable one. There were couches and bookshelves and carpets and refrigerators and stoves and toasters and plates and tables and chairs and even a radio. That was not all: plants both real and fake, and a desk, too, with its own chair. The windows gave one a grand view of the entire street—the other houses, the restaurants, the clothes store over there, too; food stands and newsstands also abounded along with the trees already on the sidewalk.

On the road was a long line of carriages all pulling wagons of bread.

More knocks on the door.

Silver Script groaned as he pushed a plate of oats and apples out of the way, leapt out of the chair, and flew to the door. "Who is it?"

"You know who this is!" the voice yelled.

He gulped and swung the door open.

Mr. Stripes stomped the floor, making a visible crack on it. "You're a month overdue! You're exactly a month overdue!"

Silver Script grabbed a plate over his head, shuddering. "Mr. Stripes, I know this sounds like I'm making excuses and—"

"Excuses are not excusable!"

"Agh!"

And he retreated to the table, hitting it. Glasses and plates wobbled.

"I haven't received my pay from my, uh, employer because he's running late, too!" He stood up, though still shivering.

Mr. Stripes walked over to the pegasus, each step powerful and cracking the floor.

"No! How are you—"

"It's my building," Mr. Stripes yelled. "I'll worry about my broken floors. You worry about paying rent!"

"I'll certainly pay the rent! Just, uh, not on time!" He grinned.

Mr. Stripes snorted. Then, he pointed at the open door. "Give me the money or get out. I cannot have immature ponies take up precious space! Only deserving renters deserve these rooms!"

Silver Script drew in breath to say something.

And he went down the stairs with a briefcase under his wing and with a head hanging down.

He did not mind what was going on around him as he walked on and flew over the sidewalks and streets.

He did not mind the countless carriages moving in and out, all bringing soldiers and supplies of all kinds—not just foods, but also new weapons as well including more spears and arrows and cannons. He did not mind the eager ponies who ran up to him to give him flyers and brochures about their services to the war—invitations to become a guard and fight somehow. He did not mind the ships of yet more soldiers coming in and docking at the port across the river, those ponies marching out in files and rows, in fixed and organized groups. He did not mind the taxis speeding by, the drivers in full gallop as they hurried.

What he did mind was the beckoning scent of some sandwiches.

By the time his order came about and set on the table, it was twilight.

The diner known as "Sandwiches and Other Food" had a checkered floor and some swivel chairs at the counter. The chefs and cooks took orders at the line and wrapped up the sandwiches for others to get.

The line was long and, by the anxious looks of the ponies there, they were hoping to get a seat.

Tables were full of ponies chatting while holding newspapers by hoof, wing, or magic.

It felt tense; what most of the conversations turned to, eventually, was the prospect of an invasion. Glances and pauses only made things more uneasy for Silver Script.

Beside the simple lettuce sandwich he got, there was also a typewriter and a stack of paper on his table. Some quills rested on those papers.

He took a bite of the sandwich. His face lightened up.

Incessant knocks.

Star Tracker opened the door. "Huh? What's going on?!"

"I'm Silver Script! You know—the guy who needs a bed to sleep on!"

"Oh! Let me turn on the rest of the lights."

A flick of a switch and Silver Script could see the entire room.

It was small but it was crowded with so many items. Past the furniture, there were photographs and autographs on the table and tacked to the wall, etching patches of memories. Memorabilia and merchandise also proliferated the room—hats, shirts, medals, paintings, books and more all having the face of some famous pony including even that of a Princess or two. The warm lamps gave it a yellow overtone.

"Pretty great, huh?" Star Tracker said, stepping aside as the pegasus walked inside and closed the door behind him with a wing.

He looked around. "Woah. You're quite the pony, Star Tracker."

"Eh-heh-heh, don't mention it!" He smiled awkwardly as he opened a shelf and took out a bag of chips. "It's what I do!"

Silver Script turned round to face him as the Earth pony tore it open. "You do...this?"

"Yeah! I'm good at it! I always find a way to get to a celebrity's shoulders." Then, he munched on the chips. "It's plain salted. Wanna help yourself?" He hoofed the bag to him.

"No, thanks." Silver Script smiled. "When I heard your name, I wasn't expecting much."

"That's alright," he said after gulping the first batch of chips down. "Bed's over there," and he pointed.

Silver Script looked.

Two beds on the side.

"So, how long are you gonna stay in my place?" Star Tracker asked.

"Don't know." He scratched his head, his smile disappearing. "Maybe until I...you know."

"Oh." And dropped a chip.

Wonderbolt Show

The window curtains were now open, revealing a sunny morning, though gray clouds were forming overhead.

Silver Script stood at one of the windows, standing between a photograph of fashion critic Prim Hemline and an image of author A.K. Yearling—both of them standing for the camera and giving Star Tracker there a strange look as he grinned an awkward grin, even waving at the camera.

"You've been at the window for ten minutes straight," Tracker said as he put down two plates of chips and carrots and ketchup. "Do you need help?"

A pause. "Just inspiration—" without looking away.

Tracker halted. "For what?"

"I'm a writer."

"Romantic or methodical?" he then asked, looking up.

"What?"

"You didn't see that one coming?" He cleared his throat. "You know I've met many famous ponies...and some famous non-ponies, too. I've met more than enough writers to make neat little categories for them." Then, he sat down at the table with his plate in front.

Script raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you wanna eat breakfast? You must be hungry."

And the pegasus went to the table and sat at his chair.

They ate, Tracker gobbling up his food while Script crunched each chip on its own.

After another gulp, he wiped his mouth and said to the writer, "We can talk about that, uh, much later—as in, after I'm done with my job, Script."

"And, what's your job?'

"I sell snacks on the streets!"

Script took another sweeping look of the room. "And, you somehow found all the time to do this?"

"There's plenty of tourists every week," he said as he brought another bag of chips and poured everything on to his plate. "That's not even counting my regular customers! And, I move around."

Script turned to his plate and continued eating.

"Uh, what are you gonna do while I'm gone?" Tracker asked. "I could give you the keys if you wanna go sightseeing. If you wanna stay here, that's fine, too. I have some 'POWER' comics on the second shelf—" pointing to a group of shelves untouched by the celebrity memorabilia. "I have the entire collection, so you're going to be huddled up here for a long time!" He smiled.

"You think you're a hundred percent safe out there?" Script asked, eyeing the window again. More clouds filled the sky as pegasi were hauling in still more.

"We have a system," Tracker answered, leaning in closer. "If it's dangerous, I'll run back and get you out of here."

He nodded.

Star Tracker hurled his plate to the sink.

The Earth pony pushed his cart of varied snacks on the sidewalk. There were chips, chocolates, candy bars, oats, apples, and oranges inside, standing beside bottles of water and of soda.

He traveled through roads and junctions, through parks and squares, past houses and offices. The occasional resident would throw some bits his way for a quick bite. The tourists, identified by their wide smiles and dangling cameras, bought his snacks as well, one of them touting a chocolate bar as "a true Manehattan treat!"

Then, there were the soldiers.

They formed a short line in front of his cart, each taking his turn and time for some food and drink. As they all stood in front of a river-crossing bridge held up by huge columns and large horeshoe-like structures, carriages of soldiers moved both ways in and out of the city, with the bridge leading out to a grassy plain on the other side.

"Here you go, sir!" Star Tracker said as he hoofed two chocolate bars to his current customer who was clothed in armor. "I would, uh, say that you should enjoy it, but...I'm not entirely sure."

"Don't worry, kid," the soldier told him, smiling. "We're gonna beat them back before you know it."

"Thank you, sir!"

The soldier went to a group of others like him, holding their purchases with their hoof or with their magic.

Another was next in line. "Uh, do you have any chips?"

"Which one?" Star Tracker asked. "I've got local chips and not local chips! And different flavors, too." He grinned.

"Anything."

Star Tracker then took out a bag of plain salted chips and gave it. "That would be three bits, sir."

And he hoofed the three bits.

As the soldier opened it with his magic, Star Tracker asked, "What's your next activity? You'll go to the battle again?"

"Not yet," he replied, levitating a glowing chip. "When we're not fighting, we're handling maintenance. Today's a special day, though." He munched on that chip.

"Why?"

A gulp, still levitating the bag. "We're supposed to be back across the river in five minutes to help out with the Wonderbolts show there."

Star Tracker gasped, shaking his cart. "The Wonderbolts?! But, I-I didn't—"

"Purpose of the show is to make sure everypony here's happy," he said. "They need it, especially since things aren't looking so well."

His teeth clattered. "Wh-What?!"

The soldier sighed. "Our pegasi and their pegasi are fighting in the skies. We're raining on their ground, and...you see those clouds over there?" He pointed to the sky.

Star Tracker looked.

The sky was almost covered.

"We're failing. As far as we know, it's just rain. Nothing too bad. But, it's still rain."

Star Tracker's face wavered, though he kept his smile. "A-Alright. However, you don't mind if I, uh, go along with you guys and, uh, watch the show? There's some Wonderbolts I wanna take pictures of again!"

The soldier smiled. "Who would your favorite Wonderbolt be, if you don't mind me asking?"

He smacked his cheeks. "Rainbow Dash!"

"Rainbow Dash?"

She turned to see Spitfire as they and some other uniformed Wonderbolts stood on the grass dotted with hoops and machines. Bleachers were close by, the bridge less than a minute's walk away. Those others exercised their hooves and wings, stretching them and straining them under weights. Meanwhile, carriages showed up holding both soldiers and civilians, gathering together at the bleachers as other fellow soldiers including Wonderbolt reservists and trainees set up the stage, the lights, and the instruments.

"Rainbow Dash, are you OK?" Spitfire asked. "You don't look fine."

"Why wouldn't I be fine, ma'am?" she replied. "You've seen me take down an entire squad on my own! I'm more than fine!"

Spitfire looked on at her, a frown appearing. "That's good. The problem is, everypony else isn't so fine."

"What are you talking about?" she said, surprised and even aback. "We're the Wonderbolts!"

Spitfire sighed. "But, the Wonderbolts haven't been engaged in combat for decades, if not centuries. None of us have been in a real war and that might be the cause of a few troubles."

Rainbow Dash lifted her helmet off. "You've trained us a lot of maneuvers and techniques! You made sure we won't be afraid of anything!"

"Rainbow." She pointed to the city across the river. "Before any of us got into the Wonderbolts, we were just like them; we didn't care about what those guards did whenever the Princess visited. To let them experience this under my wing—it's not exactly the best."

"But, at least I'm not wearied out!" Rainbow said, smiling.

"Have you ever written a single letter to your family?" Spitfire asked, turning to face her. "And, have you ever seen their replies?"

"Of course, I have!" Rainbow answered.

Spitfire groaned. "You don't get it, do you? Thunderlane is from Ponyville and he has a little brother who attends school. Their parents live there, too, so he's not completely dismayed—but, I wouldn't be surprised if Thunderlane cries in his sleep. Haven't seen it yet, but he's showing some signs."

"Come on!" Rainbow threw a hoof about, rolling her eyes. "Maybe he needs to fly a few more—"

"What if he doesn't come back?" Spitfire said, raising her voice. "And Soarin, too! Last night, he wrote a letter to his parents and that letter ended up soaked in tears!"

"Wait, was that why I didn't see Soarin when I went to bed?"

"Yes!" A tired sigh. "Nopony told me I was going to lead the Wonderbolts in a time like this." A pause as she looked away. "Yelling at ponies isn't gonna be enough to get me through this."

Rainbow Dash nodded as she turned to see the rest of the Wonderbolts practicing, lifting dumbbells and doing push-ups.

There were no smiles.

"Ten minutes, everypony!" Spitfire shouted at those exercising. "Show will start in ten minutes!"

She stood in that line.

"May I introduce to you: the Wonderbolts!"

And they flew up, forming a triangle.

Blue smoke in their path.

A straight line zooming by.

Some flew out the line and circled around the line.

A soothing movement.

Lightning bolts appeared and disappeared between them.

Then, through one hoop.

Lit up.

Another hoop.

Lit up, too.

The blue smoke stopped.

The machines on the ground turned on, forming clouds.

They went to the clouds and hurtled around, turning into blurs.

Out they went; a cloud in the shape of a lightning bolt with wings.

And back on the ground and bowed.

"How do you like that?!" the announcer pony yelled through the microphone.

The audience on the bleachers screamed back, waving flags and banners, wearing hats and shirts bearing the Wonderbolt logo.

"Due to wartime conditions," the announcer went on, "we're going to be letting all of you sign your Wonderbolt merch and take pictures with them right now! What you've just seen is only the beginning, folks!"

And the audience filed out of the bleachers, forming a restive line leading up to a long table on the stage where all the Wonderbolts headed to.

They sat down on the chairs and smiled.

Then, the line moved, ponies walking up the stage, ever closer to these famous pegasi.

First in line: Star Tracker.

He galloped to Rainbow Dash's place and dropped a photo on to the table. "I'm your biggest fan, Rainbow Dash! Would you please sign this for me?!"

"Heh, everyone says they're my biggest fan," Rainbow said as he stamped her inked hoofprint on it. "You're not the first. Remember that, Star Tracker."

Spitfire groaned while the rest of the Wonderbolts observed him.

"Then, I'll take a picture with you!" he yelled with a jump.

"Don't you have seven pictures with me already?" Rainbow asked, confused.

"It'll be eight when the day's done!" Star Tracker said, smiling as he grabbed the picture.

Rainbow Dash grinned as he wrapped a hoof around Star Tracker's neck as he also grinned, both facing the camera.

Beside the camerapony was a long line, some of them jittery with their hooves trembling.

The other Wonderbolts stood aside, watching the event unfold.

"OK," the camerapony said. "One, two, three!"

A flash.

"Is there anything else?" Star Tracker asked.

"What about us?" a Wonderbolt blurted out. "You haven't even talked to us the entire time!"

"I'll get to you!" Star Tracker yelled, pointing at her.

"Can we get a move on, please?!" the next pony in line shouted.

And he hurried out of the photoshoot.

Back on the stage, the Wonderbolts sat again at the table. Microphones were arranged, one for each Wonderbolt.

A pony raised his hoof.

"Yes, what's your question?" Soarin asked, pointing at him.

"Uh, when did you like the Wonderbolts so much that you wanted to join them?" he asked.

As he conveyed his answer through the microphone, Spitfire tapped on Rainbow's shoulder.

"What is it?" Rainbow asked.

"A minute late," Spitfire whispered, "but I want you to know that Eqeustria's Rock Troopers are being shuffled to our front."

"You mean our shock troops?!" Rainbow whispered back, startled.

Spitfire nodded and a small smile was on her lips. "High command listened to our plea for reinforcements. And, we got them."

Rainbow smiled.

"If you'd like to relax your nerves," Spitfire said, "I'd suggest you talk with them before the push tomorrow. I heard they're very friendly and casual."

"And you're coming with us, too?"

"I hope so, Crash."

Farther away from Manehattan and closer to the frontline were the barracks—makeshift buildings made of wood, and even more were under construction as Earth ponies wearing helmets pulled materials on wagons to the sites.

Carriages moved by, with soldiers coming and going. Some families visited, waving their greetings and their goodbyes to their beloved in armor.

Here and there, more and more soldiers were in their posts, bearing stoic faces and holding spears in hoof or with magic, standing on grass though patches of dirt were ahead.

Rainbow Dash entered one of the barracks, moving past the small hallway and striding into the cafeteria hall.

The windows were open, letting in the hot afternoon air inside. Electric fans were on the walls, creating cool breezes that made everyone and everything—including the food—colder. Many tables with long chairs pervaded the room, and at the end the food was cooked and served.

There was a line there, too. Everyone there had empty trays.

She smiled when she noticed some of the other ponies there—those wearing gray-black shirts and armor.

Rainbow got in line; her smile only grew. "So, you must be the Rock Troopers we Wonderbolts have been hearing about lately."

The two Rock Troopers in front of her turned around, holding their empty trays as they faced her.

"Yes, we are," Pinkie replied, smiling. "And, you must be...?"

"Rainbow Dash," she answered. "It's great meeting a Rock Trooper. Stories about you have been making the rounds."

They shook hooves.

"What're your names?" Rainbow asked.

"I'm Pinkie Pie, and this is my sister, Maud Pie!" She motioned toward the gray pony.

"Hi," Maud said.

"O...K." Rainbow looked up. "So, how's things?"

"We're good," Pinkie said. "General Spearhead told us that we have to help you out over here. Crystal ponies must be really close if they're getting that dangerous. He doesn't want another incident like Vanhoover."

Rainbow sighed. "Yeah. He's right."

"Very right," Pinkie went on, nodding. "If Manehattan falls, that's going to be nasty disaster that a lot of ponies will get upset about. I can just imagine all the riots that will break out in Canterlot. Also, how do you take care of the ponies who won't have their homes anymore? You can build new towns but not forever."

"It's moving," Maud said, pointing to the line.

The line was moving.

The three of them moved with it.

"What's it like being a Rock Trooper?" Rainbow asked. "Is it true that you could break down boulders in seconds?"

"Depends," Pinkie said, shrugging. "Maud could do it, but I'm not sure about myself. All I do is throw rocks and things fall down."

"And you think that's not cool?!" Rainbow yelled.

"Maud could do it, too," Pinkie said. "But, what do you want for lunch?"

Rainbow looked perplexed. "What?"

"You came here for lunch, right?"

"Right." She laughed.

"That wasn't a joke," Pinkie said. Then, smiling, "But, I'll take it!"

And the line moved.

Cherry Fizzy and a Rock Farm

"...and, that's when the lettuce said, 'Let us in! It's raining here!'"

The ponies there laughed as Pinkie grinned, taking it all in.

Some sat on their bunk beds, others sat on chairs or boxes or just the floor. As the storm outside thundered on, raindrops pittering on the roof, they all watched Pinkie; a single lantern illuminated her face and the faces of those who were closest to her including Maud who sat beside her.

"I've got a challenge for you, Pinkie!" a Wonderbolt among them spoke as he raised a wing. "Can you make a joke about bricks?"

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that, Silver Zoom," she replied. "Besides—" snickering "—I don't have a punchline to build upon."

And even more laughter filled the room.

Pinkie smiled. "Did you hear the story of the alarm clock? Because, I don't remember hearing it before, but it really rings a bell."

Still more laughter, with some slapping their knees as they burst into guffaws.

Back inside the cafeteria, Pinkie and Maud ate alone at the only table with occupants. The pony at the food station closed her eyes—then woke up, looking around her, almost panicking and almost hyperventilating as she finally settled on checking the light switches. The windows were all closed but the storm howled above the fans' whirrings.

"You know, Maud," Pinkie said as she dropped a loaf of bread in her mouth—then a gulp, "I've been thinking about it. Everypony knows that my destiny is to make them smile." She smiled and pointed at her smile. "And I was more than OK with it when I discovered that. But, this whole fighting thing made me realize something deeper about my destiny."

Maud looked on. "I'm listening."

"This is a very dangerous job," Pinkie continued before she drank some water. "If you go in, you're not gonna get out so easily. You better hope you win or else you'll be a slave to an evil king for a very long time! And even if we win, how many ponies will get badly hurt before we get there?"

Maud blinked.

"Those are serious thoughts," Pinkie said, scratching her chin. "All of us are at risk of getting injured or worse. No wonder there's so few smiles down here." She scratched her head. "Which is why I'm glad the both of us are here." She grabbed Maud. "With my sense of humor and your stand-up comedy, we can keep making these ponies smile! You agree?"

"Yeah, I agree!" a voice shouted.

The food station pony sneezed.

"Rainbow Dash?" Pinkie asked, seeing Rainbow hover her way to their table.

"Definitely!" she said, putting on a dashing expression, still flapping her wings. Then, frowning a bit: "What are you doing out here this late, anyway? You're having midnight snacks, too?"

"Yeah!" Pinkie exclaimed. "It's the first midnight snack I've had in months!"

Rainbow looked at the snacks.

Some loaves of bread, some candies, and glasses of water.

"That's not all, is it?" Rainbow asked.

"That's all!" Pinkie replied.

Rainbow then sat down.

"Uh, how are you?" Rainbow began. "Are you nervous about the whole attack tomorrow?"

"You mean 'later'?"

"Yeah, 'later'."

Pinkie placed a hoof on her head. "Not much. We're all confident that we're going to make it and protect Manehattan!"

Rainbow nodded. "That's good."

"Hey, you're not getting snacks!" Pinkie said, pointing at her with an accusing hoof. "Are you trying to do something?"

"N-No, Pinkie! I wanted to get snacks, but when I saw that you were here—and, uh, you, too, Maud—" looking at Maud "—I could keep 'em waiting."

Pinkie smiled. "So, are you nervous?"

"About tomorrow?"

"About 'later'."

Rainbow groaned. "Not too nervous. Except for Spitfire."

"You mean the Wonderbolts' leader?" Pinkie asked. "Why?"

"Spitfire's very concerned about the push tomorrow—"

"Later." And she smiled.

"About the push later," Rainbow said, a bit exasperated, "because she's thinking about what the rest of the Wonderbolts were doing recently. One of us is suspected to be crying during his sleep, the second-in-command drenched his latest family letter in tears, and I even caught some others welling up before I got here. It's...I don't know what you call it, but it's weird and—"

Pinkie gasped. "Rainbow Dash! How dare you!" She pointed at her again. "They're not weird! Is crying all night because you're afraid you might not come back to your family and friends weird?"

"Well, I understand if it's some lowly ground soldier, especially if he's new. But, we're the Wonderbolts! We're supposed to survive everything!"

"How are you so sure?!" Pinkie said, raising her voice further.

"We've been trained in the most grueling way, we've learned almost every flying technique known to pegasi, and we're just that good!"

"What if the enemy's as good as you?" Pinkie asked.

"Impossible." Rainbow smirked and leaned closer. "They've been back for less than a month. They may have trained all day long since then, but we've been training for years."

Pinkie half-closed her eyes and looked at the food. "Rainbow...they're not bad. That's the bad part. If they end up hurting you and place you inside a clinic or hospital, it's not because you're bad."

"I hope to not make a single mistake," Rainbow replied.

Pinkie sighed. "What if they take out one of your wings?"

Rainbow looked surprised. "Now that's impossible. Only other pegasi can do that!"

"The Crystal ponies have pegasi, Rainbow Dash."

"Oh." Rainbow glanced left and right.

"Your leader is right to be concerned for all of you," Pinkie said. "That's why she's not telling you to attack and attack and attack again all the time." Then, after a gulp of water: "She knows she's responsible for lives, for ponies who have their own friends back at home. Trust me. Everyone, even us Rock Troopers, have a leader who's like her."

Rainbow furrowed her brows. "And?"

Pinkie gave her a loaf. "You're not hurt or worse off at all because you have Spitfire."

Rainbow snapped her mouth open.

"But, if you want some more bread—" and added another loaf to the one on her hoof.

In one of the bedrooms, the rows of bunk beds was what made up most of the room. Boxes and trunks of ponies' things lay at the front of each bed.

The storm howled on; the windows were closed.

Many snored and most of them were sleeping.

The only one who was not sleeping was Pinkie Pie.

At her bed, below Maud's, she scribbled a letter under lantern light on a small table. She stuck out her tongue, saying nothing as the quill streaked across the paper.

Special Delivery finally landed on the ground and wiped the sweat off of his face.

It was a dry gray land. No grass except some weeds scattered about. Rocks were everywhere.

He looked up to the sky—dark blue with a hint of purple. "Half an hour 'till morning. Looks like I'm early."

The pegasus turned back to the house in front of him and the simple mailbox made out of stone.

It was a cottage with a chimney.

He placed an envelope inside, closed it, and flew away.

The sun arrived, lighting up the sky with a welcome warmth and a colorful blue.

The door slammed open, revealing a pony with a gray mane and a coat of desaturated blue. Limestone Pie walked over to the mailbox, yanked the envelope out, and walked back inside while slamming the door shut.

She walked through the hallway of drab colors—gray, brown, and blue. Dull paintings of mountains and rocks adorned the walls while more rocks were on display on varous tables and shelves—smooth and rough stones, minerals, even several crystals.

Then, she turned left and entered the dining room.

At the center was a wooden table where the rest of the family present was: the father, Igneous Rock Pie, of brown coat, sober tie, black hat, and gray sideburns; the mother, Cloudy Quartz, of gray coat, bunned mane, and yellow glasses; and, the youngest sibling, Marble Pie, of gray coat and mane more than long enough to cover one of her eyes at times.

On the table, bowls of rock soup. Thin green liquid with a rock inside.

"What are the events that happen within the realm for today?" Igneous asked. "May I peruse this day's news?"

"I must state that," Cloudy Quartz began, "if it is the daily newspaper, then it has arrived to us at an unusual hour. Are thou knowledgeable of the reason behind this?"

Marble glanced at her parents, then looked at her sister. She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"It's not the news," Limestone said in a rough voice, raising the piece of paper. "Some letter."

The parents looked at it, Cloudy adjusting her glasses. Marble shuddered and tilted a little away.

"I'll read it." Then, she ripped the envelope open, threw it at the trashcan, and unfolded the letter.

Marble leaned closer to the letter.

Igneous and Cloudy sat still on their chairs, though their gaze was still intently on the paper.

Limestone read the letter:
Dear Mom, Dad, Limestone, and Marble (you baby sis!),
It's been a while since the last letter. That's because we were busy with some things back at the front. I'm sure you've seen the success of our unit even though they just made it up almost two weeks ago or something like that. If it weren't for us, those bad Crystal ponies would've taken over Canterlot by now. Also, they would be a lot closer to you guys.

I'm writing this for no big reason at all. At least, not a unique big reason. Telling you that I and Maud are still OK and fine and good is a big reason. I don't want to leave you guessing about where we were. To let you know, we're just outside Manehattan.

By the time you read this letter, we'll be smashing and smacking Crystal ponies left and right and up and down and other ways as well! Maud's gotten even better at splitting large rocks open and even breaking down defences like walls! (I don't want to say the word 'boulder' because Maud doesn't want Boulder to get hurt. That rock has saved more than a few lives at this point!) I also got better, too, and I don't just mean the 'beating evil ponies up' part. I continue spreading joy and cheer to our comrades with jokes, parties, and even music! Did you know that there was this pony—not even a part of the guard!—who gave me an accordion? Well, I already had an accordion, but having two accordions?! Maud's gonna learn and we'll be the traveling accordion duo when this is all over!

Anyway, I know you guys are still OK and fine because the Crystal Empire hasn't gotten there yet. Just remember that we're doing our best for you and all of Equestria.

Maud would like to say 'Hello' to you, but she's sleeping, silly!

We love you!

From,

Pinkie (and Maud)

P. S.: Limestone, you made sure you got the rocks in order? Your reminder for the week!
Limestone groaned, then muttered, "She knows that I remember."

Igneous nodded and placed his hat down beside his soup. "It brings a great sense of relief to my heart, to know that all of our children are unhurt. Thou deserves thanksgiving and gratitude."

Cloudy nodded, too, and then took a sip of her soup.

Marble made a small smile and chewed on her rock.

Limestone stood in front of the house and behind a table.

She sweltered under the noonday sun. Before her were the vast fields littered with rocks and stones ready to be moved. Beyond that were gray hills holding no grass and nothing else green. Yet, she stood.

A sign written in crude hoofwriting told: "Rocks and crystals! Get them or else!" On the table were rocks and crystals, a good range of them. From pebbles to small boulders, from bits to groups of shiny crystals, from small to large collections of minerals—these were priced accordingly with more signs in front of them.

She groaned again, pouting.

Then, a spot over the hills.

Limestone straightened up, keeping track of that spot as it approached.

She watched it walk on the fields.

"Hey!" Limestone screamed. "You don't do that! You hear?!"

And the figure galloped sideways, out of the field, around the field, and then came into clearer view.

A light brown Earth pony with cherries as his cutie mark.

"What do you want?!" she yelled, banging the table with a hoof.

"Ordering some rocks for my rock collection," Cherry Fizzy said. "I live in Ponyville, but I keep it in Appleloosa."

"And why?" Limestone gave him a suspicious glare.

"Safety reasons. You never know when your house gets destroyed by negligence!"

"Wait, negligence?" She shook and scratched her head in confusion.

"It's a long story," he said, frowning a bit.

Limestone pushed the table closer. "Take your pick but make it quick! I don't have all day!"

He looked up. "But, it's noon—"

A hoof in front of his eyes. "Do you want to get to Appleloosa without a bruise?!"

Outside the train's windows, one could see the dismal landscape change into something somewhat livelier: a dry and hot desert. After swaths of such land, there appeared fields of apple trees flourishing on meager stretches of grass. One apple tree in particular stood on a hill, already filled with apples at its branches.

The train stopped at the station.

Cherry Fizzy huddled outside, hopped over to the rough and sandy ground, and crossed over the railroad. He rubbed his black eye—"Ow!"

Appleloosa was a small frontier settlement. Dispersed about were colorful buildings that differed wildly from the monotonous ground, and some fences were here and there; the houses could be distinguished from the stores by their roofs: the houses had slanted roofs, the stores had flat roofs.

A hat shop was booming with business as could be seen by the long line of ponies past the door. The clock tower, the tallest building in the town, also doubled as the town hall; Sheriff Silverstar, wearing a hat and a mustache and a red bandanna, was shaking hooves with some guards in armor before they parted ways.

He galloped as fast as he could to the sheriff, running past ponies and wagons and carts, kicking up dust clouds and making some cough and shake their hooves at him.

Silverstar noticed the galloping pony. "What do you think you're doing?!"

And he skidded to a stop. He flung a bag at the clock tower—it landed on a bench. "That goes to my collection, sheriff."

"Next time, you better be—" and his eyes went wide. "What happened to you? Who punched you in the face?! Was it the enemy?!"

"I may have annoyed a rock farmer back in Rockville," he said, smiling and revealing a broken tooth.

He plopped down on the chair and breathed a sigh.

"Uh, what happened to your eye?" Mr. Cake asked behind the counter.

"Not much," he said, waving it off. "I'm in your bakery, and that's good enough for me."

"Huh. You're still pushing through with your order, right?"

He nodded.

Then, the door opened.

"You must be Mr. Cake—" and the newcomer turned to Cherry Fizzy at a table. "Hey! I recognize you!"

He stood up. "Professor Top Marks?"

"Aww, you don't have to be formal with me!" Top Marks said as he shook his hoof—a blue unicorn, clothed in a collar, tie, and shirt.

"That means you're still in Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns?"

"Yes." He smiled as he levitated a photo out of a pocket. "I took this picture only yesterday. It's like I never changed my attire."

"You never did!" Cherry said, poking him.

"Well, don't blame me. At least I had a flexible job that required some mental exercise."

"I was content with pushing the cart every time! I was always at the door and listening to the lectures, remember?"

The two laughed beside each other at the thought.

"Uh, should I make that two cakes?" Mr. Cake asked, a bit worried in his tone; a cheesecake was already on the counter.

"And, here!"

The massive double doors glowed a light blue and opened.

A checkered floor of blue and black, polished and shiny. The windows towered over the two ponies as they walked, giving them a broad view of Canterlot at twilight—a purple sky, stars twinkling in, the moon just above the mountains over there, and the castle as a dim silhouette. A big chalkboard with some chalk and erasers on the side plus some blueprints; stairs at the other end with rows of chairs on each step. A lectern, with a globe on it, was in front of a window.

"Do you remember this?" Top Marks said, watching Cherry Fizzy looking around with an open mouth and eyes that took in everything again.

"Yeah, I remember!" he said. "This is where you did those tests with the dragon egg!"

"You mean where we observed potential students as they tried to do what can't be done," the professor corrected. "You also remember all the times you pushed the dragon egg inside?"

"Is Apple Stars still the one operating the cart?" Fizzy asked.

Top Marks shook his head. "She got bored of doing the same thing over and over again so she quit before her first year was up. It's now technically an open position. Whoever feels like it does the job."

The two returned to admiring the room, beholding it as they walked over precious objects, familiar things.

Top Marks walked up the stairs to the highest and final row of seats. Turning to Fizzy who was still down there at the bottom: "Remember when I was here and you were over there?" The question echoed through the room.

"Certainly!" he replied. Then, after looking up, he asked, "Say, do you know where some of the ponies who passed here went to after I was gone?"

"I think you know what happened to Lyra Heartstrings," he said. "She's in Ponyville, right?"

Fizzy nodded. "What about Moon Dancer?"

"Still lives in Canterlot," he answered. "She's with good friends—all of them her classmates, too. Most of them even live in the same block."

"Anypony else?"

Top Marks rubbed his chin. "Hmm. I couldn't remember all their names. All I know is that they've gone to other places. There were some interesting moments that I do remember quite clearly: a colt who brought some construction tools and tried to crack the dragon egg open that way, and there was this filly who got that burst of magic right after she passed the test—still didn't open the egg, though."

"You mean the Princess's personal student?" he asked with a gasp. "I completely forgot about her! What happened to that filly? I've never seen her ever since I left."

"No one knows," he said. "I checked the records and the archives some months ago. What we do know is that she's not in Canterlot. Perhaps on a secret mission from the Princess that she won't talk about."

"Did you ask her? What did she say?"

The professor shook his head—slower, a bit weighty. "I did, but she refused to give up any information about her whereabouts and what she was doing. Probably researching spells in some secluded place. Princess Celestia and maybe Princess Luna are the only ones who know where she is now—her parents, too."

Fizzy looked down.

"A mystery, yes," Top Marks said as he went down the stairs, now level with him. "But, as long as we don't think about it too much, it'll be fine. Princess Celestia has good reasons for keeping this all a secret."

The professor looked out the window, seeing the sky with even more stars than before and with the moon a little higher.

Somepony's Ideology

Monday afternoon.

At Canterlot, inside a restaurant of high walls, short lines, many chefs, stocked food, loud sizzles, comfy chairs, and woven smells, Top Marks had a vegetable dish before him. The slices of tomatoes and lettuces were organized to form a pattern; these were drizzled by some dressing and topped with a green leaf.

Eff Stop sat across the linen-lined table, having the same dish. He eyed the utensils in front of him: knife and fork.

Top Marks levitated a fork and chewed on a thin tomato slice.

Eff Stop watched him chew.

He swallowed the slice, floated a handkerchief to his mouth, wiped it, and gently placed it back on his lap, still levitating his fork.

"You told me you had some story that would inspire the average pony," Eff Stop began. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

He laughed a little and placed the fork down. "I wouldn't want to tell you on a completely empty stomach. I have lots of things in my mind. My break ends tomorrow and I have several lessons to teach to multiple grades."

The reporter nodded. "I understand, sir."

The professor smirked. "I'm content with my bite, so I'll tell you what's going on."

Eff Stop brought out a notepad with his wing and a ballpen with his hoof.

Top Marks looked around him.

The tables nearby were empty. The farther tables did have diners but they were caught up in their conversations sometimes interrupted by a bout of laughter or two. A waiter passed by, levitating a tray of plates and glasses, and then he was out.

"Last night, I talked to Princess Celestia about something," he said, lowering his voice close to a whisper.

Eff Stop wrote down half a line.

"She told me that she ordered her best mages to find out how to disable Sombra's mind control over the Crystal ponies."

He wrote down a line.

"It began back on Friday. Everything about it is a secret and, well, I've done some snooping."

Eff Stop looked up.

"I won't tell you how exactly I was able to get a hold of this information but—there's a secret organization that only they and the Princesses know about."

"Uh, what are you doing?" the reporter asked with a shaky voice. "You're not going to get me into trouble, are you?"

The professor nodded. "That's alright. I do have a bit of leeway on that, however. Being a teacher in Princess Celestia's own school grants you a plethora of privileges. If she discovers that I know about it, she will just tell me to be quiet and to not talk about it at all with anyone else—and I've kept several promises to that."

"But, what about the mages and the mind control?" He prepared his pencil. "Like, how soon can we expect them to figure it out?"

Top Marks sighed. "It's only in its beginning stages. One of them said that it might take more than half a year. It's difficult to get a Crystal pony to remove his helmet."

"But you can, right?"

He made a smile—and then dropped it. "Nopony has. That's why some of the generals, including Spearhead, are already having hooves pointed at them for crazy assumptions. They thought that if you could just kick or punch the helmets out, then that's it. That's why several of our northern towns and cities fell so quickly—especially Vanhoover." He pushed his plate away. "I'm sure you know what started that catastrophe."

"Because some of the police tried removing their helmets..." Eff Stop muttered, looking down on his notes.

"Not even the strongest Earth pony there could do anything about it," he said, adopting a slower and sober voice. "Everything there was good as gone—all because we thought we could just pick up those helmets."

A pause. The two heard the clatter of utensils and the continuing conversations. "So, you're saying they're attached to their helmets?"

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe not. We're not sure. We can't remove their armors so easily because it's not really a good idea at the moment."

"What can you do?" Eff Stop asked.

"I'm not one of those mages," he replied. "I'm a lecturer." He levitated a fork and took a bite of another tomato slice.

Eff Stop scribbled some more lines on his notepad.

"Are you gonna eat that?" the professor asked, pointing at the plate of untouched food.

"I will," he said before grabbing his fork and finishing his light lunch.

Eff Stop and Press Release walked on the sidewalk, passing by several two- to three- story houses. Even a four-story house was over there, with a mustached pony on the balcony as he waved his hat to all who passed by.

"Everyone's expecting that," Press Release said. "It's clear that the helmets are magical. All we need now is a counterspell."

"From how he said it," Eff Stop answered, "it's not as easy as it sounds."

"I know it's not that easy," she replied. "Nopony's seen Sombra before!"

He sighed. He stopped and pointed at a house. "Look."

She looked.

It was a tall enough house of purple bricks and hourglass-shaped windows and door. There was even a large hourglass right above the door; all the sand was at the bottom.

"It's a nice theme for a house," he said. "I would've liked clocks more, but an hourglass is uncommon in the big cities."

Press Release rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll play along. Ask me what kind of pony this house's owner is."

Eff Stop smiled. "What kind of pony is this house's owner?"

"Not so literal!" she said, a bit whimsical. Then, facing the house: "She likes hourglasses a lot to the point of ordering a house with hourglasses as a focal design...thing. Why does she like hourglasses? Because she likes to be on time—never a minute late and never a minute early. A timely pony, a punctual pony."

"Anything else?" Eff Stop prodded, his smile growing.

She groaned, still looking at the house. "She keeps most of the curtains closed. Maybe she's a reclusive pony. Not outgoing. If she has friends, then they're few. Probably doesn't talk a lot; when she does, she's quiet because she's probably shy. Her hobby might not help so well. About her hobby, it's probably scheduling to an absurd degree. Also, she might like books a lot—a bookworm."

"I need a break," he said as he walked up the stairs.

Press Release growled. "Get down!"

"I've had a stressful day so far, OK?" He turned to face her as he stood in front of the door, hoof poised to knock. "If I could talk to somepony else and let her join us for some walking around in the museum—"

The door opened.

"Hi!" Minuette yelled from inside the house. "You look really familiar! Wait, don't tell me! You're those ponies we bumped into a while back! We haven't seen each other in a long time!" Then, she shook his hoof. "I overheard you about letting me join in! Don't leave the rest of my friends out! I can bring Lemon Hearts, Twinkleshine, Moon Dancer—all of 'em!"

He took a step back from the happy pony.

And tripped down the stairs.

"Ouch," Press Release murmured as she levitated the hat off of his head. "That's not gonna hurt much."

"So, where are we going?" Minuette asked from the top of the stairs.

"Eee! I can't believe we're going to Rainbow Falls on a surprise trip!"

"You've said that a dozen times," Twinkleshine said as she pulled Minuette's face away from the train window.

The four unicorn friends plus the two reporters sat only two seats across each other. The train was mostly empty—there was a mailgriffon at the back, staring out another window while a bag was slung around her torso.

"I'll say it a dozen more if I have to!" Minuette shouted. "It's a shame that we're not going here when the Traders Exchange takes place. But, this makes it the second best time to visit Rainbow Falls!"

"I'm not following," Moon Dancer said, shaking her head. "What are you saying?"

"Everything's paid for by these guys!" she screamed while pointing at the two reporters.

"You've said that more than a dozen times," Lemon Hearts mentioned.

Then, the train slowed down.

Mineutte went back to the window, slamming her face there. "Can you believe it?! Look at all those waterfalls that aren't really waterfalls but more like rainbow falls—just like the name of this place! We're going to take pictures!" She looked at the reporters. "You brought cameras, right?!"

It was another lovely place to be and live in.

The train station sat on top of a plateau. Most of the buildings had a village style to it similar to those found in Ponyville although there was no hay to be found on the roofs and there were more balconies than usual. Modest houses were modest, too, in number—not too spaced out, not too crowded. Some of those buildings had rainbow signs on them.

Indeed, there were many rainbow falls there, emanating from clouds high up. They fell down to the rainbow rivers and rainbow lakes—all ordinary-looking rivers and lakes if it weren't for the rainbow stream that replaced the water.

The grass was clean here, mowed properly. Trees dotted the place.

One could see, over there, more houses and other buildings on the cliffs. Some were even partially hanging over the air, with the ground so far down.

The surroundings of the place were mountainous; a large part of the sky was covered by these humongous hills. There, a valley was with flat green plains.

As the passengers got off the train, they looked around and beheld everything they could see. Minuette was jumping around, not stepping at all for the most part. Twinkleshine and Lmeon Hearts smiled at what they saw and Moon Dancer, though levitating a notebook and writing down some notes, smiled, too. Press Release and Eff Stop looked about them as well, her camera already glowing that gray blue.

"I can't believe it!"

"Now you've said it more than a dozen times!" Twinkleshine told, yanking an excited Minuette away from one of the rainbow lakes that flowed about thicker than water, as if it was sweet liquid sugar.

Press Release sighed and rolled her eyes, levitating her hat off of her head. "The only reason why I even considered letting you go with us here is that I'm kind." She motioned the hat towards her and Eff Stop. "We're here to see what's happening around here, write our articles, take some pictures, and get out of here. Do you even realize how dangerous it is?"

His smile went away. "She's right. The only thing keeping Rainbow Falls safe is the mountain range, and you know how they're good at utilizing mountains."

"It's not the closest, anyway!" Minuette said, waving it off.

Then, a poke. She turned around.

"We're still close to the Empire," Moon Dancer said. "It's no laughing matter."

Minuette grunted. "We've got ponies protecting us over there!" She pointed at the mountains. A closer look revealed a few soldiers climbing them.

It was now Lemon Hearts who yanked that excited mare. "Do you have any idea what you're kidding about?!"

"I wasn't the one who made a failed experiment and broke all my jars in the process!"

"How will I know if I don't try?"

Moon Dancer stepped in. "Girls, we're not going anywhere if we keep on arguing like this. It's good enough that these two reporters were nice enough to let us be here." She half-bowed to the two reporters who smiled back. "It would only be right to enjoy their gift." Then, with a hoof blocking Mineutte from moving about, she said to the reporters, "So, what can we do here? I'll be over at the biggest library here to search for any additional information about the Empire, but I don't think the rest of my friends would like to participate in that search."

The two reporters looked up, pondering. "Well," Press Release said, raising a hoof, "there is some kind of occasion happening at where the Traders Exchange usually takes place. A mayor—not of this town—is having free activities. I'm sure you can pass the time there."

"And you better get to it," Eff Stop continued. "Because I can feel her about to explode—"

"Sooner we get this over with, the better," she said, changing to an angry accent.

Eff Stop giggled. "Gotta go, bye!"

The two galloped away.

The four mares stood outside the tunnel, all with open mouths and low jaws. Moon Dancer adjusted her glasses with her magic, though kept her bewildered face.

"What is this?" Twinkleshine asked.

Before them was a large group of chairs in front of a short wooden platform, most of them occupied. On and above the platform were banners and signs—white and black. On the sides were huge speakers, their wires leading up to the microphone in its stand on the stage.

The pony on stage tapped the microphone.

Loud feedback rang; ponies covered their ears and gritted their teeth.

"Sorry about that," Starlight Glimmer said, her voice resonating clear through the speakers. She gave a sheepish smile. "Just making sure nothing's wrong."

"Who's that?" Minuette asked, pointing at the mare.

Moon Dancer gasped. "She's Starlight Glimmer!"

The audience looked at her.

Their eyes were bearing down.

"Oh, I'm sorry again!" Starlight said as she hopped off of the platform and walked through the grassy aisle, past many rows, and finally right there with the mares. She extended a hoof. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are." She looked at the four of them. "What are your names?"

Moon Dancer smiled. "She's Twinkleshine—" pointed at her smiling "—she's Lemon Hearts—" pointed at her wearing a neutral expression "—she's Minuette—" pointed at her shaking Starlight's hoof, surprising her "—and I'm Moon Dancer."

Starlight pulled her hoof out of the hoofshake.

"You're really the pony who built up that town in the middle of nowhere?" Moon Dancer asked.

"I wouldn't say 'nowhere' in particular, but it's close." She laughed a little. "I mean, it is not the best of land to some, but it is to us—and we could make it better together."

Moon Dancer nodded.

And was yanked by Minuette.

She brought her mouth close to Moon Dancer's ear. "I don't like how this feels," she whispered.

"I know," Moon Dancer whispered back. "But, let's be polite."

The two looked back at Starlight.

"Admission is free!" Starlight said, motioning a hoof toward the remaining empty chairs.

The four looked amongst themselves.

"This thing's working right?" her voice resounded. "Alright. Let's get this started!"

The audience became silent.

Starlight cleared her throat.

The tracts of green land extended a good while, suddenly cut. Beyond was a beautiful view of the valley to the left. To the left, also, was a rainbow fall from the plateau above, flowing into a rainbow river that winded to yet another drop at the cliff, at the end.

"I would like to begin with a question: Are you disappointed with how you've been treated by the government, by the Princesses?"

And many raised their hooves, some even speaking their Yes's.

"Why?" she asked.

Scanning the room; then, pointing.

"M-Me?" a stallion sputtered.

"You raised your hoof, didn't you?" Starlight said, focused on him. "What specifically did the Princesses do that made you so upset? Or, if not the Princesses, at least somepony with fame and fortune in some lavish estate?"

He looked left and right, his neighbors eyeing him. Then, gulped. "They're sitting on wealth that we deserve for our hard work while they just talk about their insignificant arguments!"

"Exactly," Starlight said, smiling. "Instead of learning the good virtue of hard work, these snobby ponies fund everything so that they'll do nothing. And, if anypony complains, they also have the power to take you out, bring you out of the game so that you don't even matter to them. Or worse, put you in jail. These ponies have the ability to forge documents, if you didn't know."

A few gasps let out from the audience.

She paced, levitating the microphone with her. "It's not a good thing to uphold, is it? Yet, we always give them some respect because they're the ones with the money and the influence. Well, what if I told you that they're hoarding it all up and that they don't deserve any of the respect we're giving to them?"

A pony raised her hoof and stood up. "Starlight Glimmer?"

"Oh, Moon Dancer!" she said, walking to the edge of the platform. "You've got a question this early on? You must be very curious and thoughtful."

"Thank you. But, I do have a question."

Starlight nodded. "Go on. I'm listening."

All eyes were on her. Minuette shivered in her seat.

"I know where this is going," Moon Dancer spoke. "I've read your manifesto. I don't want to make myself your enemy, but I hope that you'll understand where I'm coming from."

"That is more than good," Starlight said. "An ideology must have solid principles to stand on, after all...tried and tested by time and practice and experiment."

Moon Dancer nodded. "Have you been in Equestria?"

Many gasped at that.

Starlight placed a hoof to her mouth. "What kind of a question is that? I've never been outside of Equestria in my whole life!"

"I didn't mean it literally," she clarified. "But, I hope that was enough to raise the attention of everypony here."

"Huh?" She tilted her head a bit. "That was useless, anyway. Everypony was already listening to you."

Moon Dancer walked to the aisle separating the two halves of the audience.

Murmurs arose, whispers about the brave unicorn standing up to the mare on the stage.

"I don't see what you're trying to prove here," Starlight said, her voice still booming through the speakers. "It's unwise, but I'm still listening. Maybe you have something perfectly reasonable for your, hm, actions."

"It may not be perfect," Moon Dancer said, "but it's reason enough."

Starlight rolled her eyes. "Come on. I'm waiting."

She drew in a deep breath. Then, facing Starlight straight up: "You said it yourself that you've lived in Equestria your whole life. You've never went outside. Have you ever seen what goes on in the kingdoms and empires outside of Equestria?"

"I've paid attention in my classes, if that's what you were thinking," Starlight replied dryly.

"You know the histories of these places," Moon Dancer continued, "and, I think, you know how their inhabitants live life, too. Yes, they are more than just surviving, but, compared to us, they are miserable. The griffons live in shambles, the dragons sleep on stones, the yaks have little more than huts. They only know how to exist and survive. Not much else."

Starlight raised an eyebrow, watching her stand there on that path.

"What about us?" She placed a hoof on her chest. "We don't just exist and survive. We truly live. Everypony is free to do whatever they want and, as long as you put in enough work and effort, you can achieve your goals here in Equestria. Who allowed this to happen to us? Who brought this upon our land?"

A pause, all eyes on her, Starlight looking down on her.

"The Princesses!"

Starlight took a step back.

Gasps abounded.

Minuette trotted over to her friend. "Moon Dancer? Are you crazy?!"

Moon Dancer smiled. "A little."

Murmurs, whispers around.

"Well, that was an interesting speech," Starlight spoke.

Everyone fell silent. All eyes were on her.

"I admit that Equestria under the rule of the Princesses is a wonderful Equestria. I'm not denying that they've brought about lots of benefits that do need to be spread and shared. But, no matter which way you tell it, the system is flawed, and I won't give you the chance to interrupt me because I would like to spell the essentials out to you before you make an opinion about it." A smile. "Do you understand?"

Moon Dancer gulped.

Minuette slipped away.

"I've already said it before," Starlight went on, "that you have these ponies who are very rich. They could be using their riches for something that can actually help Equestria even further. But, what do they spend it on? Fancy clothes that don't do anything to keep the streets clean, embellished plates that could easily be replaced with an ordinary paper one, to name only two. They also spend it on bodyguards; if you cannot fight, you can at least run, especially if you're a pegasus—or, would that be flight?" She brushed it off. "Anyway, that's not the point. The point is: the Princesses are good, but there is a better way. They have ties to those rich ponies who don't want to help us even a little bit.

"And, since you've read my manifesto—" pointing at Moon Dancer who took a step back "—you know how we live in our little town: nopony actually leads. Everypony is a friend to everypony else. We seek equal labor for all who live, no matter who you are, and you will receive your due pay, too, along with more than enough free time to dedicate to whatever hobby you choose to pursue besides that shown by your cutie mark. Since nopony leads, everypony gets a voice in how things are to be done—and, no, I am not the mayor of our town. I've only chosen to dedicate some of my free time to represent it and to defend it. I, too, work on the fields and harvest food for everypony to eat and enjoy. So, you cannot blame me for being a hypocrite."

The murmurs grew, narrowing down on Moon Dancer standing out.

She gulped.

Outside the train windows, one could see the enormous Celestial Sea. The waves moved back and forth at their sluggish speed, though their height made them formidable as they crashed against the steep cliffs.

Press Release and Eff Stop sat together in the train's carriage, the four mares a few seats ahead as they talked though quieter.

"I didn't know they were hosting Starlight Glimmer of all ponies," Eff Stop said. "To get lashed out by her. That's certainly not something nice."

"Downright terrible," Press Release said. "What makes it even worse is that she often sounds right. Remember when I went to that town? They were able to build it up faster than usual, and there wasn't much squabbling, if there was any! Plus, she doesn't seem to have a personal reason for doing this—not a hint of it at all."

Eff Stop scratched his chin, putting on his thinking face. "You did say 'seem', right?"

Press Release shook her head. "No. We are not investigating her."

Eff Stop sighed.

"Some other time, but not now," Press Release said. "We've gotta return."

Toward a Manehattan Stay

The dusty room was dark, only lit up by a single source: a candle on the reading table. The purple paint on the wall was cracking, the books were scattered all over the floor. Another stack toppled and down it poured into the sea of books.

The door opened, the knob glowing yellow.

"Moon Dancer?" Minuette whispered.

In the candelight by the reading table, the shadowy figure sat and read, levitating the page to the next from time to time.

"Moon Dancer!" she yelled though still in a whisper. "That's unhealthy! How can you stand so much reading so late? It's so late that it's already Wednesday—didn't you know that?"

"What?" She closed the book with her magic, levitated the candle to her face—now clear, though her mane stuck out. Her eyes were half-open, reddening.

"It's almost two in the morning!" Minuette whispered, glaring. She saw the sea of books on the floor. And jumped. "You need to tidy up!"

Moon Dancer moaned and slammed her head on the desk—then, heard it crack. "Aww! My horn!"

Minuette brushed her mane with her hoof and walked over to her, stepping on the books.

"N-No!" she cried out. "What do you think you're doing! You should be more careful!"

"You have more worth than a bunch of dusty old books, Moon Dancer!" Minuette said as she grabbed hold of her friend and tried to pull her out.

Moon Dancer held on to the table.

"You've been on a Crystal Empire frenzy ever since you woke up! You've got the three of us worried sick!"

Moon Dancer moaned again as she slapped her friend's face with a book.

"Ow!" A growl. "You're not gonna do that again!"

"Make me!"

Minuette sighed. "You asked for this." She looked out the open door—the front lawn was clean and a tree was growing well with lots of leaves, with a stone fence indicating Moon Dancer's property; the road was devoid of any carriage whatsoever. A lone pony walked about the sidewalk a bit far on. "Girls?"

And Twinkleshine and Lemon Hearts appeared from behind the wall.

Moon Dancer gasped. "You can't possibly be thinking of that!"

"It's for your own good!" Minuette said. "We don't wanna lose a friend like this."

A groan.

Blurry vision.

Open lights, sunlight.

Ceiling.

Clearer sight.

Focused on Mineutte sitting on a stool.

A sigh from that pony's mouth.

Moon Dancer stood up on her bed. "Where am I? What did you do? What time is it?"

Minuette drew in breath. "You're in my house, we knocked you out, and it's precisely seven fifty-eight A.M." And a grin.

Her irises shrunk. "It's morning?!"

"The sun's out," Minuette said. "It's refreshing after enough hours of sleep, right, Moon Dancer?"

"I didn't even get eight!" she complained, throwing the blanket about.

Minuette giggled, the laugh trailing off. "Well, we just didn't like seeing you hurt yourself like that. I know that we can do our part in helping Equestria fight, but do you think you can really do all of this on your own?"

Moon Dancer looked away from her.

"You let us do the reading for you today," Minuette said. "You've worn yourself out. Rest, walk around, enjoy the day."

"But, what about my—"

Minuette nodded. "Rest, Moon Dancer. I've prepared breakfast for you downstairs. Pancakes and sour cream!"

She hopped her way out of the bedroom.

Books thrown and slung about.

The three scampered around, scouring the wooden shelves engraved into the natural walls, building their own sea of books as they progressed. The windows of the tree library let in the orange sunset light, bringing a warm mood to the whole rush for information.

Mayor Mare and Rarity looked on at the mess from the side. They looked at each other, then they looked back at the mess.

"No, no, no, no!" Minuette yelled as she hurled yet another book to the floor. "How are we going to tell this to her? We've spent all day traveling throughout Equestria, and we still haven't found anything useful!"

The two hurled their respective books, too, to search for another.

Rarity walked to the three, her horn glowing as she levitated most of the books back in place. "And, what precisely do you need? I do enjoy a good read now and then."

Minuette faced her, whirling herself around, still carrying an open book with her magic. "Moon Dancer's looking for a book—any book!—about the Crystal Empire! She thinks that we can solve everything or at least some things that way! We can tell you and us and her—"

Rarity levitated yet another book away from Minuette's sight. "You're getting ahead of yourself, darling. You haven't even considered checking the books in order—whether it's by topic, by name, whatever. Have you...never thought of that this whole time?"

Minuette covered her mouth and nodded.

And Twinkleshine and Lemon Hearts looked at her.

"Ah, don't worry!" Rarity said, flipping her mane. "Even the best can forget such simple advice!"

Minuette smiled and put down her book on the table. "Uh, thanks...who are you?"

"Rarity."

The floor was now clear of any books lying on it.

"That was unexpected of you!" Mayor Mare said, beaming at her as they trotted through Ponyville, the grass and the windows reflecting the orange tint of the sky. "With you leaving soon, I'm surprised that you continue to keep up that upbeat attitude of yours."

"Ah-ha-ha-ha!" Then, drooping down: "Yes, Mayor."

She placed a hoof on Rarity's head.

They stopped.

"Rarity," Mayor Mare began, "leaving the town you were born and raised in is especially hard. I don't know what it feels like to go away for a month or longer. But, remember that we'll always be here, cheering you on wherever you are. As long as we can still talk to you, even if it must be through letters, then we'll be OK knowing you're OK."

Rarity's eyes welled up; a choke. "W-Why, you're so...you're..." and wiped a tear.

The mayor nodded slowly, stepping back. "Want me to treat you to a Sugarcube Corner buffet? I'll invite as many ponies as possible!"

"That will have to be postponed for the day before," Rarity said, walking in another direction. "I have to talk with my Sweetie."

And she ran.

Whimpering.

Rarity opened the door.

The bedroom and workplace once again—the shelves of fabrics, the sewing equipment, the mirrors, the windows, the bed.

Whimpers, sobs.

Sweetie Belle's face covered in bed sheets.

"Oh, no..." Rarity muttered as she went closer to the crying filly. "What's wrong, Sweetie Belle?"

She closed the door.

"What's the matter, Sweetie?"

Sobs.

"Sweetie Belle, it's alright. I'm here. We're here. And—"

"I don't wanna go!"

Threw the sheets and a pillow.

Rarity held her sister, hugging her as she cried. "W-Who...told you we were going?"

"Apple Bloom!" she screamed. "She told me everything about what you and Applejack talked about a few days ago!" And cried.

Rarity covered her mouth at that. "N-No! W-Why did she do that?"

"To tell the truth!" Sweetie shouted. Then, staring at her—"How could you?! Why were you trying to keep it a secret? Were you going to bring all of my things inside a bag and drag me into a trip I knew nothing about?! What were you gonna tell me?! That—that we were gonna stay in Manehattan for a few days? And then you'll—what, make up an excuse? Then, the days become weeks, the weeks become months, the months become years—"

Rarity held her closer, tighter. "Sweetie Belle..."

"We're abandoning our friends!" she yelled amidst her tears. "Is there something wrong with them?! I-I don't know what to do in Manehattan! None of my friends will be there and they'll miss me and—"

"Babs Seed attends school there!" Rarity said, panicked. "She's a cousin of Apple Bloom, so you can have that and still be happy!" A desperate grin.

"I don't even know her!"

And she cried.

Rarity stayed still, holding her with a hoof.

A tear down her cheek.

"Please, Rarity! Don't draw me away from them—from Apple Bloom and Scootaloo!"

She gasped.

The two sobbed together, tears flowing.

Applejack stood before the table, a few letters on with some more papers beside.

Her bedroom was a straightforward one, and the lights were on. There was a bed and a small desk beside it, having a lamp and a portrait of the Apple family: Her, Apple Bloom, Big McIntosh, and Granny Smith, all huddled together in a group hug. Above the bed was a painting of a pony frolicking in the plains full of flowers. Farther on, two lassos and one hat hung on the wall.

A few windows gave her a nice view of the night with its starry sky and its bright moon.

Hoofsteps.

She glanced at the door, at the hallway past it.

"Apple Bloom? What are you doin' up about this late?"

Her sister walked to her. "What are you doin'?"

Applejack sighed. "I've gotta send these out early. The Apple family reunion ain't supposed to be comin' up for two more months or so, but, with what's goin' on these days, we've gotta pull it in early and celebrate on Monday."

Apple Bloom gasped.

She made a small smile. "You're going to see everypony come here again—and early, too."

"And that includes Babs Seed!"

Applejack nodded. "I was surprised myself when I saw how the two o' you bonded so quick! I'm sure that you'll have a mighty fine time when they start drivin' in."

Apple Bloom nodded, too.

A sigh. "So, did you tell Sweetie Belle what I'd told you?"

A pause. "Yes, sis'."

Applejack sighed again. "It's painful, ain't it?"

Apple Bloom nodded again.

"You've gotta admit, Rarity's good when it comes to keepin' things quiet an' silent, even when she's hidin' from her own family. But, to be honest, it isn't the right thing, especially when we're talking about somepony who's so bright-eyed her whole life." Another pause. "Bringin' it on her as a sudden story—that plan is a lot worse than tellin' it to her straight as can be."

Apple Bloom looked up. "So...what's gonna happen?" A pause, teary eyed. "We won't be the Cutie Mark Crusaders without her." Tears formed. "It'll never be the same."

Applejack took a step closer to her. "It won't. I don't even think writin' her letters is gonna be enough."

She looked at her sister. "Then, what now?"

"We wait," Applejack said, glancing at the letters before looking back at her. "We wait for them to come back from Manehattan. I don't know when they're comin' back, but if Rarity said that she's comin' back, then I'm sure of it."

"But, when?"

Applejack sighed. "I don't know, sis'. I don't know."

The two embraced.

No smiles.

As colts and fillies played again on the wide fields around the schoolhouse, chasing each other and talking to each other and laughing with each other, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo waited by the hatch door.

"I don't think anypony could replace Sweetie Belle," Scootaloo said, taking a peek at the long hallway and staircase down to the basement. "Even if we get a unicorn just like her, we know she won't be Sweetie Belle."

Apple Bloom nodded in agreement. "But, what could ya' do? What could we do? It's a family decision, and I don't wanna meddle in that—but, at the same time—" sweating "—there must be some way to let her stay here."

Scootaloo grinned and jumped. "What about we let her stay with you at your place?"

Apple Bloom smiled. "I guess you're right! This might be our last shot!"

The two bumped each other's hooves.

Sweetie Belle in the distance.

Apple Bloom gasped. "She's comin'!"

And they smiled as the unicorn passed by a line of running ponies along with the swing-set and slide. Then, looking at her two friends at the hatch door: "Good morning." Despondent.

They looked at each other with fearful eyes.

The basement was crowded with students talking tenser. The conversations were quieter, with some resorting to covering one side of their face with a hoof as they relayed whispered words to another.

The presses were still going. Paper was printed into today's edition of the "Foal Free Press" on which, for now, was a picture of a smiling mare with a country hat, posing in front of a farm. The headline of "Applejack Visits Sugarcube Corner Yesterday!" told what the main story was all about.

Ponies kept on making words and sentences on the typewriters, with the occasional crumpled paper thrown into the trashcan.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders gathered at another wooden table, sitting on the chairs.

Scootaloo smacked the table, looking at Sweetie Belle with disgust. "You stole Apple Bloom's idea?! And, you didn't tell us?!"

"Look, I asked Rarity everything I could ask!" Sweetie replied, raising her voice and about to stand up. "She said 'No!' to every single one of them, including staying at Sweet Apple Acres!"

"Was it because we were 'uncouth' or somethin'?" Apple Bloom said, having a smug yet irritated expression.

Sweetie looked confused. "No?"

Apple Bloom smacked her head on the table and groaned.

Scootaloo faced Sweetie and raised a hoof. "You think you tried everything?"

Sweetie nodded.

"Have you told her that you could stay with Cheerilee?"

She nodded again.

"What about trips back and forth every week?"

Another nod.

"Stowing away?" Apple Bloom quipped.

Yet another nod.

"Bringing us along for the ride?" Scootaloo suggested.

One more nod.

The peagsus sighed. "It's hopeless! How are we ever going to get out of this?"

"You don't," Sweetie replied, even more despondent than before—a low voice; looking away, avoiding their stares.

"No, you didn't say that!" Apple Bloom said, placing a forceful hoof on the table, giving her an angry face. "We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders! No matter what, we'll be together!"

Sweetie saw their faces, their pleas in their eyes, their shivering mouths, their hooves reaching out to her.

She gulped.

Lyra looked out the window of the living room.

Above the houses and the roads and the bridges and the rivers and the town hall and the mountains far ahead and away, the sky turned from a sharp and striking orange into a soothing purple and blue, the sun going down and the moon going up.

The door lurched open; paper rustling.

"Lyra, you've gotta see the night news!"

She galloped past the couch and the tables and the shelves and the wall, greeting Bon Bon who was holding a newspaper and grabbing it from her hooves with her magic as it glowed orange.

On the Ponyville Express newspaper was a picture of Prince Rutherford, eyes covered, standing in front of the wooden gate into and out of Yakyakistan; it was enormous, higher than the walls that surrounded the village. He had a grumpy face on.

The headline news read as follows:
"Yakyakistan Ready!" says Prince; Calls Crystal Empire to Battle
Prince Rutherford of Yakyakistan has issued a statement to the Crystal Empire this afternoon, at about 5 P.M. Prince Rutherford, among other words, called the Crystal Empire to fight it right now.

"Yaks show enemy what yaks can!" Prince Rutherford had said. "Yaks not go down without fight. Honor and love for yaks! Visit soon and yaks win!"

Many military experts, both in and out of Equestria, have noted the bravery (or bravado) of Rutherford's recent words. Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard said, "It doesn't make any sense. He's only asking for trouble this way. Yakyakistan is ill-equipped and ill-prepared to take on the Crystal ponies." Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts told, "Despite all of the flaws, the attack on Yakyakistan could divert enough forces from our frontlines so that we can push through and cut through the Crystal ponies' defences. If we're fast enough, we could even catch up to the attacking army and tackle them before they can fully destroy Yakyakistan."

Prince Rutherford has said in a later interview that he won't be accepting any more press conferences.

"What does it mean?!" Lyra screamed.

Bon Bon sighed and pushed her friend away. "It means what it means."

Lyra grabbed her friend by the head. "Is that the go signal to pack our things and leave?!" She levitated some of the books and photos and wallets and other things lying around—even a carpet. "I have briefcases at the ready!"

Bon Bon looked out the open door, glimpsing at a few ponies walking down the street. "You're making a sight out of this, Lyra!" Then, she grabbed the knob and slammed the door shut.

Rarity sighed before she opened the door to the boutique.

Much of it was covered in pink colors: pink walls, pink floor, pink curtains, pink platforms. Accents and tones of yellows and white decorated the place as fancy shapes had been painted on, making the boutique's ground floor a lovely place for the fashionista. The stairs were over there at the end. Beside mirrors and even more curtains, there were racks of suits and dresses of different styles—elaborate, simple, colorful.

Beside those racks were many boxes and suitcases.

Rarity walked to one of those suitcases and, without touching it with a hoof, opened it.

Inside were numerous dresses packed inside along with several watches and jewelry.

Also inside was a photograph.

Rarity levitated it.

On the photograph was the whole family. Hondo Flanks and Cookie Crumbles standing right beside their daughters Rarity and Sweetie Belle. They stood in front of a cottage. They all smiled, their hooves connected on each other's shoulders.

She looked back at the door and the window.

Rarity could see the beautiful night that was in Ponyville. Not many buildings had their lights on for tonight, but there were some lights. Several ponies lingered at the space in front of the boutique, talking and laughing at some joke or two.

She closed her eyes. Another tear flowed.

Visit

Train doors shut.

Wheels turning, whistle shrilling, landscape slowly changing and shifting.

And the train was off.

Rarity, Sweetie Belle, and Cookie Crumbles sat on the seats; behind them were giant stacks of luggages and baggages, threatening to fall apart and block a passenger's way through the carriage.

Sweetie Belle ran off to one of the windows that faced Ponyville. She went up one of the seats and took a good look of Ponyville slowly fading.

One final look of Ponyville under the sunset. The sky, back in its orange, gave the town a feeling of farewell, as if the ponies there sent them off at a perfect time—the orange, perhaps, meant the end of life there.

At the train station, before they were gone from view, were Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. Waving, shouting.

Gone.

A sniffle.

She waved back.

The mailgriffon sat near the end of the carriage, that family at the other side with all the bags blocking a part of her view.

Gabby pawed her seat, looking at the family as the whimpers began anew.

A hug, an embrace.

Hills passing by, trees and grass whizzing by structures to be seen for a minute before they're gone, too.

"Ooh. That's not good." She opened her bag of mail, taking a peek and seeing some of the letters and packages inside.

As Gabby stood at the train station, her paws and claws on the concrete's edge where the railroad lay, she watched the train leave as it shrilled its whistle one last time before it was gone, disappearing into the night and far away from the city.

She gave a small wave and a poignant pout.

The griffon took flight.

The Trotton Transit Center was "the pinnacle of train stations!"—so it said on the wall with massive letters that went from one side of the hallway to another. The hallways were humongous as they held glass ceilings that reached high. Escalators and stairs stood side-by-side as ponies took both pathways up and down the floors.

After winding through a few columns and rounding some corners, she entered the grand hall.

A dry fragrance permeated the room. The floors were shiny and had paintings of trains on them, done with the utmost attention to detail. On the walls were more paintings of trains, framed in metal beside the schedules for each rail line; the walls themselves were adorned with ceramic planks and embellishments. Hanging over the center was the collection of all the schedules for all to see, all written in huge letters; underneath were counters where more than ten clerks and assistants entertained the questions and inquiries of various ponies and other creatures.

More creatures—mostly ponies—sat on the benches as they checked their watches, opened and closed their suitcases, talked with each other, read the newspaper or a book. Various staff, donning yellow aprons, walked about offering refreshments to those waiting at their seats...and most of their prospects declined, resulting in some groans.

Gabby flew through a pair of glass doors and flew outside.

A breath of cool, fresh air. Trees decorated the sidewalks as large double-decker carriages brought many ponies toward some place or another. High-rise buildings of steel shone through the many stories of lights; beside them were the humble commercial outlets where crowds gathered and conversed and purchased. To the left and to the right, calmer places were more common; these had grass and fences and yards (whether at the front or at the back). Over there was a park where some ponies relaxed and winded down.

Yet another double-decker whizzed by Gabby, barely avoiding her.

She went on flying, staying above the sidewalk as she flew above ponies trotting by in the middle of their own schedules. The bright lights that glared and dazzled did not faze her—she kept flying, past intersections and over more ponies, some of which shook their hooves at her, shouting at her.

Across a couple of rivers, flying over houses with simple grass yards and lit up streets, she landed in front of a house that stood above the rest.

It was an orange mansion four floors tall. Fountains and tables lined up the straight pathway to the entrance which was an enormous double door that was half as tall as the mansion itself. A group of butlers placed empty plates and utensils on to the tables, alternating between one set of refined forks and knives with another such refined set.

They all looked at the intruder.

Gabby smiled, holding an envelope with her claw. "Uh, I'm a mailgriffon. I've got some mail for a Mr. and Mrs. Orange."

One of the butlers walked up to her, levitated the envelope, tore it open, levitated the actual letter out, read it, and nodded as he walked the long way to the big entrance.

"Wow," she said. "That's rude."

And she lunged back to the sky, wings spread open.

The dining room was only one of several.

The walls stretched up the entire four stories to the ceiling way up there. Windows almost as tall as the wall had their curtains open, permitting the ponies there a grand view of the river that was streaming peacefully as boats floated by and another part of the city glowed in its many lights.

The table was almost as long as the room itself, having enough room to seat fifty ponies at normal capacity, complete with different kinds of plates, spoons, forks, knives, napkins, and fruit bowls—or, rather, orange bowls since the only fruits there were oranges and oranges. At the middle was a bouquet of flowers that gave off lovely scents.

At the side was a gray Earth pony mare who played a somber piece of music on her cello, arpeggios abundant in her lone symphony done in rich tones and notes. She had a pink bowtie.

Mr. and Mrs. Orange stood beside each other at the table: he was light gold in his coat and green in his mane, while she was a lighter yellow and having a sort of "stacked" mane; she wore a shiny necklace around her neck.

"This is a lovely manor," Mrs. Orange said, wondering at what lay before her; not only was the table there, but immense paintings just about covered the walls, depicting crisp views of landscapes laden with grass, trees, and rivers.

"It is," Mr. Orange replied. "We brought everything here and more. Who knew Trotton was a beautiful city for a Manehattanite? And, if we ever feel homesick, Manehattan is only one train ride away."

One of the doors opened.

"A letter, sir and madam," the butler said, levitating the letter as he walked past many chairs before he reached the Orange ponies.

Mr. Orange raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Mrs. Orange got the letter and read it. Then, a small gasp. "It's an invitation to the Apple family reunion—in three days!"

"That's Monday!" Mr. Orange blurted out. He cast a glance at the butler. "Surely, you've checked if it was clear or not!"

"The paper could have only come from the town of Ponyville, sir," the butler answered.

He placed a hoof on his head. "This is unprecedented." Then, coughed and straightened up. "Well, that would mean a slight change of plans, but nothing major has been derailed. The dinner shall go as ordered, and all the preparations must be done by Sunday."

The butler nodded and brisked his way out of the room, closing the doors shut.

Mrs. Orange looked at the celloist. "Octavia, you don't mind being here for an extra long time, do you?"

She nodded, still moving her bow, still playing.

Half-open eyes looked out the train window.

On the right, the sun rose over the vast Celestial Sea. Clear skies dominated the hour; a cheerful mood was setting in for those who were walking outside on the many grass plains on the left.

"We're entering Manehattan in one minute," a voice announced through the speakers.

Octavia groaned, the cello-shpaed bag beside her, and it was big, close to touching the ceiling.

A pony in uniform walked a small wagon to her side. "Ma'am, it looks like you need something more serious than a hearty breakfast." She levitated a tray of plates and floated it toward her. "This is all yours."

Octavia grabbed hold of the tray and saw the waffles, the pancakes, the vegetables, and a bowl of sour cream.

"Sour cream?" Octavia asked.

"It's a long story," the uniformed pony said with a laugh. "I wish I could tell you about Minuette and her group of friends, but we don't have much time." She gazed at the outside turning into the metropolis known as Manehattan. "If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have known that pancakes with sour cream was great and amazing! Unexpected, yes, but great!"

Octavia balked. "What a disgusting combination!"

The celloist carried the heavy cello, lugging it along as she looked both ways before crossing the busy street, squished by the many ponies who were crossing with her.

Then, safely at the other side.

She placed a hoof over her eyes, squinting as she looked yonder at a particular building.

There it was: a boutique of classical architecture, consisting of thin columns and arches beside straight rectangle windows.

As she trotted her way there, she passed by several other boutiques and fashion stores. There was a shoe store advertising the best shoes (or so it claimed) and, indeed, a couple of shoes were on display behind the front window at a 50% discount (so said the sign beside those fancy shoes). A jewelry shop glittered even at the door which was half-covered in precious gems; the display window had necklaces, bracelets, and rings with worthful diamonds and other beautiful stones...and then, there was the jewelry display outside the store where a small group of ponies were holding the accessories with their hooves, rotating them as they examined these displays of opulence. Also, there was a retail store known for its discount clothes, with racks of plain colored shirts blocking the view of the windows; there was a long line that stretched from the counter all the way through the door, to the outside, and even about to spill over to the street.

A carriage zoomed by.

Octavia covered her face as her mane swayed.

Then, she was right at the place.

"Manehattan Boutique," Octavia said, looking at the clothes on display at the windows.

These were dresses and suits of a single theme: minimalistic beauty. No frills; only what could make one pretty or handsome and nothing more. One dress had a neatly-trimmed piece of fabric propped up by a few ribbons; one suit had a coat and a tie that shone a bit under the sunlight.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

And waited.

Carriages ran by, ponies walked by. Wheels creaking, conversations going, orders given, bits exchanged, pegasi flying. A pony watering a potted plant at the store beside.

The door opened with a ring.

"Welcome to Manehattan Boutique!" Rarity greeted, extending a hoof open for a hoofshake as she smiled. "This is where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique!" And she turned her hoof over her head, adding to her greeting.

"Wasn't I the celloist you asked for?" Octavia asked matter-of-factly.

Rarity groaned and slouched her shoulders. "I was enjoying the introductions, darling. Come with me."

"Finally, this is where you will perform. I've picked out the location myself and I think it's just right! All sound everywhere!"

Octavia looked at the small wooden platform that stood between two yellow dresses.

"Oh, I do hope that you aren't bothered with the arrangements!" Rarity said, panicking as her hooves quivered.

"I'm not bothered in the slightest," Octavia said, smiling as she put down her bag on the wall. "I've already memorized some pieces fitting for a shop like this. Give me a minute to set up."

"Perfect!" Rarity said, clasping her front hooves as her grin widened. Then, her eyes turned somewhere else. "Ooh! That must be another customer!"

She walked on the red carpet, walking with an elegant gai, slow but thought-out. After some rows and lines of clothes, she reached her customer.

The fashionista gasped.

"Hi, Rarity!" Plaid Stripes said, waving at her and smiling, showing her braces. "You must be the fashion pony who's renting this place out! Let me tell you: you did an excellent job at sprucing this dusty old floor up! Not even my Daddy could think of a way to make it decent, but you made it...uh, excellent!"

"Why, uh, yes!" Rarity replied, nodding slowly. "You don't need to state your name; your father has already caught me up to speed about you." She glanced to the left, doing her best to avoid looking at her—that pony she saw clothed in garish style such as plaid clothes and scarves.

Plaid nodded. She turned around to see once again the shiny red dress before her. "Wow! You must be good at fashion! May I touch the fabric?!"

And stretched her hoof toward it.

"No!" Rarity yelled, throwing herself in the way and smacking the hoof out of the way. She then stood up and dusted herself off.

"Woah!" Plaid exclaimed, taking some steps back. "That dress must be, uh, very good if you don't want anyone touching it!"

Rarity nodded, keeping up that forced smile. "Yes, dear! It's very good! I wouldn't want it to be stained by anypony, not even the pony who wants to buy it!"

Plaid blew out into a full-on cheek-to-cheek grin, displaying almost all of her braces. "Your world of fashion and clothes is so amazing, Rarity! No wonder Daddy would like you to stay here for high prices!"

Rarity flinched.

Hours passed and it was sunset again.

Rarity stood in the meager bedroom of wooden planks, old cabinets, dusty paintings, and inadequate beds that were definitely smaller than the bed back at home. It was brown in color and Rarity sighed, levitating a spoonful of ice cream before her mouth.

A knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she said, levitating a tub of ice cream away while she consumed the little serving.

"I haven't met him before," Octavia said through the door, "but he says he's Mr. Stripes and that he's here to check on some—"

Rarity opened the door, galloped past Octavia who tripped, almost crashed into one of the dresses, ran on the carpet and moving it about, and finally stopped before Mr. Stripes who stood at the entrance.

She could see the yellow sky out the window; it was clear skies, too.

"Rarity!" Mr. Stripes said heartily, about to burst into laughter. "Your store is doing well for first day! You are hauling in tons of bits because of your great clothes! That means more money for both you and me."

Rarity laughed nevously, shifting her gaze. "I h-hear that's good, right?"

"Certainly good!" he replied, smiling. "I am now considering loosening and relaxing my restraints on you. For now only. Don't be afraid; I am here to encourage!"

Rarity looked surprised and shook her head. "What?"

"You dare not accept my hospitality?" he said, changing into a threatening tone.

"I accept your hospitality, Mr. Stripes!" Rarity said, nodding her head again. "Without you, we might be stuck in some mill producing the same old boring uniforms!"

Mr. Stripes nodded as well. "I sympathize."

Rarity blinked.

"But, that is all!" Mr. Stripes stepped out on to the sidewalk. "Keep impressing me with customers and sales and we can talk more."

With that, he left.

Mr. Stripes walked up the stairs to his house once again, unlocking the door with the key, and going inside.

He closed the door and turned around in the hallway with its staircase.

A yelp from his mouth.

"Don't worry," the armored pony spoke kindly as he took off his helmet, revealing a yellow mane on his blue coat. "I was only doing my job of asking ponies what they're doing for the cause."

"W-What are you doing here?" Mr. Stripes stammered, looking behind him and noticing that there was nowhere left to run. "I've never seen you before!"

"General Radar," he said. "You've heard of me as the one taking care of the front right here. Well, here I am. Ta-da!" He spread a hoof, smiling awkwardly.

"But, I did not ask you!"

"I go around hoofing out flyers in my off-time," Radar said. "They're supposed to convince ponies to think more of the conflict that's a ride away from home."

"I am doing job, too, sir!" Mr. Stripes said, breathing faster. "I do not want to be going to the battle anytime soon!"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Radar assured, smiling. "Know that I'm only walking around and hoofing out flyers. Nothing else but that, OK?"

Mr. Stripes nodded.

"Great! Besides, I was about to leave anyway. So...bye!"

Mr. Stripes stepped aside, shaking in his hooves as he watched the general open the door and leave the house.

It was nighttime, the starry sky and the moon above them once again.

Radar and a few soldiers were in the carriage as it was being pulled by several drivers galloping their way through.

As they journeyed on, beyond the river and Manehattan, he saw some ponies in stretchers—scarred and bandaged, carried by some nurses and paramedics.

There were holes on the ground, craters even; some more ponies were occupied in filling the craters up, shoveling the surrounding ground and dumping it in the holes to balance the ground out.

Cannons and trebuchets were lining up with many ponies pushing and pulling them forward and ever closer to the front but not before disappearing from their sight behind a few hills and mountains.

In the distance, thunder and muffled shouts.

Radar wore a smile as the wagon stopped.

All the passengers leaped off and landed on the ground.

Radar stood in front of several ponies in gray suits and armor. "Rock Troopers, am I right? You're doing good so far—better than expected. But, it's far from over; we have a lot of things to discuss."

Close to the Front

"Look, I told you this was coming, Eff Stop! You didn't listen to me, and now look what you've got ourselves into!"

"You're blaming me for dragging us into this mess? I wasn't the reporter who was complaining about every single thing on the way here!"

"That's because we could've avoided this situation in the first place!"

"What's avoidable about being a reporter and also being in a war?! If it weren't for Print Run, I would've been sipping on hot chocolate in some apartment back in Manehattan, waiting for this to cool over!"

"Another reason why Print Run sent us first and not anypony else!"

"Ahem."

And the two looked at General Radar who cleared his throat.

They were in the middle of the barracks' cafeteria in a cold and chilly morning. The white tables and the polished floor made the morning feel even brighter.

"There's nothing to be scared of, guys," Radar said as he sat down again on the bench across the two of them; only a table was what separated the reporters from the general. "I've got this under control."

"Ponies are suffering under anypony!" Press Release shouted. "I didn't ask to get in the line of fire but, somehow, I'm in the line of fire!" She banged the table with her camera. "You know what I want?!"

Eff Stop covered her mouth with his hoof. "Well, I'm sorry for the inconviences, general!"

She pulled the hoof out and spat, sticking out her tongue and wiping it clean of germs as much as she could. "You don't just put your dirty hooves in ponies' mouths! We've walked a dirt path all the way here!"

"Oops." He smiled awkwardly.

Radar sighed.

The two looked at him.

"OK," Radar began, gesturing a bit with his hooves, "I don't know what's going on with your manager or supervisor or whoever Print Run is. I'm not knowledgable about the press and the news—I read the news and I analyze the news, but I have close to no idea about how you operate. So, I have nothing to say about why he chose you to be his firm's first ever war correspondents." Another sigh. "All I'm asking of you is to march on ahead, see what it's like there, write the good things down, get back here, tell me what you saw and wrote, and go back to the city. The rest will be up to Print Run, I suppose." The general looked at his front hooves on the table.

Press Release looked at Eff Stop, eyeing him with a watchful eye. "You've heard him loud and clear?"

Eff Stop groaned and shook his head. "Yes."

Radar smiled and stood up. "Good! I'll be upstairs, doing some adjustments to our strategy. In the meantime, there's free breakfast since you're reporters and all."

He trotted his way around a wall and his hoofsteps could be heard hitting the floor all the way to the second floor.

The two reporters looked at each other.

"Now what?" Eff Stop asked.

Press Release rolled her eyes. "Breakfast. Weren't you listening?"

It was raining hard outside, a pouring out of water.

The two reporters galloped, going against the wind. Press Release's horn glowed as she held on to their hats with her magical grip.

Opened her eyes and looked. Nothing but gray and water streaks coming and going.

Then, a wall and an open door. A silhouette beside.

"Get inside!"

In they went, soaking wet.

Door closed.

They gasped for air, breathing fast, hyperventilating. She squeezed their hats and threw them at the hat rack on the wall.

The rain's pitter-patter clanked on, banging on the roof.

Windows closed. Soldiers on the couches and the chairs and at the tables, having stopped whatever they were doing—eating food, drinking water, reading books, talking to each other—to look at the drenched arrivals.

The two shook themselves, splashing water all over and ending up all clean and dry.

Eff Stop took a good look of the place they were in.

It was small. The rooms were separated by no doors but by mere open spaces where ponies could walk through with no hindrance. It was lacking in many things: the living room was only a few couches and sofas and a big table, and that was all; the dining room had a few tables and a few chairs, and that was all, too.

The pony who had closed the door breathed fast, too, before regaining his composure, wet on his face and helmet. He turned to look at the reporters. "You must be the ponies they're starting to send up here. Apologies for the horrible timing...well, it's not our fault, anyway." He shrugged and extended an open wing at them. "Name's Aerosol. Air Chief Marshal over the Manehattan Front. Glad to be meeting you."

They two reporters shook hoof and wing with the fellow.

The other soldiers went back to their activities, the quiet conversations lighting up again.

The rain poured on, clattering on the little house.

"To be clear," Aerosol said, using his wing to brush off the remaining water there, "I may have a fancy-sounding rank, but, in truth, I'm not really controlling our pegasi forces. They're controlling me." He laughed a bit at that, trailing off on a somber note and looking over their shoulders. He shrugged again. "What else can you do if the world-famous Wonderbolts were assigned to you? You can't possibly have them under you."

Eff Stop nodded.

"Can we get a seat?" Press Release asked. "We're exhausted from our 'little' trip in harsh weather."

"Just a bit more walking," Aerosol said, walking off already. "Follow me and we'll be in a private place where no secrets get out."

Aerosol locked the door, his face lit up with the lantern he held with his wing.

He hobbled over to the chair behind the table and sat on it. He eyed the two reporters still standing. "Take your seats. I've prepared them in advance."

They took their seats.

The pegasus placed the lantern on the table, now all their faces dimly visible in yellow.

A small, cramped room. There were photographs, maps, notes, lists—they covered a good portion of the walls.

Aerosol groaned as he clasped his forehooves on the table. "This isn't a trick or a stunt. I just wanna put it out there. I'm not putting you through some test whether you're a spy or not. I know you're not—and if you are, know that trust is a hard thing to recover once lost."

The two reporters glanced at each other.

"You are some of the first to be out on the front, recording what's happening, and sending the news to the ponies back at home. Whether you took this dangerous task willingly or you were forced into this for some other reason—well, you're here and you can't get out that easily."

The chief marshal cracked a smile. "You know who the censors are?"

"Cumuli and Stratus," Press Release answered. "You know them, too?"

"I have no idea who they are," he replied. "Probably the guys on your side of things. But, what nopony told you is that I am a censor."

The two reporters looked at each other again.

"It's complicated out there," Aerosol went on, pushing the lantern a bit farther away. "What everypony's been getting most of the time are statements from us top shots. We've been doing our best to keep it as honest and unambiguous as possible, but...eh, telling the whole truth gets complex when your enemy can also read the news." He shrugged again. "So, what do we do? We mince words. Every one of us who spoke or wrote to the press? We've minced words. Even Captain Shining Armor minces words from time to time, although he's probably the most honest of them all."

They kept silent, listening to him and watching his face brightened by the fire.

"Had to tell you what's going on at the get-go. Didn't want you wondering who was 'fixing' your sentences without you knowing more than just two ponies whose names—nevermind." He shook his head. "Where was I?"

"I have no idea, sir," Eff Stop said.

Press Release slapped him.

"Ow!"

"Hey!" Aerosol said, pointing at the two of them. "No joking around!"

Eff Stop shuddered.

Press Release remained motionless, looking at him with a resolute face.

Aerosol straightened himself up on his chair. "You've never been to a conflict before in your whole news life or something, so here's what I'll tell you clearly: If ponies want a war, they'll help out; if they don't want a war, they'll jump out. So, anything that could hamper their resolve to win is usually cut out before it gets to the public."

"What counts as resolve-hampering?" Eff Stop inquired.

Aerosol laughed a little again. "Depends. Soon, they'll be talking about a battle going on if it's going on long enough. They're expecting huge wins for us, huge losses for them—the enemy. Spill the beans that we can't even recoup our losses and then ponies will be up in arms demanding a peace with them, which we cannot let happen." He emphaszied that with crossed forehooves over his chest. "Other things include delays in equipment, complaints among the ranks, lack of basic food and water, decreased mood overall in these billets and barracks. And, now you know." Smiled.

"Isn't that lying?" Eff Stop asked.

"Funny, isn't it?" Aerosol said before laughing again. "You, of all ponies, asking me if that's lying!" He pointed both of his hooves at him. "Where have you been these last few years or, uh, decades when you were supposed to be paying attention to how the news world works? But, that's not the topic."

"What is the topic, then?" Press Release asked—sterner.

"A fair reminder." He smiled again. "Or warning. Fighting is only a part of war. How everypony works at home is another matter. Keep them happy and hopeful and ponies will do everything necessary to keep the fight going. That's what I'm telling you and ordering you to do. Nothing more, nothing less."

The two kept quiet.

"You can write everything you see. Tell me everything you perceive as they fight and duke it out. But, you have to go to me first. Don't go and run away back to Manehattan without seeing me. It's not going to end well for all of us—we'll go down, you'll receive punishments or something, and everyone else suffers, too. That's it."

He pulled the lantern back to where it was.

"If you have any questions, feel free to ask now. Once you go out, you're on your own."

And the two got out of their chairs and walked to the door.

The three ponies walked out of the door and into a long hallway crowded with noises and soldiers. Many stood at the walls or at the doors, talking to each other. A laugh burst out once in a while before it died down.

A subdued atmosphere.

"You're free," Aerosol whispered to the reporters' ears before he went back in the room and closed the door.

Jangling of a key. The door was locked.

They looked at each other once more.

"What now?" Eff Stop asked, standing between another pegasus without armor but staring down the floor with cheerless blue eyes.

"Wait out the storm," Press Release said, taking up the last bit of space available at the wall. "It's going to be a rough day."

The two waited with their fellow soldiers and comrades at the wall, watching some other ponies eat at a table.

News among Other Things: Threat

On Monday, exactly three weeks after the outbreak of war, the following headline news appeared on the "Ponyville Express" above a picture of scarred soldiers wearing mad faces and facing left behind a background of snowcapped mountains and gray skies:
Penetration on Eastern Front; Equestrians Move to 5km South of "Efficient" Town
Due to excellent reconnaissance and perfect timing, the Equestrian strike on the Eastern Front (also known as the Manehattan Front) was successful, breaking the crystal/rock fortifications and causing a retreat of about 7 kilometers West.

The attack was led by the 7th, 9th, and 23rd divisions of the E.U.P. Guard, headed officially by General Radar. This attack also included the famous Rock Troopers and the Wonderbolts, the latter under the helm of Air Chief Marshal Aerosol.

This advance has regained the following major towns and cities for Equestria: Maybridge, Greenskill, Abyssin,...

On Tuesday, "The Equestrian Times" carried an image of a great and endless sea conquered by makeshift sailboats holding several Crystal ponies all wearing their signature black armor and helmets showing their glowing green eyes. The headline news for this day's edition was:
Sombra's Western Plan: Creep on the Coast
As many analysists and theorists have suggested days after the invasion of Vanhoover, the Crystal Empire continues to move further South but taking relatively small amounts of territory, that territory ending at the Fastpace Range as it goes down the coast.

However, further reports show that it also has utilized the shipbuilding industries of Vanhoover and other nearby cities such as Seacattle. Currently, reports state an estimate of 100 to 350 ships at their disposal, with numbers fast rising because of the Empire manufacturing their own line of ships.

The latest settlement to be taken on this front, Smokey Mountains, is still in enemy hooves since yesterday.

On Wednesday, this letter reached a barracks on the Manehattan Front:
Dear Rainbow Dash, our awesome little pony,
We're just checking on you. We're still awfully worried about you. We wish to be with you or at least be some miles away from you, but all our requests to the appropriate authorities denied our wishes.

Remember that you're the best Wonderbolt and the best warrior Equestria's ever had! Teach those baddies a lesson and save Equestria in the most awesome way you can think of!

We're rooting for you, Dashie.
From your loving Mom,
Windy Whistles

On Thursday, "The Canterlot Chronicle" brought in this piece of news over an interesting picture of a smiling Starlight Glimmer beside the other smiling residents of the "Town of Efficiency" in front of said town:
Controversial Town Prepared for Last Defense
The town known as the "Town of Efficiency" or "Starlight's Village" is stocking up weapons and training everypony able to defend their home. This was prompted by the movement of Crystal Empire walls toward the town, which now stand less than a mile away from their borders.

Despite the imminent danger of such a situation, many of the ponies interviewed there showed a calm impression.

"Since everypony feels the heavy responsibility of protecting all that we stand for," Night Glider, one such resident, said,
"we're doing our best and sharpening our skills to the max. Besides, it's our home. We're not going anywhere."

"I may not have the strongest muscle or the most effective magic," Party Favor, another resident, told, "but, with this training regiment, I feel 100% confident that we can take these guys down without any outside help."

Starlight Glimmer, the town's founder and elected spokespony, said, "We're not stubborn to think that the misguided ponies who follow the Princesses will help us with purely good reasons. Surely, if they beat the Crystal ponies about to invade our town, then they might demand of us a change of ideas and the abandoning of not only our homes but also our collective statement and proof that our society is better than theirs."

Several military officers of the Guard, however, think otherwise.

"She's a pony who hasn't experienced intense hardship yet," General Spearhead noted. "I have my doubts if she will stand by her words and not abandon the town herself."

"It may be a strange action on our part," Captain Shining Armor said, "but we'll send in our troops anyway to their town if too much trouble comes their way. Like it or not, I know that they're ponies like us and they're living in Equestria; therefore, they'll get our help even if it's unwanted."

On Friday, this notice was posted on many newspapers circulated throughout Equestria:
Ponyville is This Year's Equestria Games Venue!
We're glad to announce that the Equestria Games this year will be held in Ponyville!

While we have our usual criteria for venue consideration (which include audience suitability, varied terrain, training space, and local hospitality, not to mention other significant criteria), this year's consideration had special criteria in light of the conflict Equestria is currently in.

We chose Ponyville not only because it can provide an open experience for both audience and competitors (among other things), but also because it is a safe place to hold the Games in. It is not a costal city so there is no threat of a naval invasion and it is far enough away from the Crystal Empire to be clear of any land invasion in the near future.

Qualification tryouts will be held in nearby Chillwater, a short train ride away from Ponyville.

Expect more news about the Games to appear as we get closer to celebrating a united Equestria through good sport once more!

On Saturday, the cover of the day's "Equestria Magazine" featured a portrait of Princess Celestia looking off in the distance. The cover article was "Crystal Control: The Problem of King Sombra and Mind Control". A snippet of the article was as follow:
....What's disturbing about these helmets is that nopony is completely sure about how they operate. While the basics are understandable, the helmets prove to be a puzzle if one digs deeper.

When the average pony considers some of Princess Celestia's recent words about the helmets, he or she is likely to feel some despair, and rightfully so. If not even the immense level of wisdom and experience within the Princess's mind is enough to crack the case, then it's only logical (at first) to assume that it might be impossible to crack it at all.

To those frightful ponies, I say this: The mages of the Princess have never disappointed and they'll not disappoint now.

One important thing that many ponies (even those in Canterlot!) forget is that the Princess, though more than capable in handling Equestria and her citizens, is only one pony with a single opinion on every matter. While these opinions can be changed to a degree, they cannot be fully altered under normal circumstances. So, with her letting the mages go wherever they need to concerning the search for the helmets' answer, progress toward finding that counterspell won't be hindered by the Princess's thoughts on it.

On Sunday, a photograph on "The Manehattan Times" displayed a snowy landscape overshadowed by the rough and black walls of the Crystal Empire; Crystal ponies, all armored, stood in front of the wall, stationed there as they faced and endured the snowstorm. The headline news was:
Crystal Empire at Yakyakistan's Door; Battle Incoming
The yaks asked for trouble, and trouble they got.

The Crystal Empire is less than 200 meters away from Yakyakistan. Reports from both ponies and yaks reveal that there are signs of training exercises and weapon preparations going on behind the wall.

The yaks have reinforced their walls with more archers and they've also prepared catapults. Most of the yak population are already armed with the basic spear and are expected to charge into the Crystal ponies when the attack commences—which, at this point, means anytime soon.

Safety

It was snowy. Very snowy. It was also windy. A gale, a howling snowstorm.

The yak let down the hanging fabric and, that way, closed the window.

Inside the hut, the yak saw its furnishings which consisted of a stately mat of various shapes and a table where many stacks of vanilla cakes stood with crudely-placed vanilla and cream on them.

He shivered, pulling his back's robe even closer.

"Lawrence!"

He shivered more.

The cloth that served as a door was lifted, revealing an enraged Rutherford all decked out with his large horns, bright robe, golden earrings and bracelets, and yellow earrings with hanging bells.

"Why yak stay away from duty?!" Rutherford shouted, each step forward shaking the floor. Even the cakes jumped, about to fall and spill.

Lawrence gulped. "Prince Rutherford! Yak was resting! Yak require great energy and not easy to get great energy!"

Rutherford snorted, facing up in a snooty way. "Yak knows you excuse!"

"But, what about very bad weather?"

"Yaks live in cold and bad weather for centuries. No good reason!"

Lawrence took some steps back, with Rutherford following suit.

Above the howl, a hoary roar of many yaks and a rushed march.

"Late yak is late!" Rutherford yelled, looking at the door. "Don't be later!"

He ran out the door.

Rutherford could feel the snowstorm at its full extent. The wind was forceful, about to push him over. His fur flapped and flailed. He squinted his eyes, gritted his teeth.

There was no dirt path to make of. Past the constant downpour of snow, he could see little of the huts mostly covered in white. Some had been obliterated, crumbled debris and hay that used to be walls and roofs.

Zips and zooms overhead; passing figures dropping others.

"Prince Rutherford!"

He turned around in the snow.

A yak in front of him. "Yaks need retreating immediately! Half of wall is gone. Many yaks captured!"

"What?!" Rutherford shouted, barely audible above the howl, grabbing his fellow yak and pulling him closer. "You dare say word 'retreating'?! Yaks live by honor! Fight or lose. No retreating!"

"But, Prince Rutherford think of yaks here!" the fellow yak shouted back, fearful.

"Yaks shall be full of honor," Rutherford said, planting a hoof on the snow-covered ground. Pointing at some direction: "Fight or lose!"

"Prince Rutherford, what about—"

"Fight or lose!"

Figures landed.

Their green eyes glowed.

Snowstorm went on, waving their manes and fur.

One unicorn charged up his horn, lighting up.

"Rutherford, no!"

Fired a beam.

Yak jumped in front.

Took the blow, sent flying out.

Rutherford bared his teeth, pawed the ground, eyeing those around him. "You hurt yak! You feel pain! Yak smash!"

"Lawrence!"

The yak, still shivering inside the hut, stood up and saw who it was outside.

"Yak made escape route!" the arrival yelled. "Come with we before too late!"

Lawrence glanced at the cakes.

"Yaks brought food! Go!"

And he dashed out.

They ran in the snowstorm, their fur hanging and swaying. Over snow mounds, past destroyed huts. Fights continued as more yaks fell to magical beams or to traps, yanked away from sight. Explosions, more ponies landing, more yaks running away.

Turned a left—an open space where used to be huts and a field, turned over and demolished.

Jumped over and galloped.

Past debris, past wreckage; the snowstorm swarming.

Hopped over a broken wall.

"Go!"

Kept on running, galloping forward on fields of nothing but white; mountains on their left and right, rumblings behind. The sky was gray, snow rushing down on them hard.

"You only yak escaping?" Lawrence shouted above the bellow as they sprinted.

"Me last escaping yak! Yaks meet up at Luna Bay!"

"Luna Bay is too far for running!"

"Me have food! We survive, we go to Luna Bay!"

And the two yaks ran on, disappearing from Yakyakistan's sight beyond the horizon.

They rested on a rocky field also covered in snow. A mat had been laid on the ground and on it were some wheat and corn with a few vanilla cakes, too. A campfire burned on beside them as the yaks sat, stretching their hooves out at it.

Around them were only mountains; the sky was blue once more but gray clouds loomed. Lightning streaks flashed.

"Is Seaborg sure of Luna Bay?" Lawrence asked.

"Yak sure of Luna Bay," Seaborg replied, nodding his head. "Yaks had secret talk yesterday. If things go bad, we go to Luna Bay and sail to Equestria to ask help from Princess." He then consumed a vanilla cake whole in one bite, his chewing loud and unclean.

"What city do yaks land?"

Seaborg made a thundering gulp. "Yellow Beach. Name of city."

Lawrence chowed down on the wheat and the corn and his vanilla cake, too.

Seaborg stamped on the fireplace, taking out the fire.

"We move!" Seaborg yelled.

By sunset, the yaks could see a village down the mountain slopes and at the bay.

Pine trees surrounded the small town. There, tiny wooden houses stood beside tiny wooden retail stores; one of them was a bait shop, as could be seen by the massive lettering on the roof that screamed "Bait Shop". On the shore, small harbors and wharfs; these held several ships both wooden and metal, some carrying only passengers while others carrying cargo and the like—all of this went on as ponies worked at the ports, moving and loading and unloading said cargo, directing more passengers and leading them to their places.

"Yaks said boat to Equestria begins here," Seaborg said as the two walked down the slope, avoiding jagged rocks and tall pine trees. "Me think it's about to go."

The yaks entered the town.

Stalls where ponies were selling fish hooks, bait, lines, sinkers, nets, and other equipment that made up fishing tackle; open canteens where ponies brought their pets as they feasted on fruits and vegetables while letting their pets eat the steamed or grilled fish; more ponies at the shore with their fishing rods, waiting patiently for any sudden movement—such was the kind of activity in that town.

Of course, there were armored guards patrolling the area, either walking or flying.

The yaks walked up the ramp.

Ramp was lifted.

"Finally!" Seaborg yelled. "Boat! Yaks safe and sound!"

The few ponies on the wharf waved their hooves.

The two yaks and several more waved back.

And the steamer was away, nothing but the blue sea before it.

A pony cleared his throat.

The yaks turned to him.

He was an aged captain; his white hat was a sign of his post. "I never thought it would come to this in my life," he said in a gravelly voice. "But, it's time that I put this to good use."

One yak pointed at him. "You pony Captain Ice Fiber?"

He nodded. "I'll be your captain for the trip to Yellow Beach." His eyes narrowed. "You're definitely and absolutely sure and certain that you're not being followed?"

"Correct!" the questioning yak answered.

The captain nodded again. "I reckon this is your first time on a boat. It's...not much other than the ocean. And the cabins. The engine room and the captain's deck are off-limits. That's the only rule, OK?"

The yaks nodded.

"If you need me, I'll be upstairs."

He walked his way around a corner and disappeared.

The yaks were alone, standing on solid floor. Around them was the vast sea, the fishing town a fading dot over there. The sky became ever more orange as the boat continued its path.

Inside a dark small cabin only lit up by rays of moonlight, the two beds were ridiculously small for the big yaks, resting on more than just the bed; the air beyond the bed, too, was their mattress as well. The cabinets and shelves and desks were less than a yak's length away from them.

The small windows gave them a peek, a glimpse, into the night sky with its moon shining above and beside the stars, the sea reflecting the expanse's silent elegance murky in the reflection with the ever-changing waves, yet, in that image whose canvas was practically infinite, the sky could be discerned from there.

"Me too warm," Lawrence spoke as he lay on his bed. "Where is snow when needed?"

He turned to see Seaborg who was sleeping soundly despite almost half of his body off the bed.

"Argh. Too bad yaks not have snow in bag."

Lawrence closed his eyes and snored.

At the break of dawn, land was sighted.

It was a flat piece of land, with plains of grass following the short shore. A few ports resided and some small houses and a tiny eatery, but nothing else was there.

However, many ponies in armor and other sorts of military uniform waited there, cheering as they saw the ship enter into view.

Each minute brought the ship closer to shore. At full stop, the ramp was laid down again and the yaks, in line, placed their hooves on firm concrete ground.

The yaks were pushed along by the ponies.

"Look, you've gotta get a train straight to the main network. After that, get yourselves to Canterlot as soon as possible. Talk with the Princesses; she'll know everything else."

"Yaks not agree to this!" another yak shouted before being pushed again back in line by the pony.

"You have to agree," the officer said, holding on to his cap under the wind. "We can't let you stay here. The Crystal Empire is fast approaching and we can't risk giving you up."

"This is unhonoring!" Seaborg yelled before stomping the ground, causing tremors.

Ponies wobbled, some holding on to anything stable.

Ssome Earth ponies grabbed him and put him down.

Most of the yaks gasped.

"Get moving!" the officer screamed. "I'm helping you get out of this trouble! Look!" He pointed at the stationary train at the end of the tracks, idle in the middle of the grass plain. "Take the train and go!"

Some grumbled, but all of them obeyed, heading their way to the transport.

"Me too tight."

"Seat very small."

"Outside too bright! Close lights!"

"Will you stop whining for once?!" the train conductor roared in the aisle separating the train's seats. "He was right about you, but I'm doing the best I can to stay calm!"

The yaks were silent before him.

"You're probably the last free yaks in the world! Can you at least think about that?! That you're the yaks' last hope?!"

The yaks looked at each other.

"What about taking a gander outside?!"

"But outside too bright!" a yak complained.

"Look outside!"

And the yaks looked outside.

More green plains, some of them holding flowers. A few farms and forests in between. Mountains were in the background.

"You're in Equestria now," the conductor said, taking his hat off and showing his short yellow mane. "The Yakyakistan you and I know is gone for the time being. It's better here. At least we're not entirely engulfed in crystals."

That yak stood up and walked to the aisle. "Orange pony disgraced yaks' home country!" He pointed a hoof at him. "Orange pony prepare to face consequences!"

He punched his forehooves inches before the conductor's face.

Princess Celestia sat on a chair, sipping a floating cup of tea.

The huge hallway had its ceiling far up, giving ample room for pegasi to fly and even perform aerial tricks in. Tall windows made the landscape not just visible but wholly so as if there was no wall at all. Guards stood at each end of the hall, standing beside immense double doors studded with precious stones and depictions of the two Princesses and the Elements of Harmony—these gems. A red carpet cut through the middle of the room; on a raised platform, where some of that carpet was, rested a round wooden table.

Around the Princess were the yaks in question. They had frazzled and frizzed fur about them.

She put her cup down on the table, making a little dink sound. "I am more than happy to receive you. May I ask who is your representative, considering what happened to Prince Rutherford?"

The rest of the yaks pointed to a certain one of them with horns that had gold rings.

That yak stood up on his seat, the chair creaking under his massive weight. "Me Dubna, Temporary Prince of Yaks."

"Dubna," the Princess repeated in her kind voice, focused on him. "What a lovely name."

He smiled a little.

"Although I'm afraid we must get on to more serious concerns," the Princess said, her face becoming sober as her smile changed into a half-scowl. "You have already received your letter of forgiveness about the train crash you've caused on the way here."

"Orange pony is pony with fault," Dubna said.

"That's not what matters. What matters is that you're here to stand up for the yaks who haven't been taken by the enemy. You have a responsibility on your shoulders, Prince Dubna, and we must work together to hasten the liberation of your companions. Is that clear?"

"As long as Princess pony disallow disgrace like orange pony!" Dubna yelled, standing up on his chair again—it cracked, though not broken yet.

Celestia nodded. "That was uncalled for. However, I've already said what I had to say in the letter, and there is no need of saying those words again. Time is of the essence, and not a moment must be wasted."

Dubna sat down.

Celestia looked at all of the yaks in attendance. "There will be escorts when you leave the room. They will take you to your temporary residences while Yakyakistan is under Crystal control. You may conduct whatever legitimate and legal business you would like to wherever in Equestria, especially if it's for the betterment of your fellow yaks. We'll even allow you to participate in the fighting if you want, but be warned that it won't be easy; you're the only yaks we've seen come here after the war's started."

The yaks nodded.

"Promise me that you will not go on stomping parties or anything of the sort unless you do it in a secluded area."

Dubna nodded.

"Then, this short meeting is over."

Everyone stood up and the yaks talked amongst themselves once again, chatting and gabbing, as they headed for the double doors.

The Princess looked at the cracked chair and sighed. She looked at one of the guards. "May you call in a repairpony to fix this?"

Somewhere else in Canterlot, a librarian sat behind a counter inside a very small bookstore; there were only ten bookshelves, five of which were on the walls. It smelled of old pages and some books were already concealed in dust.

A door opened and a bell rang.

The librarian, instead of smiling, gave the cloaked customer an odd look. She wore her eyeglasses. "And, who must you be, ma'am?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss," she replied, levitating a book on to the counter and right beside the cash register. "You must be new; haven't seen you before." She cleared her throat. "I need this book."

The librarian read the title on the cover. "'Rivers and Streams'?"

"Why, yes, miss." She brought out some bits.

The librarian took the money, placed it in the register, and hoofed the book which then levitated.

"Bye!"

The cloaked customer left, the book in her grasp.

Rivers and Streams

A pony sat by some rivers and streams in an open field. The waters moved by, moved on. In some, there were rocks; in others, there were branches. These would get wet as was the case of all things that happened to be in a body of water, and in all of these cases, the one thing that remained unchanged was the water, forever flowing in one direction until something would utterly and drastically alter its course.

One day, the pony did just that by pushing a large boulder into a river to see what would happen.

As is to be expected, the river was no longer the same. Though the water still did flow and though the rocks and the branches have not moved, the river changed. It was still a river, to be sure, but it was a different river, a river with a different path—a different course.

The next day, the pony's family gathered at the river. They had a picnic there as was their usual activity every Friday morning or whenever they felt like it if it was not a Friday morning. Throughout the picnic, everypony made comments and notes about the river, that it was now different. However, nopony was surprised that such a huge object could do such
a thing as steering a river into an entirely new road.

It was, for all intents and purposes, nothing out of the ordinary. The river ended nearby anyway, one of them said, so there was no need to worry about its state or condition. It was a sad shame that somepony did it, but it was not a serious event to think about.

Time passed.

By then, it was a month after the river was changed. The pony went back to the spot where he had pushed that large boulder. True enough, the boulder was still there, and the rocks and branches that had felt no water for a month still resided in their old places.

He fixed his gaze, then, on a stream (for one must not forget that there were both rivers and streams in this particular field). The pony walked over to it. This one had water that was stronger and more lively; there was more white foam to it than the peaceful river, which is one observation anypony could make in his position.

Wanting to feel the chill of the stream, he brought his hoof to it.

And it changed direction.

The pony was surprised, shocked even. How could this be? A boulder could explain a river changing its route, and a stream is smaller than a river (under standard definitions) so, perhaps, it should not have been much of a surprise to him. However, the fact was that his hoof, for how small it was compared to the size of the stream, completely altered its path.

A.K. Yearling put the book down on the table, fully under the reading lamp.

A knock on the door.

She walked over a few rugs, past some bookshelves and a treasure chest, and opened the door.

A happy unicorn mare with shiny teeth, an energizing scent of coffee about her.

"Morning Roast?" the writer asked, biting her lip as she looked past her shoulders. "I don't remember calling you here."

"I was checking on you," she said, touching her scruffy striped mane. "Also, I still can't believe the Daring Do author asked me to do her a favor!"

"Yeah, good for you." She rolled her eyes, closing the door a bit. "I'm fine."

Yearling raised an eyebrow.

"Wait a minute. I know that you're not here to just check on me."

"Uh..." It was Morning Roast's turn to bite her lip, shifting her eyes left and right.

"Tell it," she said, "unless you're here to take up my precious time."

The visitor gulped. "I w-wanted to ask you one question, Miss Yearling."

She poked her head out of the door and looked everywhere.

And yanked her inside, locked the door, closed the windows and their curtains, and pushed the treasure chest away from view. With all of that done, she pointed to a comfy chair in the center of the room. "Sit down."

The unicorn walked to the chair and sat down.

Yearling paced the room. "What is it? Did you find out anything about the mysterious cloaked pony?"

"That's what I was gonna ask." A tilted head. "Why did you ask me to disguise myself as that cloaked pony? Wouldn't it be easier to just ask upfront?"

"I'm not taking any chances," she said. "An infiltrator might be among us. It can't be a changeling because a cloak is too conspicious for them. It's either a Crystal pony spy or some other criminal."

Morning Roast gasped, her smile growing. "Wow! You take after your very own creation, Miss Yearling! Daring Do stops villains from stealing ancient treasures, and you stop villains from comitting crimes wherever you go!"

"Not wherever," she said, letting out a little laugh. She looked down on the clean mat on the chair. "Although, it's undeniable that Daring Do is a lot like me. I do wish I could be her, though."

The unicorn sat up. "Is that true?"

"Heh. She gets to do all these crazy adventures, saving Equestria a dozen times. Me, poor A.K. Yearling?" She motioned a hoof at herself, stopping her pace. "I'm scared to get anywhere near the Crystal Empire, I only show my strength when I have to, and the best I can do is chase down lawbreakers and nothing more."

"But, you at least try to be like Daring Do, right?"

Her eyes rested on a closed window. "All the time." Then, a glower. "But, that's not the point. Did you find anything that could be connected to the mysterious pony?"

She nodded. "Actually, I went to some of the other libraries today. I could figure out some of the pony's steps."

Yearling went closer to her, stepping on to the mat. "Really? What did you discover?"

Morning Roast gulped. "She really likes books."

"Well, what kind of books?"

"It's a strange combo of magic and watercourses."

"Magic and...watercourses?"

"You heard it right, Miss."

"Hmm." Yearling raised a hoof to her chin, half-closing her eyes. "Interesting. It's only now that I tried reading the book you bought the other day."

"Did you find anything there?"

Yearling made a confused face. "Not sure. It looks like an ordinary story to me about somepony, a rock, and rivers."

"Aww. That's too bad. But, you haven't, uh, skimmed through the book?"

The writer turned to the open book on the table. She picked it up and flipped through the pages.

Stopped.

"Wait. This isn't a story. This isn't even fiction at all!"

Morning Roast stood up from her chair, keeping her eye on the frantic Yearling.

She looked up from the pages. "It's a book about time."

The unicorn gasped, plopping herself back on the chair, breathing slowly and heavily. "Magic and watercourses and time?"

"It adds up to a terrifying conclusion," Yearling said, shivering, the book about to fall from her grip. "I d-don't think even Daring encountered such a foe if this is true."

"Magic spells related to time!" Morning Roast guessed.

The writer lowered her hat a bit. "And, you know what happens when ponies try to learn those spells."

"They...they...I don't know."

"Me, too," she said. "But, as much as I don't want to jump to conclusions...we need to continue watching her when she appears again. It doesn't matter what her intentions are; it's not worth the risk, whatever she wants to accomplish."

"But, what if she's just a writer like you and she's into science fiction and likes to use time travel as a thing in her novels?"

Yearling raised her eyebrow again. "While wearing a cloak?"

"Maybe she's a secretive pony," Morning Roast suggested. "I mean, aren't you secretive sometimes? Having to hide with your own set of cloaks when you want to have a regular day?"

She giggled again. "You're right. I'm probably used to thinking up bigger threats for Daring Do that I got wary myself. Too wary, perhaps?"

Yearling waved goodbye to her as she closed the door.

She hurried to the table, pulled up her chair, turned on the reading lamp, looked around her, no one watching her.

Back to the book; specifically, somewhere within the first few chapters.
Butterflies and snowballs have one thing in common: their consistent usage in time travel conversations.

What's commonly known as "The Butterfly Effect" can be shown this way: Say, one takes up the hobby of catching butterflies. Flying over some random plain, are some butterflies. You catch one butterfly with your net—sad that you were so bad at catching butterflies that you only caught one. But, one is enough. Why? I could argue with some stretching of logic that, since butterflies generate wind, then removing one butterfly from a pack of butterflies decreases the wind generated as a whole. This wind is required to keep up the normal flow of wind all throughout Equestria. With this wind at lower levels than normal, another wind could dominate and an unexpected hurricane appears all the way at the coast.

What to learn? One tiny adjustment can lead to a whole change of pace down the road.

Morning Roast opened the door.

"Hi! I would like to tell you that I had a wonderful time with A.K. Yearling and—"

She closed her mouth at the sight of the three unicorns sitting on a couch and some chairs, eating snacks. "If you're looking for your sister," Minuette said, pointing upstairs, "she's busy with her research on the Crystal Empire. I don't think you should disturb her." She ate some crispy chips.

"Oh. Is that so? May I, uh, stay with you girls?"

"Yeah," Twinkleshine said in a bored voice, levitating a cup of soda.

Morning Roast entered and closed the door behind her. "So, what are you doing?"

"Eating," Lemon Hearts replied.

"OK!" A pause as she took in full view of the room once again, breathing in the scents of the flowers in their vases placed about. "Are you waiting for something?"

"Your sister," Mineutte repeated. "If you're willing to wait here, you better bring your bed."

"It's that time, isn't it?"

Lemon Hearts nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"What are you doing?" Twinkleshine asked. "I'm not doing anything, Minuette has her list of personal items, and Lemon Hearts is waiting for her jar to freeze."

"Huh?"

"It's a work in progress," Lemon Hearts commented, standing up from the couch and stepping toward the kitchen. "What happens if we get trapped inside this house by a pegasus attack? That's why I'm experimenting with some ways to extend food shelf life."

"May I see?" Morning Roast asked, heading toward the kitchen, too; now she was beside her.

Lemon Hearts groaned. "If you insist."

The two walked into the kitchen, leaving Minuette and Twinkleshine to eat their snacks and to mind their own business.

Letter Telling

"Sweet dreams will come true here!" Bon Bon said as she cut the ribbon blocking the once-boutique's door.

A small crowd clapped their hooves as they witnessed the grand opening of Sweetie Drops Candies' second branch housed in the Carousel Boutique. Gone were the very bright pinks of the roofs and walls. Instead, there was a more refreshing batch of hues: orange, green, and red, making up an appetizing mix to the eyes. Hanging over the door was the grand opening's banner which read: "Grand Opening of Sweetie Drops Candies (Again)!"

Bon Bon opened the door and beckoned everyone present with a hoof. "Come inside!"

And so they did, following the owner.

They voiced their awe and amazement as they looked around them, beholding the renovations: shelves and racks of candies categorized by type, stylized counters and paintings of bright colors all over a checkered floor, kitchens where the confectioners created the sweets themselves. These were topped with a sugary scent throughout the entire room.

"I knew I had to expand with recent success," Bon Bon said, walking over to the counter. "But, I didn't expect to expand this fast. Granted, this is only a temporary place, for we all hope that Rarity and her family will come home soon. However, she gave me the permission to make use of this boutique; Rarity doesn't want it go to waste."

The rest of the ponies chatted short, agreeing and nodding.

"So, let's make the best out of it!"

The customers went about, milling and strolling as they saw candy bars, chocolates, hard candies, rock candies, marzipans, toffee, fondant, and more laid out on the displays.

One of the customers was none other than Applejack herself who was hauling a small sack of collected candies. She walked to the counter and pulled the sack up to it.

Bon Bon took a step back, a bit shocked. "Wow, Applejack! I didn't know you liked candy that much!"

"Heh-heh!" She tipped her hat. "It's not for me. It's all for Apple Bloom and her friends."

"What for?" Bon Bon inquired, tilting her head as she asked.

"A little get-together."

Back in Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack hauled the sack of candy through the fenced paths cutting through the apparently endless apple fields. She went over a fence, walked past many trees with no more apples left, and came into a clearing.

On one massive apple tree (with some apples still there) was a treehouse. Clean and tidy, it was all wooden and had a few heart shapes on the windows. Some ramps led up to that house; the balcony had guard rails.

She could hear laughter.

Applejack walked up the ramps, the sack now on her back.

"Quick!" Apple Bloom was heard yelling. "She's a-comin'!"

Then, she knocked on the door.

Scootaloo opened it. "Hi, Applejack!"

Inside the treehouse, she could see the table, the pictures, the papers, the snacks—it was not cluttered. She could also see the colts and fillies there including Apple Bloom who was sitting with a gray pegasus colt.

"You brought the candy?" Scootaloo asked, pointing at the sack.

"Sure did!"

Applejack let them spill on to the floor.

All of them said, "Wow!"

"Bon Bon was mighty generous today," Applejack went on, taking up the now empty sack. "She charged 'em for half the price when she knew that it was all for you!"

But, most of them paid little attention to her as they jumped in and grabbed whatever caught their fancy.

She stepped outside. "Uh, that's fine, too! I hope ya' enjoy your little party and have fun!"

Applejack left, walking down the ramps and back on to the ground.

The rest of the foals gathered in front of the gray colt, Rumble. They held their own bunches of candy, some already tasting and eating their sweets.

"So, are you ready to listen to more stories from my brother?" Rumble said.

Many shouted in agreement, their smiles only confirming their excitement.

"This is what happens when he's a Wonderbolt! I received a letter from him just this morning. He told me about his adventure over Edgington which isn't far away from Manehattan; it's so close, you could feel the danger and how it was important for the Wonderbolts and everypony else to defend Edgington at all costs!"

The audience gasped.

"You could see the immense, towering walls way over there! They were so big, you could fit thousands of ponies inside if you could hollow them out! Well, they could see lots of bad guys from far away; they saw all kinds of enemies. Then, they ran to the town...the poor, helpless town!

"But, it wasn't helpless! A pack of Crystal pegasi zipped in, but Thunderlane flew by and made one of them crash into the ground and crash!"

"Ooh!" some spoke.

"That's not the end. He still had four more to take down! So, they were now following him. The fight was on both in the air and on the ground. Some archers were even shooting at him, but Thunderlane dodged them all! But, that wasn't enough to throw them away. You wanna know what he did?"

The audience leaned closer.

"He led them straight into another pack of Crystal pegasi. They didn't see it coming and they crashed into one another! They took out each other and fell to the ground! Thunderlane only had to hurt one!"

His audience then went "Woah!"

Rumble nodded. "'Woah!' indeed. Only my brother could do those awesome things!"

"What about Rainbow Dash?" Scootaloo said, standing up. "She could do those things and more!"

"Uh, now calm down, you two," Apple Bloom said, walking between the two who glared at each other. "Let's not get into a fight. We're supposed to be relaxing, right?" She looked at Scootaloo. "Right?"

"But, what about—"

"Right, Scootaloo?"

She sat down again. "Right, Apple Bloom."

Rumble smiled again. "That was the first story he wrote to me today! Wanna hear the rest?"

Most everypony else yelled "Yeah!"

As dinner began for the Apple family in the dining area, the four ponies sat and ate what was there on the table, which was apple pie and apple fritters and candied apples and apple cake. Beside Apple Bloom was Scootaloo who took big bites of her food.

Outside, it was night, much of the farm now in darkness lit up by the moon.

Scootaloo drank some water. "Thanks for letting me eat with all you guys! These apples are still the best!"

Applejack laughed a bit. "Course, they are. You can't get anythin' better than Sweet Apple Acres produce!"

Big Mac nodded. "Eeyup."

The two fillies walked outside, the farmhouse only thirty seconds or so away. Around them were the various parts of the farm, for apples were not their only fruits. Near the entrance were the corn fields, and farther to their right were the turnip fields and the carrot fields. They could also see the rest of Ponyville in the distance, illuminated by many lights.

It was a cold night.

"Ya' still miss Sweetie Belle?" Apple Bloom asked.

"Yeah. Do you have any word about her coming back?"

"No."

"Me, too."

A pause. "I'm not sure if we're the same without her. We've always been the Cutie Mark Crusaders with her. Me, you, Sweetie Belle."

"I know what you mean, Apple Bloom," Scootaloo said. "Doing lots of activities to get our cutie marks isn't the same without her."

Another pause.

"How's your letters to Sweetie Belle?" Scootaloo asked. "Is she fine?"

"OK, I guess," Apple Bloom said. "Babs is doing well. The Manehattan branch of the Cutie Mark Crusaders is doing well, too."

"How many?"

"About three."

"Ugh. The Ponyville CMC's are worse off than the Manehattan CMC's!"

Apple Bloom looked to the sky.

Up and About

Dear Sweetie Belle,
How are you doing there? You're still OK? Is Babs doing lots of activities with you and Tender Taps? I hope you're fine with these questions because it's just been so hard to do CMC things here in Ponyville without you around.

If you're wondering why Apple Bloom's not writing to you today, she's busy talking with her family about something serious and I don't know anything about it. So, it's my turn to write to you!

Ever since the other day, Rumble's been telling everypony in class about how cool his brother is. I'm sure you've seen him around. Do they do parades there? Because Rumble told me there were parades there sometimes. Whatever goes on there, I'd like to say that I kindly disagree with him, but Apple Bloom made sure we didn't fight over it.

Another thing happened the other day, too. There was the opening of Bon Bon's new candy store. Did Rarity talk to you about it? I'm not surprised if she didn't! Anyway, we ate a lot of candy and it was good. I could live there for weeks and not go hungry ever, and I won't get sick of the sugar, either! It's so tasty, and it's much better than whatever's made there. Having it all hoof-made is better!

After that, there was yesterday. We went to school and it was pretty normal. However, Mayor Mare's already prepping the town up for the Equestria Games. She tried talking with Applejack about renting some of the unused land to her for the event. She said 'No', but that didn't stop the mayor. She settled for some land just outside Ponyville. It's the one near the clock tower. If you came here now, you would see construction ponies bringing benches and logs and other construction things. It's also loud and some of us complained, but it didn't do anything.

I think that's it. There's not much else to write to you. The last few days have been slow. But, we're trying to cope without you here.

Stay awesome there, Sweetie Belle, and keep yourself safe! We miss you!
From fellow Cutie Mark Crusader,
Scootaloo
The filly placed the letter down on the desk.

The walls had been given a fresh coat of pink paint. The floor, too, had been colored white. Already, this apartment room was fancier and more fashionable than the average one. Yet, there was more.

Sewing machines with unfinished fabrics sat on the side. Shelves of fabric rolls displayed their variety in clothing material to anyone who would come in. A few bookshelves brought in some sophisticated flair. Some clocks both on the wall and on the table ticked and tocked. Cubby holes and more shelves held other sorts of fashion equipment and material.

Out the single window, one could see the big road where carriages galloped on. Two lines of military carriages, as could be seen by their wagons of soldiers, plodded past the boutique.

Sweetie Belle looked out that window and saw them all.

Some played hockey on the little ice rink at the school's paved front yard.

The brick school, unlike most of the other structures in Manehattan, had lots of slants in its design. It looked much more like a conventional school somewhere in the heartland than a cutting edge learning institute with straight lines and only straight lines, and, like such a conventional school, it also had some soil and grass; some trees grew, rising above the concrete and creating an interesting conflict between the natural and the artificial.

The bell rang and schoolponies flooded out the large doors and down the stairs and on to the yard. Many of them already headed out to the sidewalk, saying their goodbye's and farewell's to each other before they separated, walking the streets. Others stayed in school for a while, opting to sit on a bench or play some afterschool game of either chess or chase.

Three were already at the intersection, waiting for the line of carriages to stop as they stood in front of the pedestrian crossing.

It was sunset. Above, pegasi flew about, pushing and pulling clouds here and there.

"What are we gonna do, Cutie Mark Crusaders?" Sweetie Belle said in an electrified way. She was about to jump; her face showed it.

Tender Taps, an orange Earth pony colt, quivered in his hooves, his teeth clattering and a hoof on his cheek. "I-I have no idea!"

Sweetie then swung her head around to face Babs Seed, an orange-brown filly who was an Earth pony, too. "What about you, Babs? Anything?"

She blew her red bangs out of the way. "Maybe we could be tour guides, and I know a great place to start!"

Sweetie gasped. "Mare Statue!" She grabbed her friends by the neck and pulled them together. "Cutie Mark Crusaders on a, uh, tourist mission!"

"What?!" Tender Taps yelled. "But, we have to go on a ferry to the island! And, it's not just that! What will I say to them? What if I mess up? What if I—"

"Go with it, Taps," Babs said gruffly.

And the carriages stopped.

The pedestrian crossing was open.

Despite the relative ease of travel in Equestria, not a lot of ponies had taken the opportunity to get close to the famed Mare Statue. Standing on its own island, the huge and impressive work of art stayed isolated. Which was a good thing, at least when it came to popularity and attracting many tourists and travelers to Manehattan's gates.

The statue was of a robed and crowned mare holding a torch and a stone tablet. A simple yet powerful proclamation.

Many wandered about, several taking pictures at almost everything. Stalls and booths made specifically for tourists were plenty on this island, selling postcards and t-shirts among others. Beside the humongous paths were the parks with their flowering trees and bushes and grass, further embellishing the island.

And the Manehattan Cutie Mark Crusaders boarded the departing ferry boat.

Off they went, heading home.

The three stood at the guard rails, the cool wind over the sea breezing by as the sight of the statue shrank.

"Well, that was a horrible adventure!" Babs complained, raising her hooves in the air. "Couldn't even convince one to take the tour! We must've done somethin' wrong." She glared at Taps.

He pursed his lips. "Wasn't me! I did the best I could!"

"It's not our fault at all," Sweetie said. "We probably chose the wrong time to do it. Or, maybe being tour guides isn't our destiny."

Babs looked down at the rough sea.

Taps brought out a small smile. "Tomorrow again?"

"Tomorrow again," Sweetie repeated in reply.

Sweetie Belle opened the door and went inside the boutique.

Some customers milled about in the premises, checking out the costumes; one adored herself in front of a mirror as she adorned herself with a frilly purple dress. All the while, moving cello music played as Octavia performed on her platform with her eyes closed.

Sweetie walked on the red carpets to get to her. "Uh, do you know where my sister is?"

Without stopping the song, she opened her eyes and said, "She's upstairs."

The filly breathed a sigh.

Octavia paid attention to her, still playing the piece. "Let me guess. Another failed attempt at getting your cutie marks."

Sweetie nodded.

The celloist smiled a little, a mellow smile. "You're focused too much on that. Maybe that's why you aren't finding out your destiny. Some just gain their cutie mark out of nowhere, giving it not much of a thought until that very moment."

"But, you can't plan getting cutie marks out of nowhere, Octavia!" Sweetie said, airing her argument. "I can't set it up!"

Still moving the bow on the strings, Octavia went on: "You don't have to plan everything out. There are parts of life that merely come up, surprising you in new and interesting ways."

"I know," Sweetie whined, raising a hoof. "But, I really want a cutie mark that badly, and so do they!" She pointed at the door.

Octavia nodded. "I fully understand. The majority of your classmates already have their cutie marks, and so I can tell you feel left out. However, didn't you say it yourself that not having a cutie mark opens up so many possibilities, that you don't have to be stuck with one or two things for the rest of your life?"

"Uh, I guess...yeah."

"Then, I'm only bringing your advice back to you, Sweetie Belle. Follow it, and you'll be fine."

Octavia closed her eyes.

"OK. Thanks!"

She went to the end of the room and opened a door.

Octavia kept playing, cheering the boutique's clients who strolled about in the shop.

She dragged herself up the stairs, cello bag on her back.

Slumped down, unlocked the door, and turned on the lights.

It was a decked out place, a single-room residence like many apartments. Every piece of furniture was made up of refined wood, dusted and varnished to look like rich perfection. A sole music stand stood in front of a window; an open musicbook lay there. Around the room, positioned in certain spots, were other instruments: a piano, a double bass, a flute, and a clarinet. Some books were on the shelf, and a bowl of fresh salad rested on the kitchen counter.

It smelled of refurbished timber.

She locked the door, placed the cello bag on the wall.

Her eyes locked on to a paper beside the salad.

She went to it and read with her reddening eyes:
I don't know if you've noticed, but Manehattan is very close to where the Crystal ponies are right now. I suggest that you leave whatever job you have here and move to somewhere better, preferably as far away as you can. Don't even consider Ponyville. Canterlot's only ten to twenty minutes away and they're making a rush for it. You could talk to me tomorrow morning so I can help you arrange a living in Appleloosa or somewhere in the San Palomino desert—a couple of towns there do need a talented cello player like you to liven things up a bit. Whatever you do, don't be here by tomorrow night. I'm not saying that something bad will happen by then, but you're just risking yourself out here.

Don't worry. I'll find a way to talk to you other than these old boring letters when you're gone.

- Thunderlane
She placed a hoof on her cheek, her sleepy face jolted by a frown.

Octavia took a good look of her room, already furnished and ready for more years.

Rarity tapped her hoof impatiently as she stood at the boutique's entrance, the door swinging about as the hard wind blasted over the street. "It's already seven-thirty, beyond what could be tolerated as fashionably late for such a well-mannered mare. What could be keeping her?"

Defiance

A black pegasus in full Wonderbolt suit locked the door in the darkness.

His eyes darted about. "Is everything ready?"

"Everything's ready!" he heard Rainbow Dash say.

"Pizza's here?"

"Yeah!"

"Soda's here?"

"Yeah!"

"That means everything else is here."

No word.

"Then, let's get this party started!"

Lights turned on.

The Wonderbolts, the Rock Troopers, and several other soldiers from various other divisions jumped up, shouting as balloons and streamers and confetti decorated the mess hall in a party atmosphere. A vinyl player pumped out upbeat party music, and some danced. Others sat on the tables and ate some of the sweet food from the buffet area: cakes, pies, cakepies, cookies, donuts, bagels, chocolates, and candies. The salad bowls were left untouched, to be preserved for a long time (or for whenever somepony would eat the salad later on). Soarin, the second highest in command of the Wonderbolts, wore a lampshade on his head as he danced awkwardly, getting the (unneeded) attention of his cadets. Pinkie Pie, the orchestrator of the whole party, was blindfolded as she held a fake tail, playing a game of "Pin the Tail on the Pony" with impromptu fans cheering for her. Radar, general of the armies holding the Manehattan Front, talked about his favorite desserts with a group of soldiers at a table. A few more ponies blew their party blowers, creating lots of noise that forced others to cover their ears.

Thunderlane walked through the madness of a party that went on. A pony was flung across the air only to be caught by somepony else. He approached Maud who was sitting at another table, drinking some apple juice. "Uh, don't you wanna join the party?"

Maud looked at him. "I am partying."

"You...don't look like it," Thunderlane said. "Aren't you happy for your sister that she could throw parties and celebrations out of the blue?"

Maud blinked. "Yes."

"But, you're not, uh, doing other things."

A pause. "I have my own way of partying."

He glanced left and right. "OK, then. Enjoy!"

Thunderlane left her table and walked to Pinkie Pie who was now cheering a blindfolded Rainbow Dash as she tried to pin the tail. He tapped her shoulder.

She turned around. "Oh! Hi, Thunderlane! You like it, huh?"

"The party? Yeah." He chuckled. "How could you pull it off?"

"Well, I've been a natural ever since I discovered my true purpose was to make ponies smile!" Pinkie rambled while smiling. "And, what better way to make ponies smile than to throw a party? So, when I enlisted, I brought my professional party skills with me! Even my party cannon's with me! Too bad you didn't see it in action." He ruffled his mane. "It gets things done in seconds! Not miliseconds, and certainly not at the speed of Fili-Second who is super fast! Although, if you could imagine Fili-Second pushing and firing my party cannon throughout Maretropolis—wouldn't that be the greatest story from the 'Power Ponies'! Do you like the Power Ponies?"

"Uh...what?"

"Silly me!" Pinkie stuck out her tongue and put on a party hat. "I should've shown you my collection much earlier! But, eh—" shrugged her shoulders "—we've got better things to think about like a par-tay! Want some punch?" She brought a punch bowl complete with a ladle and a glass on her other hoof.

"Oh, don't mind if I—"

And whacked by a punching glove.

Pinkie (and some others who had witnessed it) snickered, covering her mouth as she put the bowl down. "You didn't see that one coming, did you? A punch bowl?! Oh, Thunderlane, you should always be suspicious of ponies who give you punch bowls for no obvious reason!"

Thunderlane rubbed his throbbing snout, red and swelling. "Yeah, Pinkie. You got me good."

"Hey, Pinkie!" Rainbow shouted from afar, at a wall where a poster of a tailless pony was tacked on. "It's your turn! Everypony wants you back!"

"Goodie!" Pinkie said, clasping her hooves and shaking them as she hopped her way to the game, leaving Thunderlane with a slightly damaged face.

The night continued, the moon rising higher and higher in the sky, the clocks in the barracks ticking ever closer to midnight. But, despite how late it was getting, the party remained and it showed no signs of stopping. Ponies danced to even more party music as the cafeteria chefs and cooks resupplied the buffet table with more food, dancing a little to the beat as well. However, more ponies were sitting down, eating and drinking as they talked and joked and discussed and laughed.

Pinkie, Maud, and Rainbow sat at their own table, having a feast of their own: more than just cakes and pies and cakepies, there was ice cream, cream puffs, waffles, and pancakes with lots of syrup poured and drizzled all over.

"Midnight snack?" Rainbow said, gazing at the food with a competitive eye. "We got a midnight dinner and then some! How were you able to whip this up in such short notice, Pinkie?"

"I have my ways," Pinkie replied before guzzling down some of the syrup from its bowl. A burp that smelled of syrup. She hoofed the bowl to Rainbow. "Want some? I made it out of...maple leaves. Not maple sap. Maple leaves. I crushed them myself with pestle and mortar custom-made and custom-ordered for I have my own custom mode and method of ordering syrup." She closed her eyes and patted her own head, congratulating herself. "You see, I have a very complicated pie-ling system even though I don't look the type."

Rainbow dropped her jaw. "Wow. I didn't expect that from your type."

"I know." Pinkie then chomped an entire stack of pancakes and half of it was gone.

Maud took a nibble of a cookie.

"Alright!" Rainbow shouted. "Count me in! Let's make it last longer!"

And the two took turns taking bites out of the stack of pancakes, each bite eating at the little tower until it was completely gone except for some crumbs.

Maud saw, then, an empty plate.

A candle flickered on the table.

Another sigh escaped Thunderlane's lips. The pegasus sat down on the floor, before his trunk and his bed. Far out, muffled music and cheer. In here, rows of bunk beds and small windows that allowed an adequate amount of moonlight into the bedroom.

He picked up the quill, focused on the parchment.

And wrote.
Rumble,
A month and a week. Not exactly, but that's how long I've been in the service. I could tell you plenty of stuff from just today,
let alone what we did since last time I made a letter. In fact, by the time you receive this letter, you'll already know that we stopped one of the most widespread invasions on our front yet. That's going to give Sombra a run for his money! As I'm writing, there's a big party going on downstairs to celebrate. Who knew those "stoic" Rock Troopers could throw a mean party?

But, that's not why I'm writing this letter to you.

I know I've said many times that I miss you, maybe to the point that you're getting sick of it. I've also read your replies and know how many times you said that you miss me—I'm not sick of it yet, if you're wondering!

However, I've been here for over a month. The lines haven't changed that much. The Crystal ponies are retreating, but they're retreating very slowly. Sometimes, I think there's something fishy behind this retreat.

Because of that, I don't know if I'm coming home before the Equestria Games.

I don't have much else on my mind. I'm already getting misgivings from a certain Wonderbolt for writing these "sappy" letters from time to time.

Keep being awesome, Rumble!

Your brother, Thunderlane
Hoofsteps.

Thunderlane turned to the door.

Another set of hoofsteps.

Halted.

Whispered words. More irritated, more exasperated.

Then, hoofsteps away.

The other ones closer and closer.

Spitfire opened the door, holding a flashlight with her wing, catching Thunderlane in its glaring ray.

He covered his eyes. "Ah! Spitfire?"

She turned off the flashlight and removed her sunglasses. "Gotta stand up for you. Crash was sneaking up on you since you were taking so long to come back." She took an open-wing leap closer to him. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." Thunderlane nodded. Choked once again. "As long as Mom, Dad, and Rumble are fine back in Ponyville, then everything's alright."

"You sure about that?" Spitfire asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Trust me. I'm fine."

Spitfire wiped some sweat off of her face. "Well, then." She offered a helping hoof.

Thunderlane took it and stood up.

"Your worries can wait a little longer," Spitfire said as the two walked back out of the room, through the door.

The music became louder with every step.

By morning, the mess hall lived up to its name since it was a messy hall. Party decorations scattered about on the floor and on the tables and on the walls and even hanging on the fans; leftovers sitting under glass domes as mosquitoes hovered above them, failing at their attempts to get to those sweet desserts. General garbage and trash everywhere.

The poor janitors sweeped the floor clean as General Radar walked by and exited the barracks.

Outside, activity: Carriages came and went, picking up and putting down soldiers—most of them relatively fresh recruits as could be judged by their sparkling eyes and their wide smiles, admiring the barracks in front of them; pegasi fighting enemy clouds that thundered, pushing them back to where they came from; more soldiers rushing from one spot to another as they conveyed information to pass along to the next pony in line.

Radar furrowed his brows at everything he saw, standing there and never moving from that spot.

"I can't believe this is the closest we'll get to the actual war," Star Tracker said as he and Script stood on the paved path leading to a gate.

It was heavily fortified for a gate. Four watchtowers with four guards each, twenty guards at each structure that could be described as more than a wall, and two guards before the gate itself. A metal sign was posted nearby, stating in bold words: "ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. SURVIVORS WILL BE PURSUED, SHOT, ARRESTED,
AND SENT TO COURT."

"Very close, indeed," Script said.

The two guards glowered at the visitors.

"Uh, maybe we should hitch a ride h-home?" Tracker asked, stepping back and sweating. "Getting pursued, shot, arrested, and sent to court wasn't part of the plan for the day. Like, a taxi! Yeah, where's a taxi when y-you need one?" He faced the guards—more sweating, more awkward smiling.

"Let's go," Script said, grabbing and dragging him as they headed their way out, the land before them acres and acres of hilly farmland and their houses.

A taxi skidded to a stop and another pegasus jumped out. He threw a bit at the rider's face. "Thank you, sir!"

Zephyr stormed his way to the gate, shoving the two to the side—

"Hey! You can't do that! I got here first!"

"My love needs me first!" Zephyr shouted at Tracker. "I've worried and waited too long for this day when we'll meet again!"

Tracker and Script looked at each other, nodded, and zipped to the taxi.

"Get us back to Manehattan. Chestnut Street." Script gave the driver some bits which he put inside the pouch he was wearing.

A stamp.

The two passengers and the driver turned their attention toward Zephyr who stood against the gate's many guards.

"Actually, let's not go yet," Script said, holding out a hoof at the driver. "I wanna see how this unfolds."

They looked on, leaning forward and straining their ears.

"Hear me!" Zephyr shouted, raising a fist in the air. "I'm Zephyr Breeze, the one true lover of the Wonderbolt known as Rainbow Dash!"

"Seize him!"

And some guards tackled him to the ground.

Blurry eyes. Rubbing eyes and forehead. Clouds, stable clouds, clouds that did not move.

Ceiling.

"What?!" He sat up on the couch. "Where am I? Have I been kidnapped?! Those evil guards, Dash! They were brainwashed by that evil king of the Crystal Empire! I'm so glad that you're safe and sound!"

"Uh, who's safe and sound?" Mr. Shy asked, sitting beside Mrs. Shy on an adjacent couch.

Zephyr screamed. "Dad! Mom! What are you doing here? You can't possibly be here, uh, my dear parents! Uh, heh-heh-heh, you don't know what danger lurks behind that gate!" He pointed behind him.

He ended up pointing at some stairs.

"You're home," Mrs. Shy said with that quiet voice. "In the living room, to be precise."

"Living room?!" Zephyr yelled, looking around him to see that he was, indeed, in the living room with its paintings, fireplace, chairs, tables, and other items. "I'm—I'm home? How, where, why, what?!" He smacked his head with his forehooves. "Last thing I remembered was those barbarous soldiers who understood nothing of our destined love—"

"They sent you here," Mr. Shy said. "They even bandaged you up, which is very kind of them."

"I'm bandaged?!" and raised a hoof to his face. Some bandages were strewn about. "Agh! Where did these come from?!"

"From their first aid kits," Mrs. Shy replied. "I think."

"But, we're so far away from Rainbow Dash!" Zephyr yelled, smacking his head again. "What if Rainbow Dash gets hurt?! Have you heard of stories of pegasi getting their wings cut off?!"

His parents recoiled. "Uh, you're worrying too much, son," Mr. Shy said.

Mrs. Shy nodded in agreement. "Your mind must've been fried after what they did to you. All you need is lots of rest. You can't continue your job as a barista with not enough energy, which is bad."

Zephyr groaned as he flew upstairs in a flash.

In the afternoon, Mr. Shy sat alone in the living room, some glass containers with their clouds moving about. One was a nice, fluffy cloud, changing shape a little as it floated. Another was a gray cloud, zapping out lightning—a little thunder could be heard.

He could also hear sobbing from the dining room.

Mr. Shy patted the containers on the table and walked his way there.

At the table, Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles crying.

He turned to his wife who was comforting them with a warm grip and a box of tissues. "Honey, what's going on?"

"They're still sad over Rainbow Dash not being with them," she replied, balking at another bout of intense wailing and giving them another heap of tissues.

Mr. Shy sighed as he sat down on a chair.

It was a sunny day outside. He could see it through the window.

"Our Dashie!" Bow said through his tears. "Where could she be?!"

"If only you could visit!" Windy yelped, slamming the table with her hooves. "We could see you, hug you, say that you're the best!"

Mrs. Shy grabbed more tissue.

News among Other Things: Tension

On Sunday, the forty-third day of the Great Crystal War, the "Rainbow News" of Rainbow Falls posted this curt warning on the front page, superseding the headline of the day:
EVACUATION NOTICE
The enemy is close at hoof, a mere gallop away. Some ponies have already been reported missing. Anyone who is still in Rainbow Falls must move to the closest refugee cities: Meadows, Presscut, Lentrot, Percheron. Your belongings are optional. Your life is more important.

On Monday, "The Manehattan Times" displayed a picture of a port controlled by Crystal ponies, their helmets and their glowing eyes dotting the image. The news was:
Rivering Falls; Last Line Before March to Las Pegasus
In an astounding turn of events, the Crystal Empire has conquered Rivering, the last major Equestrian city before Las Pegasus. Everything has been hoofed over to the Empire. There are reports of ponies who couldn't make it out in time being enslaved with the still-mysterious mind control helmets.

Sure enough, panic increased in bustling Las Pegasus. Various movie and music stars and other celebrities have precautions up, from moving to other houses around Equestria to digging inside an underground bunker. The mayor of the city, Blueshire, said, "Entertainment is fun, but being under attack isn't fun."

Early stages of voluntary evacuation are ongoing, as ponies (mostly those in the northern areas and non-Las Pegan citizens) are hauling out of the city.

On Tuesday, the "Ponyville Express" brought up a picture of a quiet combat zone. Smoke appeared, but there were no signs of any combatants at all—at least in this shot. The headline was as follows:
Canterlot/Crystal Front Stalemate!
Today's the first day since the war's start that the line right between Canterlot and the Crystal Empire hasn't moved.

While fighting still went on, causing many injuries, no strategic positions have been taken. Not a single inch of land has changed hooves.

"We're not out of this yet," Captain Shining Armor said in a sudden press conference. "We are resting to get our heads straight. We have no idea what the Crystal Empire is doing. They may be planning a big push—the big push everypony's afraid of that'll go straight to the capital."

On Wednesday, an annoucement was posted on the doors of various houses around Ponyville. This announcement read:
We've been having talks lately of pushing the Equestria Games up to two months from now instead of four months. The reason is due to the increased uncertainty regarding the state of the war. More and more resources are being taken and re-allocated for military purposes. The fear is that if we wait until summer is much underway, then too much of our materials and equipment would've been used up by our soldiers; therefore, no Equestria Games this year. However, if we start at the beginning of the summer, then there would still be abundant numbers for the Games to kick off.

The Equestria Games Society

On Thursday, this letter appeared in the Sweet Apple Acres mailbox just outside the entrance:
Applejack, I want to say that I have to sympathize with you with what's going on right now. We're selling less cakes and baking more ordinary bread, shipping off a good chunk of our work. It hurts to sacrifice your love for what you do to contribute to the cause better, and I know. Act wise, don't get fooled, and make sure everyone in your family agrees to the decision you have to make.

Mrs. Cake

On Friday, very early morning, this reply appeared on the counter in Sugarcube Corner:
Thanks for the concern, Mrs. Cake. It's good to know that somepony out there cares enough to write a reassuring letter. The mayor is a sensible mare, but there's some things that only the Apples can talk about. I don't believe for a single minute that turning our apple farm into an apple factory is a good idea. Even if we disregard family tradition, our care for quality won't let us stoop that low to canning apples. What a ridiculuous idea! At least we're doing our part, at least we're harvesting apples.

Applejack

On Saturday, "The Cloudsdale Clyde" posted this in lieu of regular headlines:
CONSCRIPTION BEGINS! SERVE YOUR COUNTRY, MAKE CLOUDSDALE PROUD!
After several meetings at town hall, it has been agreed by an overwhelming majority that Cloudsdale should conscript all capable stallions from ages 18 - 30. Further information will be disclosed at the enlistment office.

Don't forget: It's a great honor to keep up our legacy as proud pegasi warriors. It's an even greater honor to do it in defense of Equestria and of friendship and harmony.

On Sunday, an extended statement was made by Starlight Glimmer of the Town of Efficiency. It was posted in most major news outlets:
To the citizens of Equestria,
We do understand your plight and your anger. The Crystal Empire is clearly not a good empire. It has hurt many ponies and, we're afraid, will continue to do so for the duration of the war.

However, this is not an excuse to rile up petty politics.

The only reason why we haven't accepted any help from your forces is due to ideological reasons and nothing more. We don't want to associate ourselves with hypocritical soldiers who say they fight for 'friendship' while they fight, not considering other options.

You may call us crazy, insane, and nonsensical. However, what we advocate is a peaceful path, a world where both Equestria and the Crystal Empire can co-exist in peace. Again, you may say that we're crazy, but, if you do believe in your principles of friendship and harmony, then you must accept the fact that, logically, war doesn't mesh well with friendship and harmony. Why not settle your differences out? Call for a truce and let your leaders talk it out while you get to mingle with the Crystal ponies themselves—and, if Sombra agrees to a truce, he wiill surely lift the mind control spell from his population.

So, what is our humble request to all the reasonable and rational ponies of Equestria who ought not to be blinded by the royal forces of greed and stagnation? Make peace with Sombra.

Your lives depend on it, our fellow comrades-to-be.

For true and efficient friendship:

The Town of Efficiency

On Monday, an image of a crowd appeared on "The Everyday Report" in Trottingham. It showed ponies holding up picket signs and pouts. This image was covered by the day's headline news:
Starlight's Town Rouses Anti-War Rabble
In various cities including Canterlot (of all places), groups of ponies rose up in protest against the "aggressive acts of the Princesses", all of them inspired by Starlight Glimmer's note circulated in the press yesterday. Demonstrations ranged from largely peaceful gatherings in Manehattan to volatile riots in Las Pegasus.

Various ponies have stated that Starlight's arguments made a lot of sense. "It's probably a big misunderstanding," one of the Baltimare protestors, Silver Shill, said. "Sombra may have made mistakes, but the Princess must've done some, too. It's not everyday a unicorn would cast a spell on everypony there. Something must've gone wrong during the talks leading up to this mess."

Meanwhile, the E.U.P. Guard is not pleased with this troubling development. "All you have to do is read the news," General Spearhead countered. "See for yourself how King Sombra and his minions operate. There is nothing redeemable in what he does. Turning everypony he touches into his slaves to keep up his personal war machine—our response is the only sensible one, for we must defend ourselves and rid the world of this menace."

On Tuesday, an old stallion walked up the long and winding path to his lonely hilltop house near White Tail Woods. He opened his mailbox and only one letter was inside. He picked it up and read it:
It's your lucky day, grand old patriach! A once-in-a-lifetime offer that we've negotiated last night: We'll split the pie 75-25, and you can count on us to plant all the pears in the world for you! And sell! Meet up at the crossroads. We'll be there gladly waiting for you!

Quick Exit

By Wednesday evening, the old yellow stallion ambled his way to the quiet crossroads, his thinning legs on its way to being coat, skin, and bones.

It was a chilly night, the wind yipping and ripping through, bending the grass—even breaking some blades.

The intersection was a solitary one. There was not another one as far as the eye could see. Some stalls and a taxi station were all that made up whatever habitation was found there. There was not a single house, too—over there, a pony was already sleeping over his display of apples, snoring peacefully with a flimsy canopy over his head.

At the station, some taxi carriages were parked in the mini "parking lot" which consisted of a short stretch of pavement before a little building that boasted of "beds and food 24/7!" at the door. The inside looked a lot like a convenience store where vending machines and small aisles packed with processed food and processed condiments thrived. Baggy-eyed cashiers put on smiles for the burly stallions and the strong mares walking about or in line.

Also, with no wall between it and the "convenience store" part, there was a small bedroom of ten beds and nothing more.

He tugged his green robe as he raised his hoof and squinted. Two figures formed in his vision, standing at the station and beside some carriages.

Two lanky unicorn twins wearing striped shirts, dandy bowties, and straw hats. One was mustached, the other was not.

"Why, welcome back!" Flim said quick, resting his back on a taxi. "Looks like you've put two and two together in your head and formed what you deemed a logical conclusion!"

"As we've agreed to before, your business is on shaky ground," Flam continued, twirling his mustache, "and only a rehauling revamp could revitalize that rewarding industry of yours!"

"Need we say more, Grand Pear?" Flim asked, hoofing the old pony an open scroll and an inked quill.

He grabbed the scroll, read it—eyes bobbing.

"If you have any doubts about the split," Flam added, gesturing about with a hoof, "we need the extra money to further maximize the profits out of this business, and more profit means more mean money for you, grand ol' pa!"

"But, of course, we're not forcing you to come into full agreement," Flim said, wagging a hoof. "Only remember that this is your last chance to get outside help who will bring your farm up and running and rolling!"

Grand Pear skimmed the contract, his eyes darting and dashing.

His eyes rested on that blank line.

"Imagine what you could get if we co-operate, Grand Pear, sir!" Flim said, walking to him and pushing the contract closer. "You'll be back on your four hooves, get the Pear family back together, and have more than enough bits by the end of the year!"

"You'll have no idea what to do with them!" Flam added, walking to him, too, and twirling his mustache again. "You could snag yourself a good home where you could live and work and eat together, and you'll be safe from those treacherous evil ponies who destroy good land!"

"Not to mention that our sources say that you should get to a lucrative business fast before the war gobbles them up!" Flim said, adding a little gasp at the end.

Grand Pear brought the quill closer to the scroll, to the line.

About to say something.

Only a broken sound.

The Flim Flam Brothers drove their contraption through the busy city of lights, skyscrapers, and streets.

It was a strange contraption, to say the least. A golden funnel led into a barrel which had a pipe that led to a conveyor belt behind a glass display which led to another barrel (though encased in a glass container connected by wire to some more pipes). The vehicle itself was red, had two big wheels at the center and two small wheels at the back, and had more than enough space at the front for a sofa.

After moving past several large intersections, facing little traffic, they stopped at a big open elevator where more vehicles and ponies stood inside. A crowd looked at it, some snapping pictures of this other contraption.

Flim and Flam nodded at each other.

They drove inside.

The elevator then closed shut.

A peagsus wearing a helmet whistled.

The elevator ascended, carrying with it all the ponies and machines inside higher to the cloudy sky. The thrilled tourists ran to the glass walls, snapping more pictures of the view below where even the highest of high-rises became mere specks and spots diffusing bright lights. The whole city below became lines, straight and curved, of lights.

Past some clouds, and then it stopped.

The elevator opened.

Ponies exited in droves, running and galloping on the cloud bridges that connected floating platforms on which even more skyscrapers and high-rises resided and flourished, their lights even flashier and shinier than the ones back on the ground. Some fountains, many palm trees, two pools, four castle look-a-likes, seven theaters, seven cinemas, nine towers, a ferris wheel, a roller coaster in the distance—this was Las Pegasus, an entertainment center in the clouds.

A green glow enveloped the doorknob. It turned and the door opened.

The two brothers stepped into their luxurious living room, filled with splendid objects and gaudy furniture. Red sofas of fine leather, exotic plants in pots and glass boxes, silver arrows and spears on their individual racks, two cracking fireplaces that burned rare wood, watches and chains of bronze and gold on stone columns, huge rugs and mats of sophisticated details and design, paintings of the businessponies themselves smiling smugly as they covered the walls in planned egotistic fervor.

It smelled of oranges.

"Everything's alright, brother?" Flim asked, slapping him on the back of his head.

"Everything's alright, brother!" Flam replied, slapping him on the back of his head.

"Well, you can relax inside," Flim said, stepping out into the fancy hallway of red carpets and landscape paintings. "I'll take a short trip to our arms front."

His horn glowed and he disappeared behind the closed door.

Silver Shill, a gray Earth pony with a big pair of glasses, stood in the middle of an aisle in the weapons store. Counters and cupboards stuffed with spears, arrows, and crossbows—these were everywhere. They had various price tags, from a measly two bits to a startling ten thousand.

The glass doors opened, letting in some of the chaotic noise of excited words as ponies galloped and ran here and there in Las Pegaus. "Silver Shill?" Flim called. "May I have a word with you in the back room?"

He gulped, squinching his eyes and nodding in fear. "Y-Yes, sir!"

Flim closed the doors behind him. "Good."

The two walked by the many weapons on display before they reached the counter, went around it, and unlocked the back door.

They entered and Flim locked the door while opening a ceiling light.

Cramped. No chairs but a table. Charts and additional weapons rested inside stacked boxes.

Flim's confident face faltered. "You've got it? The potion?"

Silver Shill gulped again. "Are you sure this is a good idea? If we get caught, we'll go to jail in an instant!"

"If we get caught, and that's the beauty of it," Flim said, putting down his straw hat on the table. "Where is the potion?"

"I stashed it in one of those boxes," he said, pointing to the stacked ones nearby. "I forgot which one it was—"

Flim's horn glowed and he ransacked the place, emptying boxes and littering the table with spears and arrows and papers and secret bags of bits before throwing them away for another batch.

Silver Shill did his best at dodging the boxes, although he was not perfectly successful for he got hit twice.

Then, a glass vial of purple liquid in the air.

"No!"

And Flim held it in the air with a magical grasp, covering the vial in a green glow.

He wiped the sweat off of his face. "That's a close one if I ever saw one!" He turned to a shivering Silver Shill. "Good job! Your part in this new opportunity is over. You can rest easy as I sort out the rest of the details."

Shill shuddered as he opened the door.

"Thank you, my kind sir!"

The unicorn took his hat and walked out of the room.

"Ah, sir, you're too kind!" Flim yelped as he received a wrapped gift over the linen-lined table.

Scrumptious food was present, emanating a smorgasbord of cosmopolitan whiffs from garden salads made with fresh (still wet) lettuces, cake topped with melon and kiwi slices, blue cheese cut with a golden knife, and soft crumbly bread steaming; beside them, cocktail bottles that bore foreign-sounding names with glasses crafted to perfection, half-full with colorful mixtures. Beyond the table, there were many others just like it, courted by deluxe chairs cushioned with fabrics of the highest quality; waiters and waitresses were everywhere, ready to be called, asked, and beckoned at a moment's notice.

In this dimly-lit five-star restaurant, Flim was having a wonderful meal.

"I can never be too kind," Brass Blare, a brown unicorn, said as he floated his own wrapped gift into his briefcase before snapping it shut. "You say it's a sample of some kind of super-secret potion you're working on?"

"Be careful," Flim said, pointing at it as he tuned his voice toward caution. "That thing's extremely volatile. It's an experimental version, but I'm sure that I've done more than I could helping your division out in your search for a mind-freeing cure."

"Why, it's much better than my gift of—" and he covered his mouth. "Whoops!" He smiled, blushing. "I wouldn't wanna ruin the surprise!"

"Oh, I don't mind!" Flim said as he picked another lettuce leaf with a levitating fork, dropped it in some honey mustard dressing, and took a bite. He gulped. "But, if you insist..."

Brass Blare sighed. "You're one dependable pony—no, the two of you are dependable ponies. First, you've helped us fund our research into the cure, then you've provided us with specialized facilities, and now you've outdone yourself with your unexpected skills and generosity with what might be the breakthrough, the end of the war!"

Flim laughed at that, leaning on his chair and rocking it. "Ah, yes! I almost forgot about that!" He levitated a glass into the air. "Toast to the end?"

"Toast to the end, indeed!"

The two unicorns raised their glasses and clinked them.

Flim took yet another lettuce leaf dipped in honey mustard.

Flim slammed open the door to the living room.

He saw Flam beside a tower of chocolates, sitting on an easy chair as he lobbed yet another bite into his mouth.

"Time to go, brother!" Flim yelled, his voice echoing.

Flam scrambled out of his chair and put on his hat. "You should've given me more warning!"

"Sorry, but I've had it in my mind this whole time."

The two went out of their lavish living room, locked the door, ran the hallway and to the nearest elevator, with Flim repeatedly pressing the ground floor button.

Flim and Flam crashed into the train, bringing down several passengers along with them.

The doors closed and the train was moving.

It was another electric train. The seats were on the sides and some ponies held on to the hanging rings. Outside, one could see the remarkable sight of Las Pegasus: two cities in one, a ground and a cloud of lights and fun, with pegasi traveling back and forth in between.

"Ruff!"

"Agh!" Flim screamed, jumping into the air. "An orthos?! Where did you find that?!"

"Oh, uh, I—" and Fluttershy coughed as the rest of them stood up.

"Trade show," Teddie Safari said.

Flam rubbed his long chin, noticing some baggages beside her. "You must be high-tailing it out of here, aren't you?"

Fluttershy nodded. "You see, sirs, if you didn't know, uh, they're creeping up on this place. We don't like to get hurt."

"Neither do we, miss," Flim said, patting her on the shoulder and then patting the orthos on one of his heads.

The dog growled back with both.

"Agh! Again!" Flim retracted his hoof and brisked away from the aggressive creature. "You don't have that thing on a leash?!"

"It's more than dangerous, to be sure!" Flam said as he sat down on a seat beside some ponies who were watching the slight ordeal.

Flim gasped for breath, looking away from the dog and sitting down beside his brother after asking one of the ponies to scooch aside.

Fluttershy and Teddie Safari took up seats opposite them, the orthos content with being on the cold hard floor.

"I think you're in a hurry," Fluttershy said to the brothers across the lane. "Why?"

"Let's say we've received important information," Flim began.

"About something more dangerous than a dog, for your clarification," Flam continued.

"Oh, he's not that nasty," Fluttershy replied, petting the dog as he rolled about on the floor. She looked at him straight in the eye. "You're a good dog, aren't you, boy?"

"But, what's coming?" Safari asked, a bit more alarmed. "Did you leave something behind?"

"Oh, we're definitely leaving something behind," Flim said.

"The reason we cannot exactly disclose, unless you sadly find...out," Flam resumed, drooping his ears a bit.

"You're moving, too?"

"Permanently!" Flim answered. "Because, we've gotten word that—"

"Why are they galloping on the streets?" Fluttershy asked, pointing at the long and wide train window.

Gasps around as everypony inside looked out.

Purple plumes of smoke spread, engulfing.

Inside the carriage: screams, shrieks, shouts, yells, tears, bangs, smacks, a brawl.

"Attention, everypony," a voice proclaimed through the speakers. "This is an emergency. Stay calm as we prepare for full speed ahead."

A whizzing sound rose in pitch.

Sights whizzed by—ponies ditching carriages, partygoers ditching parties and throwing away flying balloons. Pegasi went by in a blur; some unicorns teleported out of the way.

Earth ponies and other unicorns were left to run.

The air further purple.

Panic.

Fluttershy hyperventilated. "What's going on?!"

Ponies running, flying past.

"What's happening?!" a voice cried out.

"I don't know!"

"They're fainting!"

"You don't suppose they're..."

"I told you they were coming!"

"Who said that?!"

"It's a false—"

"We're not going down without a fight! Get me out of here and I'll show 'em!"

"You're insane!"

"No, you're insane! We'll die here when that gas gets to us!"

"I'd like to join in your debate!"

"I don't wanna die!"

"Can this thing get any faster?!"

"Who has an antidote?!"

"This is Vanhoover all over again!"

"They're getting to us!"

Fluttershy could not see past the chaos. Only glimpses of a fuzzy landscape, words and hooves sent flying. She saw Teddie Safari biting her hooves. The orthos whimpered as she patted both heads.

Over the din, over the drowning noise of confusion, she said, "I hope we'll be alright."

The train was at full speed, about to leave Las Pegasus as the purple cloud grew.

For the Cause

It was next week, Sunday, and Teddie Safari stood in the center of a dirt road surrounded by makeshift houses of broken walls, cracked paint, and hanging doors all in the process of reconstruction as repairponies were on the case, their trusty tool boxes beside them as they banged nails, turned screws, and fixed up broken old homes in minutes.

Farther on, the road led to an arid desert, the town on the frontier's verge.

She walked up to one of the repairponies who was throwing out some sawdust into a garbage bin. "Can you locate Flim and Flam's store on this map?" She tapped on the open map she held at hoof's length. "There's no legend. It's just a bunch of roads."

"Oh, it's, uh, that'a way!" The hard-hatted pony then pointed the opposite direction.

"Alright, thanks! My friend's sweltering under the heat, you see."

"Well, why did ya' go here in the first place, ma'am?" He got another box of sawdust and poured its contents out into the same bin.

"The tracks stopped here," Teddie replied. "So, we're here."

"Mighty suspicious." He stroked his mustache. "I don't suppose you intended to visit this here Laterack by chance, do ya'?"

"We encountered some nice salesponies back in Las Pegasus," she said before covering her ears as a construction pony revved up a power drill.

Deafening, then it stopped.

"After that, they told us that they were setting up shop in this very town. Also told us to not follow them because it was their opening day today and didn't want to ruin the surprise for us."

"How nice of 'em!" he said. Then, pointing at that direction again: "It's best ya' go on. We already have enough help as it is, so don't get yourself sweatin' on the small stuff...or, on the big stuff since houses are, uh, big."

Teddie muffled a giggle. "Thank you, sir!"

She turned around and headed to the center of town.

Both of the brothers' faces could be seen by the lightbulb on the otherwise empty table. A door loomed at the wall. Besides that, the place was rather barebones, just a table and a door and two chairs and some more cardboard boxes.

"What's the status, brother?" Flim asked. "You've got all the papers sorted out and ready?"

"Minimal paperwork!" Flam yelled in joy, stretching his hooves to the air and relaxing on the chair. "I didn't know how we pulled it off, but we did it! With the falsified attack on Las Pegasus, that's going to swing those poor ponies' opinions toward our side and our wallets! Plus, we carried all of our things here intact! How better off could we be?!"

"Oh, you of all ponies should know," Flim said, mimicking an evil laugh as he clasped his hooves on the table. "The hardest part is over like a bunch of dominos. We pushed the first one and the rest will fall into place. All we have to do is play our cards right, to remember the balance that we need to keep up."

"You're really catching on to this, Flim!" Flam remarked, adjusting his hat a bit. "That means we have enough of those potions lying around?"

"Enough to plunge all of Equestria into a state of emergency." He smirked, showing his sparkling teeth. "They're at the back with fresh new patented locks to ensure absolute safety and security."

"Don't want those falling into the wrong hooves, then?" Flam quipped. "Too bad, because I've ordered twenty more!"

Flim almost fell out of his chair. "How, brother of mine?!"

"Simple as writing a secret coded letter." It was now Flam who smirked, showing more sparkly teeth. "The contact knew what he was getting himself into, which says something about his qualms—or lack of them—regarding the whole scheme."

"He's getting a big chunk of the pie, isn't he?" Flim asked, narrowing his eyes and sounding heated, grabbing the edge of the table.

"If this becomes a runaway success, brother, even half a percent would give him a decent manor—which won't be useful anyway since he acts so frugallyl."

"Chances of him not wanting any bits out of this at all?" Flim prodded, clasping his hooves again and making another smirk.

"Almost certain," Flam said. Then, after exhaling some breath: "Wow! I realized how competent you could be, brother, when I let you do all the planning. You have a knack for this!"

"Thank you for the compliment!" Flim said, cheery. "By the looks of things, this may be our last job, our last con. We'll keep it up, keep it running, and as long as the war goes on, there'll always be inexplicable surprise attacks in big cities and there'll always be ponies who want to protect themselves with our protection-guaranteed 'Flim Flam Arms'!"

Flam laughed, smacking his hooves on the table. "Genius, brother, genius!"

Flim looked at his wristwatch. A gasp. "We're late! We should've opened five minutes ago!"

Flam said nothing as he pushed his chair out of the way and opened the door.

Flim followed suit, fixing up his bowtie without a hoof touching it.

The store itself was cleaner than the one in Las Pegasus. The checkered floors gave it a shabby feel, but the weapons that overwhelmed the aisles and the walls (and even the ceiling as a few spears hung on their pointed heads) more than made up for it. The new air-conditioning system gave the two brothers a cold blast, casuing Flim to say "Ahh!" as he spread his forehooves toward the ceiling and causing Flam to roll his eyes before resuming his smiling demeanor. Big price tags on select weapons had phrases such as "Best deal ever!", "Discounts won't ever go lower than this!", and "Arrows made of the finest metals that are sure to strike and incapacitate any would-be foe in less than one second!" This last one was put beside a display of arrows on a column. The plastic shafts had silver arrowheads that shone under the lights.

Standing outside the store were Teddie Safari, Fluttershy, and the orthos who was wagging his tail and lolling his tongues, eager to enter.

Fluttershy cocked her head, said some words that could not be heard past the closed glass doors.

"Whoops!" Flam shouted before he pressed a button below the counter. "Let me open that for you!"

The doors slid open.

They went inside, Safari mouthing expressions of wonder as she turned her head around at the mesmerizing sight of so many weapons in one place, Fluttershy mouthing expressions of terror as she turned her head dizzy at the questionable presence of so many weapons in one place. The orthos, meanwhile, stayed still though he still wagged his tail and also tapped his paw.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Flam said as he rummaged through some papers and found blank parchment. He glanced at his brother who was about to attend to the store's first customers. "I'll take care of the Grand Pear letter. You take care of them."

Flim tipped his hat at his brother.

Safari walked up to him, Fluttershy tailing by and reduced to fearful eye flashes, backing away from the weapons only to come face-to-face with a whole different set of them.

"Why, isn't it our new pals, Teddie Safari and Fluttershy and their...dog." He shivered as he stared at the dog. "Brgh! Good thing we don't disallow pets here—well, good for you, but I'm not so sure about my own constitution!" He grabbed Safari by the neck. "How can I help you stay alive in these tumultuous times, misses?" Turned his head toward a wobbling Fluttershy. "Especially you, miss Fluttershy! You seem to be the type who needs some extra help to be afloat in today's world!"

Fluttershy gulped. "Uh, sir, um, I would like to thank you for the offer, but, um—Agh!" and jumped away from a spear, only to be pricked by an arrow.

Safari and Flim covered their mouths. Their irises shrunk.

"Oh, no!"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am."

They covered their ears.

"Aaoow!"

Grand Pear sat sorrowful in the carriage under the pouring rain at night, so late at night it was almost Monday. Pulled through green vistas of grass, flowers, and trees, he was on a bumpy ride as the road was damaged with some holes and breaks along with several large rocks. Yet, the driver never slowed down for one bit as he galloped, running against the elements and sometimes splashing some water on to his passenger.

Grand Pear did not complain. He only sighed, rotating the sealed envelope around.

Finally removed the seal and opened, retrieving the letter inside.

It was a short letter written in hasty hoofwriting as could be seen by the messy strokes and curls. However, the message could still be deciphered.

Grand Pear read it.
We've stumbled upon a gold mine of opportunity which we won't disclose for safety purposes. Because of this sudden development, we've foregone improving the farm ourselves and have instead hired outside contractors whom we've trusted very much for most of our business lives. It also makes some common sense, too: we can't single-hoofedly save the whole farm, not us two unicorns! We only agreed to supervise the improvements! Hopefully, you're standing in front of the new Pear family home right now and are flabbergasted at how plentiful your pears have become! You can save the congratulations for later when we get there, OK? OK!

The carriage halted, dousing the letter and him in water.

Thunder in the distance, rain hard on the vehicle's roof.

"We're here," the driver said, taking off his hat and squeezing the water out of it. He held up an open hoof. "That would be nine bits."

Grand Pear got off and exposed himself to the rain, but did not pay him the nine bits or any attention at all.

"Uh, mister? The nine bits, please."

He took a step forward closer to Pear family property, closer to the tended grass with their fields of tall pear trees, closer to the wet muddy soil.

"Mister Grand Pear, could you give me the nine bits, please?"

He saw the industrial lights coming out of what looked like a barn but was not, really. A refitted, repurposed structure it was: where chimneys puffed out long trails of white smoke as huge carriages with wagons attached were the final places where lines and lines of pear jams fell to from a conveyor belt—before they were covered, before the drivers whinneyed, before the jars began their journey to markets and stores.

"Mister! I need to go to other ponies who need a lift!"

A couple galloped to him, husband and wife running between the trees and the ladders. Their features could not be made clear through the growing storm, but he could see once more the freckles on their faces pelted with raindrops.

"Sir Grand Pear, what's going on?!" the husband shouted above the gale's clamor, holding on to his hat as it flapped under the wind. "The whole fam'ly tried kickin' some refurbushin' intruders out, but they said that they're your guys!"

Grand Pear's jaw dropped, his mouth producing sound but never forming a word.

"We know that your wishes should be respected!" the wife yelled, holding on to her hat as well. "But, are you sure about this?! After we've upheld all the good ol' principles of natural farmin'?!"

Tears mixed in rain.

Grand Pear raised an unsteady hoof. "I...I...Curd Spread, Pear Puree...I didn't...a-ask..."

His legs quivered.

Collapsed.

"Grand Pear!" All screamed as they, even the driver, rushed to the fainted stallion. Pear Puree brought out a fan, waved it in front of his closed-eyes face, waving faster as tears overflowed. Curd Spread placed a hoof on the neck, listening. The driver brought out an umbrella and covered everypony there.

"I'll take him to the nearest hospital!"

"You don't have to!" Curd Spread replied fast. "They haven't wrecked the family clinic—"

"I was about to tell you that they did!" Pear Puree shouted, covering her face in hooves, tears, sobs.

Curd Spread got the fan, brought it closer to him. He faced the driver, hysteric. "Take Grand Pear and the fan! I'll give you a hundred bits if you could make it to Appleloosa in time!"

"You don't have to!" the driver said.

He picked up the limp body, put it in his carriage, hooked himself to the vehicle, galloped away.

Leaving the couple to cry as they waved at a disappearing Grand Pear who did not see them say their goodbye's.

Braeburn watched the sunset from his house.

It was a beautiful thing, perhaps more so in dry hot Appleloosa where grass was scarce and hats were abundant. The sun dipped below the horizon, submerging the desert town in nighttime chill while the sky became purple. Everywhere went dimmer, and some buildings had their lights turn on the moment evening began since some ponies were so punctual as to time switching the lights on with the end of the day. The stars twinkled into view again and the moon, the full moon, rose up to take its place.

He dangled a forehoof through the open window, letting in the cool air into his home. "Applejack, I sure hope y'all are safe in Ponyville. You're gettin' me awful worried for ya'!"

A knock on the door.

"Who's that?!" he shouted out the window.

"Sheriff."

His head poked out. Braeburn could see Silverstar on the ground waving at him.

"I need to show you somethin'."

Wooden walls and carpeted floor. Short white beds, ponies covered. Lanterns lit the small premises, giving Braeburn and Silverstar enough light to see and navigate through the bed and breakfast establishment.

"Here," the sheriff said, walking to a bed where the old Grand Pear was sleeping.

Braeburn gasped and stepped back, staring at him with deranged eyes. "He's here?!" he shrieked as much as he could in a whisper. "Why?!"

"Got unconscious at the sight of his new 'farm'," Silverstar said, taking off his black hat. "Ain't a farm at all. Duped into lettin' some lowlifes own more than half the pear fields. Now his family bu'iness's down in the dumps, lowlifes makin' all the bits they could make out of it, and Grand Pear himself...isn't in good condition."

Braeburn looked again at that pony. His eyes were closed as he continued sleeping on the bed, not knowing what was going on.

"But, there's somethin' else," Silverstar said, facing Braeburn with a piercing glare.

"What else could there be, sheriff?" Braeburn replied, dumbfounded as he took more steps back. "This is astonishin' news, bad news!"

Silverstar put his hat back on his head. "As I brought him here, he told me to tell you something important."

Braeburn caught breath in his throat. "Me? A Pear tellin' an Apple?"

The sheriff pawed the ground. "He told me to tell ya'...that your fam'ly shouldn't fall for their tricks, too, whoever they may be. Have anypony in mind?"

A hesitant pause, head toward the floor. His lips trembled. "Well, the Oranges got things straightened out," Braeburn said, his voice shaky. "Half-Baked Apple's smarter than he looks so I don't think they'll get to him. Applejack's—" and gasped. "Applejack!"

He stormed out of the room.

"Where are ya' goin'?!" the sheriff cried out.

"I've gotta warn my folks in Ponyville!"

His steps faded. Silverstar heard a door slam shut.

"But, Mayor Mare, ya' can't do that!" Applejack shouted, fear injected in her words, blocking the white gateway to Sweet Apple Acres.

A wooden apple sign hung over her head, and so did the night sky of fresh apple field air.

"We promise that we'll tear down any machinery we add once the need has been satisfied," Mayor Mare said, closing her eyes and speaking in a bit of a haughty voice, standing in front of a team of construction workers with their hard hats and vests ready. "It's for the good of all Equestria."

"Then we'll work harder than ever before!" Applejack answered. "I can't let you taint the way we've always done apple farmin' here! In case ya' forgot Ponyville history, it was the Apples who built it up the Apple way! Our apples won't be the same if you can 'em up and ship 'em out like there's no tomorrow by cold and heartless machine thingies!"

One of the construction ponies pawed the ground, about to pounce.

Mayor Mare gave him a mean look. "No need for intimidation, Hard Hat."

Applejack pawed the ground, too, eyeing him dead on. "It's a fight you're askin', huh?"

The mayor jumped in between the two. She stretched her hooves out to each of them. "We can't settle an agreement if we descend into punches and kicks!"

"There won't be agreein' to do if yer' asking me to throw away centuries of fam'ly traditions that make the best quality apples in the world!" She planted her hoof in the dirt.

"You'd be cementing a better tradition where you'll tell your grandfoals how you helped Equestria win the war against a power-hungry tyrant!" Mayor Mare cried.

"And let them know the shameful things I've done to help 'em win?!"

She slapped a hoof on her face. "It's not shameful. It's only temporary, anyway. Bear with a Sweet Apple Acres factory for a while, and you can destroy it once the war's done."

"Well, it is shameful, thank you very much!"

The mayor shook her head. "Applejack, you and your family have been very valuable ponies to us. But, I have to be honest with you: You're mighty stubborn."

"Maybe it's because I ain't budgin' from the love of my work!" Applejack roared, throwing dirt into the air. "We may be Earth ponies, but, I have to be honest with ya', too! Do you have any idea about how we Apples take care of what we sow and harvest?"

"You know better than that!" Mayor Mare said, pouting.

A blue hoof tapped on her shoulder.

"Look, mayor," Hard Hat said, "if she's not moving, so be it. We'll find other ways of convincing her."

The mayor shook her head again. "No." She turned to him. "She must do this out of her own volition."

"'Volition'? Right..." Applejack stepped forward. "You're forcin' me to churn out canned apples—and sour apples at that!—and, if I don't say 'Yes', you'll be remindin' me of my 'guilt' and 'shame'!" She crossed her forelegs. "When I say 'No', I say 'No!'"

"Don't, Applejack!"

Everypony turned their heads.

Braeburn panting. "I've been sent here to tell ya' to not give up the farm to anypony else! They'll change it into somethin' dreadful!"

"Oh, you must be Applejack's cousin," the mayor said, mellowing her tone.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," Braeburn said. He made a perplexed expression. "But, why are you tellin' her to scrap the way they've been doin' things 'ere for years?"

"It's not 'scrapping'; it's 'substituting'," she replied. "It's for the cause. The more industries we redirect toward the war effort, the sooner we end this war and the sooner everypony can be relieved."

"There are boundaries, mayor!" Applejack yelled. She faced Braeburn. "Why don't ya' knock some sense to her jumbled head?!"

"Even I don't think that's a good idea, cousin!" Braeburn said, backing away. "I-I didn't know that the mayor was the conpony all along!"

"I'm no swindler!" she said. "Augh!"

Silence. Under the night sky. In front of Sweet Apple Acres.

The ponies breathed heavily, eyeing each other with tense looks.

Mayor Mare closed her eyes. "I see that there's no reasoning with you." She turned away. "If I may add one last word, however: Remember Rarity and the sacrifice she and her family made."

A pause.

Applejack gritted her teeth.

"You wouldn't want her to hear the news that you've laxed, that you aren't putting in your best for Equestria. Poor Rarity. Her mother is running a bakery for the soldiers, her father is a soldier himself, and she's facing pressure to give up her only living boutique to work inside a uniform facility.

"Imagine that, Applejack. She would be toiling with blood, sweat, and tears, making sure every single soldier is clothed so that they can work more efficiently, so that they can conduct warfare more efficiently. Wouldn't word get around, then, when she becomes devastated at your complacency, considering that each can of apples not made is a soldier closer to starvation?

"You're a dependable pony. Everypony's counting on you to do your job. Ponyville citizens do something for the war effort everyday."

That mayor's eyes welling up.

"We are makin' more than enough apples without your fancy-schmancy whatchamacallit's!" Applejack screamed. "If we give up our sweet apples in exchange for sour ones—"

"Then, they'll get more apples, more food," the mayor interrupted. "You know that a sour apple tree produces lots more than a sweet apple tree."

"Yes, mayor, but—"

"Which means that if you insist on being stubborn and sticking to your traditions in such a time as this, then you're robbing many of our warriors of full stomachs."

The construction ponies nodded.

"Don't listen to her!" Braeburn said.

"Before you call me unfeeling," the mayor said, close to a choked voice, "think about what I have to go through on a daily basis since the war started. I've had to make tough calls about what to do with this pony or with that group. When the first batch of Ponyville volunteers headed out, I talked with ponies like Cheerilee to do one-and-a-half jobs to make up for our loss. We extended our hospitality to refugees from more than just Vanhoover, and our hospital's been packed and our doctors and nurses have been working overtime ever since...not to mention that the Golden Oak Library is half-full of new inhabitants every week. The Cakes themselves are transitioning their confectionary bakery into an ordinary one so they could send even more food to the front.

"The point is, I see the big picture, and we have to make compromises if we can get out of this ordeal the best way possible."

Braeburn held his breath.

Applejack lowered her hat.

Walked to the mayor.

"Applejack," she continued, "I'm sorry if I stressed you out and if it seemed like I was trying to manipulate you, but...it's not easy. I'm handling ponies' lives, ponies' futures, in my hooves. Concentrating on that, thinking about the ramifications..."

An orange hoof on her shoulder.

"I'll sleep on it, mayor."

"No!" whispered Braeburn, stretching a hoof out to her.

The two cousins met eyes.

She nodded at him before she trotted her way to the barn.

"No..."

The construction ponies left, trotting their way home.

"Too bad she forgot to stay to hear my 'Thank you'," the mayor commented before sighing. She looked at Braeburn. "I'm sure you have her best wishes at heart, but, the truth is that this is her best wish. Everypony's got to give up something for the war. I know I have."

She trotted away, too.

Braeburn was alone, staring at Sweet Apple Acres under the blue tint of the night, the roof glimmering with the moonlight.

Asymmetry

Shining Armor closed the curtains and turned on the lights.

A select few ponies of no small decoration sat on simple chairs at a wooden table where a map of Equestria was spread out. It had markings, words, and even a legend.

The captain glanced at the ten-times locked door with its array of unique locks that went from top to bottom.

Only the necessities were inside: canned food, bottled water, taken photos, and foldered documents. The rest of the room was very much empty.

Shining looked at the calendar on the wall.

The first day was crossed out.

He sighed, cast his eyes upon the map.

One of the other ponies coughed.

"Over sixty days," Shining murmured. "Sixty days. He's outwitted us, used our weaknesses against us. This isn't acceptable at all."

Half of them gulped.

He brought a hoof to the map. "Here's the state of the kingdom: Everything from Yakyakistan to Brindle on the West Coast is under their control. Las Pegasus is our last major shipbuilding city there. After that, we might as well be cut off from the two Luna Oceans. The San Palomino Desert is made up of cobbled towns...there's no way any of the local militia can stand up to them. The only thing that's kept us safe from total overrun is the Unicorn Range. I would like to thank you, Counter Drill, for your acts of bravery and quick thinking through it all."

The general in question nodded, his short orange mane standing still.

"The Canterlot Front has been in stalemate for a while. I wish it would've been better, but it's certainly not a full-scale retreat. There's no shortage of willing ponies...yet. I'll get to that later.

"In the East, the guard's keeping them at bay. Good thing we have very productive cities such as Fillydelphia, Baltimare, Manehattan, and Trottingham. The risk of a naval invasion on the latter two is understandbly scary, but as long as we protect the Matcha Passage, we'll be fine.

"Regarding the homefront, not enough ponies are giving their all for this fight. We don't have enough factories producing weapons, foodstuffs, uniforms, and other military equipment. Everypony's still eating too much, diverting much agricultural effort away from the soldiers.

"If we don't think up of a good solution anytime soon, we won't see this war ending before the year's up."

Silence.

"That's the truth. The hard truth."

Radar raised his hoof. "Sir, you know that we're working as hard as we can."

"You're more than good...in defense." Shining groaned. "What we need to do is to disrupt the status quo. We need to think of a big push, a large offensive, that will catch Sombra and his slaves by surprise. It has to be concentrated, on time, and executed perfectly."

Counter Drill put his hoof on the table. "But, we don't have any idea what that entails! We get what you're saying, captain, but the specifics are unknown to us."

"Then, know them!"

Gasping for breath. Sweat on his face.

All watching him. Fearful, hesitant.

"Alright. We can keep it together. We could make a beeline for the heart of it all: the Crystal Empire itself. But, we need to gather as many forces as we can. We need to set up training for mountain burrowing, military deception, localized storms—everything new we could imagine being feasible, unlike those horrible trenches that didn't do anything except make us easy pickings for long-range unicorns."

A red hoof then touched the map. "Why not a slow attack on all fronts?"

"Because, Liform, that will take too much time. The ponies at home—they're very patriotic, but it won't last forever. Their resolve will weaken if this war goes on for too long. We need something decisive and we need it as soon as possible."

"Use their weapons against them," another pony in the group said.

"Which weapons?" Shining repeated, asking him in desperation.

"The weapon that sent every single pony in Las Pegasus running for their lives."

Murmurs between.

"You have to be joking, Oblique," Shining uttered. "What would they think of us? We need to be better than them."

"And let tens of thousands of ponies die as you stand by helplessly?" Oblique shot back. "These are dire times. You said it yourself that we need decisive action. What I propose is that."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Radar yelled, snarling at him. "The citizens of Equestria won't forgive us of using such a horrendous weapon! We're trying to minimize as many deaths as we can!"

"The Crystal Empire wasn't always evil, you know!" Liform added, joining in the fray. "We're not fighting the many faceless ponies. We're only fighting one."

"Well," Oblique began, "if you can't show them, then what's the use?"

"We have the Princess's mages at work everyday for that," Shining said.

"Yet, there's no counterspell, correct?"

Silence.

"Each day we don't have a counterspell is a day where more of us suffer. I suggest the fastest ending to a war in Equestrian history, and that is by making a similar potion but even better." A pause. "They're too soft. They only knock out ponies cold. What we need is something more...impactful than that."

"You're not suggesting a lethal potion, are you?" Shining asked, suspicious.

"If lethal is too bad for you," Oblique replied, "then you can take it down a notch and, say, paralysis. Can't battle if you can't move, am I right?" His lips curled to create a unnerving smile.

"But, will it be curable?" Aerosol asked. "When the war's over, we have to make them move again."

"Oh, I don't know about that..." Oblique frowned.

Shining paced around the table. "Your ideas are valued here. But, you're taking this too far. This will tarnish the name of Equestria. We've always fought with an honorable respect for the enemy. Yes, King Sombra is tremendously evil and wants to take over the world, but his slaves can't choose for themselves. They don't know any better. They only follow orders and can't do anything else because of the mind control spell."

Oblique removed his frown, making a blank face. "OK. If that is your decision on the matter, then I'm afraid that my attendance here is of no use."

He stood up.

"No, sir," Radar said, standing up. "You better stay here!"

"Let him go," Shining commanded. "He's done his part."

His horn glowed. The locks glowed, moving about until the door was open, allowing Oblique to walk out without a word.

Shining Armor stood in front of his bed inside the dark bedroom. It was a big bed, fit for two ponies. Cadance herself occupied one half of the bed, deep in sleep and covered in her blanket.

A fireplace, an enormous portrait of the lovely couple, a table for two. A tea set. Tall windows, closed curtains.

He felt his frazzled mane. His tired eyes closed—to open up again.

Tip-hoofed to his wife.

That delicate, gentle face. In sleep, a graceful beauty.

Shining kissed her on the cheek.

Walked to the other side of the bed.

Plopped himself on it.

Dragged the blankets up.

Laid himself on the side.

Eyes fluttering.

Closed.

"Agh!"

Sat up. Open curtains. Morning glare.

"Shiny!"

She stood up from the table. Ran to him. Held his hoof.

"What's wrong?"

"Saw...ponies...falling...homes dying—" between breaths, gasps, panting for air and reality. "It's not...it's not my fault, is it?"

Cadance held him closer. Hugged. "It's only a bad dream."

He scratched his head, face dazed. "What if...it won't be?"

"Make sure it won't come true."

A carriage at the street, at the end of their mansion's stone path. Two armored white pegasi waited, already hooked.

It was a sunny morning.

"Promise me you won't have those nightmares again?" Cadance said as she closed the huge door behind them.

"Yeah, yeah." Shining rubbed his head. "I'll look for Princess Luna when it happens."

Cadance nodded. "Good. Be careful out there."

"I'll be."

Hugged.

Cadance sat inside a cold ice cream parlor, holding a bowl of strawberry ice cream on the counter. Its color did complement hers.

The glass windows were as big as the wall, letting in much of the sunlight. Swivel chairs at the counter, fixed seats at the tables modestly occupied by ponies eating ice cream. Sugary scent. Chalkboard menus that told everypony inside what the flavor of the day was: Apple Pear Surprise. Needless to say, this caused more than a few wary looks, one pony even scoffing at the idea of such a combination of fruits.

Cadance did not mind him. Instead, with a solemn expression on her face, she levitated a spoon and scooped out some ice cream.

A blue suited stallion went up on the chair beside him. He rested a hoof on the counter. "Ma'am," he said, eyeing one of the cashiers, "get me a Triple Deluxe Premium Chocolate Sundae drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce, topped with only yellow and red sprinkles, three cherries on top, and a slice of pancake."

Cadance glanced at the cavalier pony. "Wow. You must have lots of bits at hoof. Who are you?"

"Ah, the Princess of Love herself!" he said, extending an open hoof. "What a pleasure to be meeting royalty in the confines of an ice cream store. I'm Svengallop." He took back his hoof and placed it on his tie. "You may know me as the manager of one of the most famous rising stars in the music scene: Countess Coloratura!" He stretched a hoof to the air, making a big show out of it.

"Sir," one of the cashiers said, having approached him from behind the counter, "we're out of pancake slices. They've sold out."

"Then, go make more of them!" Svengallop said, figuratively pushing her away with a hoofwave.

"Uh, the next batch of pancake slices won't arrive until later in the afternoon."

"Urgh!" He took his glasses off. "Fine! Replace it with shaved almonds."

"We don't do shaved almonds here, and it's 'sliced almonds'—"

"It'll be a first for this store and you'll relish in it," Svengallop said before dropping a heavy bag of bits.

The cashier's eyes glimmered at that. "Yeah, we do shaved almonds here. Wait one sec." She took the bag.

As the cashier scooped up the ice cream and other ingredients for the sundae, Cadance turned back to him. "You're a bit...pushy for a music manager."

"Hah! You can't let your guard down when it comes to a fast-moving industry like music. You must hit the perfect balance of creative freedom and managerial control, and I believe I've hit it, if I do say so myself." He fixed his tie and sprayed more cologne on himself.

Cadance swung her hoof about, driving the fragrance away from her. "I think you...do. I've heard her name before, but I haven't listened to any of her songs."

"Quite sad," Svengallop said, putting the cologne back into a shirt pocket. "Then again, she's only a rising star. I won't keep her that way, though. Her journey to ultimate fame isn't complete yet, and she'll thank many ponies along the way. I'm glad that I could be one of them."

Cadance placed a hoof on her chin. "Hmm. Have you considered cheering up the poor war ponies in the North?"

"Too dangerous," Svengallop immediately answered. "I keep myself up-to-date with what's happening from over ten news oulets throughout Equestria, and what I do know is that they're bombarding even the supply lines. I don't want to be the pony who sends the Countess off to an early grave."

Cadance gulped. "I see."

"Here's your order, sir," the cashier said, hoofing him a glass that had a dozen scoops of chocolate ice cream, little streams of chocolate and caramel, sprinkles and cherries and sliced almonds (not shaved). Some frost came out from it.

"Ah, perfect!" Svengallop said, taking a small spoon from the spoon container beside the cash register.

He opened the glass doors of a shoe store, breathing in the fresh smell of shoes that permeated the premises.

"Oh, Countess Coloratura!" Svengallop called out. "Your shopping spree is over! Hurry up and—" closed his mouth, eyes wide as he took his glasses off again.

At the center, in front of a display of some expensive rubber shoes, a mare cried on the countess's shoulders.

"No..."

Coloratura patted her on the back. She whipped her head around, moving her ridiculously long mane from that drenched face.

Other ponies watched.

"They broke his horn!" she screamed, pulling Coloratura down. "They shattered his horn! You must do something, please! Save him!"

Closed her eyes. "I wish I could." Patted her. "But, I can't help you. I can't give him a brand new horn."

"But, you must! He can't function in society if he doesn't have a horn! If he doesn't get it back, he has to relearn everything from scratch! I don't want to see him that way—please!"

Tears down their cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I can't do anything much for your husband."

"Can you bring him back to me?!" She clung on. "Bring him back from that horrible place in the snowy mountains! What if they get more than just his horn the next time? What if they take his life and take my love away?! No!"

Sobbed. Reddened eyes. Dried face to be soaked once more in sorrow.

Shaky legs. Grip on the countess.

Others held to their faces, too. Tears about to flow.

Coloratura opened her eyes. Saw her.

Saw him. Svengallop.

"Svengallop. We need to talk."

He gulped.

As the late afternoon rolled on, the countess and her manager walked about on a rather secluded street of tall houses. The windows were shut. Some transmitted their loud snores to the outside world.

"I've always wanted to add a touching element to my concerts," Coloratura began, "but, in an odd way, I'm a bit happy that we have this bad war going on."

Svengallop let out a yelp of shock. "What?! Why?! Don't you know that ponies get hurt in war?"

"Of course, I know," she said. "But, the more that I think about what they go through everyday, every week, every month...it racks my mind because, as long as I take care of myself, I could help them out in some way. You know, cheer them up."

Svengallop caught something in his throat and swallowed it. "Oh, really? And, what would that helpful way be, Countess?"

"Organizing a tour that hits all the major barracks." She smiled. "I'm sure that will keep them going emotionally, even if it's for a little while."

Svengallop pretended to catch something in his throat again, "trying" to speak.

"You need me to help you with that?" Coloratura said before slapping his neck.

"Ow!"

"There, that's better."

Svengallop fixed his tie again. "Your proposition is very sound. However, don't you think that you'll be getting yourself in severe danger? I wouldn't want to be responsible for your death."

"Every good act is risky," Coloratura replied. "I'm willing to risk even my life to make sure my fellow ponies stay happy."

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow at her, gave her an examining look.

"Oh, if you're wondering about how we could set up the stage there, I can show you when we get there."

"When we get there?" Svengallop shook in his hooves.

"That's why we're going to the train station. We'll get a good view of the first place we'll tour: Middle North Point. A short trip of, say, an hour."

He gulped again and fixed his tie another time, more forcefully. "At least you will get the much-needed exposure an up-and-coming singer requires in this day and age of sound."

Coloratura clapped her hooves in excitement. "Ooh! Thank you, Svengallop!"

She hugged him.

"Right," he managed in her choking grip. "You're welcome."

As the duo passed by the donut shop under serious renovation complete with scaffolds, power tools, and construction ponies (even some pegasi flying near the top of said scaffolds), a dull brown unicorn raced past them, warranting a "Hey! Watch where you're going, you rube!" from Svengallop.

Golden Gavel galloped, everything around him a blur.

Dodged a cart.

Avoided a pony.

Round a corner.

Ran.

Others looked at him, some gasping.

After a minute, he reached his destination with sweat on his face and on his three-piece suit.

Before him was an auction house. It was a medieval-looking house fitted with modern style, for flat concrete protrusions stuck out from the intricately-crafted exterior walls with their curved windows. On the archway over the double doors was this motto: "I add, I increase".

An armored soldier opened the door and carried a small box of items outside down the stairs.

"This isn't possible!" he shouted. "They can't be that fast!"

"We are," the soldier said before he flew over the street.

Golden Gavel dropped his jaw.

"Stop the presses! Stop them all! Stop!"

But, it was useless.

Golden Gavel stood there, holding on to the wall as he saw everything dismantled. Paintings, vases, coins, swords, manuscripts, clothes—all taken down from their respective places and dumped into boring old cardboard boxes. One of the soldiers even tried removing the precious paint off of the wall, but he was reprimanded by his commanding officer and so left the wall alone.

"I didn't get any notice at all!" he said, close to pleading as his knees buckled. "You can't throw these precious historical artifacts away!"

"Yes, we can," the commanding officer said, wearing a bushy mustache and bulky armor as he approached the auctioneer. "You can call us the 'Yes, we can' squad because that's we are capable of. Anyway, this is under direct orders from Princess Celestia herself."

"I know, but—"

"There is no use arguing with a Princess," the officer interjected.

"That's what her court is for!"

He drank a glass of water. "I truly apologize for doing this. But, it is for a better future we all want."

Golden Gavel yanked the glass away. "Don't touch it! This is the very glass that Prince Blueblood's great-grandfather drank aged cider from!"

"We'll sell it off at the highest price," the officer said, yanking it back.

"Wait—what?"

"Yes, you heard that right."

Golden Gavel smacked himself on the face. "Really?! I'm the pony who's supposed to auction those things off! You'll get more money if you let an auctioneer like me handle it!"

The officer chuckled. "Such a moody unicorn. Why didn't you say so?"

Then, a grating of the floor.

They turned around.

Saw a soft sofa pushed out of the door.

"That's not for sale!" Golden Gavel shouted, pointing at the piece of furniture.

"Oh." He tapped the auctioneer on the shoulder. "I forgot to tell you that we're selling the most expensive stuff from your personal belongings as well."

The former auctioneer sat down on the stairway to the sidewalk, hooves covering his eyes. A silent pony there, ignoring the line of soldiers filling up a wagon attached to a carriage of four drivers.

A scarfed white stallion walked up to him and sat down.

"What's up?"

Golden Gavel looked at him straight in the eye. "What? Who are you?"

"Second autograph?" a voice asked.

The two turned their heads at Star Tracker, grinning as he held out a notepad and a quill on one hoof. "I got it pre-inked before I got to here!"

Golden Gavel gestured a hoof toward the many boxes of valuables transported to the wagon.

"Oh. Not the best time." He glanced left and right. "Bye!"

And he dashed out of the scene.

"Distractions," the white pony said. "So, you're semi-famous around here?"

"You could say that," Golden Gavel replied. "But, you only have to wait a week. My name will be stained because of this sudden catastrophe knocking by unannounced."

"That is tragic," he told, shaking his head. "How things go here, I guess."

"I barely know you, and you dare talk about my problems like you're my brother?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Let's say that I know you more than you think," the white pony said. "I also know some of your friends and acquaintances as well, going up the socialite ladder, so to speak."

"It's 'social ladder'."

"Whatever." He smiled. "What I want you to know is that my mission is accomplished."

"What mission are you talking about? Are you a secret agent?" He stood up on the stairs, looking down on him.

The white pony stood up, too, eye-to-eye. "Sort of. That doesn't make me so secret, but I don't care."

"Are you an enemy I've wronged?" Golden Gavel asked, shuddering. "I'm sorry for what I've done, whatever I did!"

"Technically, you've wronged all of us." He lowered his eyebrows. "Equally."

Golden Gavel gasped. Croaking, pointing at him with blinking eyes. "You!"

"Catch me if you can, mister."

And away he ran.

Double Diamond barreled through the closing train doors and fell to the floor.

The train was off, chugging along.

"Ow..." He rubbed a sore hoof. "Next time, no super close escapes."

A sweet giggle.

Diamond got on his four hooves, staring at the mare on the seat. The rays of the setting sun could not pierce her curly mane wrapped in a ponytail. Her scarlet eyes glittered, and that sweet giggle...

"We got one down," he said, taking up the space beside her. "Golden Gavel's going to be gone. If he really wanted to help out his soldier friends, he would've done everything he could to do so. But, he didn't, so I did it for him."

"Looks like the plan with Princess Celestia worked out in the end," Sugar Belle said. "I didn't expect that to work. Then again, she's always kinder than we think."

Double Diamond nodded. "Last step is to wait it out."

"And, see what happens on the news tomorrow," she finished.

"Everypony will be so proud to hear that it's successful," he said. "The Canterlot elite will tumble down. We'll end the nobility's inequality in days!"

"They'll finally see what it feels like to actually work!" she went on, making a smile that was close to evil. "They have to earn the right to eat and drink and own possessions!"

He chuckled.

And blushed.

"I saw that," Sugar Belle quipped, smiling at him.

The train headed Northeast, trudging through plenty corn and wheat fields.

Miser's Dream

It was an eerily quiet Friday night in Bluegrass.

In downtown, buildings scrunched up and huddled together lay before miles and miles of brick road and sidewalk. Streetlights blazed on, emitting bright (perhaps too bright) lights and illuminating the faces of the few who were out and about. Tables, chairs, and benches were not uncommon in this side of the city, though today they were measly occupied—and so, the shops, the eateries, and even the Applesy Racing Stadium with its round trodden track and plentiful bleachers were nigh empty.

One would blame it on a roaming magician.

That costumed blue unicorn stood in front of a semi-circle of an audience, blocking half of the brick road they were on. With a glow of her horn, her yellow traveling wagon unfolded into a spectacle of a stage: cardboard renditions of swirls and rockets and fireworks over a billboard showcasing her cutie mark which was over a brown curtain and some spotlights. Brass on the side topped the prelude to her show as they played a majestic flourish for her.

A bouquet of roses appeared beside her. She grabbed it and bowed, taking off her triangular wizard's hat dressed up in so many stars and circles, complementing her green eyes.

"So, you've come once again to behold the magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie!"

The audience stomped the road in applause, causing some of the passing carriages to ride slower through the resulting tremor.

She jumped up to the stage. "For my opening act, the Great and Powerful Trixie wants you to come closer to witness a magic trick dubbed by yours truly as 'The Deceptive Card Trick!'"

The many ponies around her murmured amongst themselves.

She groaned. "It's a working title."

A table poofed on stage, between her and the audience. It was covered in blue cloth.

"This trick requires a willing volunteer!" Scanned her crowd with a hoof over her eyes. "A-ha! You!" Pointed at a sea green mare with disheveled pink mane.

"Oh? Me?" she asked. "Another time?"

"Why, yes, Caddo Lake," Trixie said, beckoning her to stand behind the table.

She did so, snaking through the crowd to get there.

Trixie examined her from head to hoof. "Hmm. On second thought, Trixie thinks that becoming a recurring volunteer might hurt her integrity as a magician." She turned to her audience. "You might believe that she's actually a partner in crime if I let her volunteer for the third time. So, the Great and Powerful Trixie shall choose somepony else. But..."

Slipped a hoof behind Caddo's ear, brought out a coin.

Everypony else said their "Woah!'s" and "Wow!'s", focused on the bit from nowhere.

Trixie levitated the coin out of her hoof, swung it before her gathering of prospective fans before she placed it on the table. She turned to Caddo. "Are you satisfied with the opening act to the opening act?"

The mare nodded, grinning crazily as she hopped out of the way and back into the crowd, blending in.

That magician rubbed her chin, scanning. "A-ha! You, the pegasus with the unfamiliar face!"

Ponies gave way to the target of her pointed hoof, a violet pegasus with funky mane.

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"I'm Aqua Burst," she replied, fluttering her way to Trixie's side.

"Ah, the perfect pony for the job!" Trixie declared. She eyed her mane. "Is that natural or dyed?"

"All natural, miss!" Aqua Burst answered in bubbly fashion, scratching the tufts on her head to demonstrate.

"Merely a simple question, for that manestyle isn't common in the previous town I've been to." Trixie cleared her throat. "But, that won't matter, because what you—" pointing a hoof at all of her audience lit up under the glaring orange streetlights "—came here for is a magic trick that will make you doubt your eyes forever!"

The ponies murmured once again, scared and afraid.

Trixie made a smug smile as she levitated a pack of cards, faces behind and backs in front. "What the Great and Powerful Trixie asks of you is that you focus on the cards, especially the cards that each of us will be holding." She gulped, noticing a camera in the audience held by a nervy stallion with shaky legs, the camera wobbling close to the ground. "Oh, do you want to take a picture? Fine. Go ahead. You may preserve this historic moment for the remainder of history!"

A flash, and a picture slid out of the slot, the full image fading in of a smiling Trixie, a nervous Aqua Burst, and a levitating pack of cards, all in front of the curtain.

The magician nodded. "You got it?"

The camerapony nodded, smiling as he turned his cap forward.

"I'll sign it later," Trixie said.

She spread the cards out through most of the table's length, their backs facing up.

Every eye was on the mysterious cards.

Trixie made a gesture toward Aqua Burst. "Pick a card. Any card." She turned away, her back facing the ponies. "The Great and Powerful and Honest Trixie will not cheat in this trick."

Aqua Burst picked a card with a wing. She flipped it over and saw what it was.

"You have the card?" she asked, maintaining her position and never even moving her hooves. "Be careful not to blurt it out."

"Yes, Trixie!" she said, her happy attitude not letting up.

"Show it to everypony and make sure that nopony says what's on the card. Absolute silence, please."

She showed the card to the audience and many of them walked closer to take a better look at it.

Two diamonds.

"Everypony got it?"

"Uh, I think they did," Aqua Burst said, returning the card to herself half-way.

"The Great and Powerful Trixie will take your word for it. Now, remember your card and put it neatly back into the row on the table."

She did so.

Trixie turned around, levitated all the cards, floated them into a neat stack, shuffled them—eyes fixated on the magical dexterity and speed of the act.

She spread them out on the table again.

"I will pull out the card that you've picked."

A card glowed magenta, floating up over the table, back facing the audience.

"Is this your card?" Trixie asked with closed eyes.

Aqua Burst grabbed it with a hoof. She held it close to her face. "Why, yes! It is! Two diamonds!"

Trixie levitated it from her grip and flipped it over for the audience to see.

Two diamonds.

And everypony erupted into cheers and claps, whoops and shouts. A window from the teahouse across the street opened and a waiter stomped his hoof at the sudden applause.

Trixie gestured a hoof toward the pony with the camera. "Take another picture. The Great and Powerful Trixie would like some 'before-after' pictures."

In the lively crowd, a flash. Another picture slid out and what faded in was another image of the same ponies but, of course, slightly different.

He took out the first picture and placed them on one hoof.

A gasp.

"Wait! Everypony, wait!"

The crowd stopped the cheering, looking at him.

"See these pictures?" he said, holding them up. "How come we didn't notice?!"

They gathered around the pictures, inspecting them.

Aqua Burst joined them, flying her way there and floating above the crowd with other pegasi to take a closer look.

Trixie levitated a file and rubbed a hoof against it, gazing upon her growing admirers as they scrambled to see what it was.

"How's that possible?!"

"Should I doubt my eyes now?"

"It blows my mind!"

The camerapony rushed to her and smacked the table with the two pictures. "Great and Powerful Trixie, how were you able to do this?!" He pointed to the pictures there.

The first one displayed a blue-clothed table in front of a green-eyed Trixie in front of a yellow curtain. The second one displayed a brown-clothed table in front of a purple-eyed Trixie in front of a yellow curtain.

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh-uh. True magicians never reveal their secrets."

Trixie added a smile to that.

The magician leaned on her wagon on another sidewalk in another part of Bluegrass, sipping a cup of black coffee. It was brick, too, yet the facades were different. Laundry services, locksmiths, gift stores, a shop that sold grass which was blue.

That caught her attention.

Trixie walked inside, ringing the bell over the glass door as she entered.

The powerful smell of fresh lawn and morning dew.

It was a small department store for lawns and lawn-related tools and equipment. Lawn mowers stood in single file, bags of fertilizer rested on tables, and rolls of lawn were put on pedestals since they were the stars of the show. But, the superstar of this tiny retail was the blue lawn also known as "The Bluegrass Blue Grass". It was like an ordinary piece of lawn, but the grass was blue.

Trixie levitated her cup and put it on the counter where a tired cashier rested her head on as she watched the sole shopper behold the blue grass.

A ring of the bell.

Trixie looked behind her.

A green filly. "Hi."

"Hello there, young one," Trixie said before she levitated her cup back to her, leaving the cashier in a state of dismay as she silently reached out toward the coffee.

The cashier gave up and slumbered.

"What are you doing out here alone?" Trixie asked, looking down on her. "Where's your Mom and Dad?"

"My Mom's ordering coffee. She told me I could go around for five minutes. That's how long it takes for her to get coffee and waffles."

Trixie paid attention. "Well, you should be careful out here at night. You'll never know when a Crystal airstrike might hurt you and make you cry."

"Mom always tells me that everyday," she said.

"OK."

Then, Trixie blinked.

"Where's your Dad?" Trixie asked.

"He's not here," the filly bluntly replied. "He went to a far away place with lots of snow and ice. Mom said that he's a brave soldier."

Trixie gulped. "So, he is. Are you...proud of him?"

"I can only write letters to him." She tilted her head in thought. "He writes back. But, I like it when he's here and I'm here and we're together with Mom."

Trixie stared blankly through the glass door.

Across the street, the coffeehouse. Outside, at a table, a cup of coffee and a mare covering her eyes.

Weeping.

She looked out the window of her wagon's door.

A vast landscape of (not blue) grass. Copses of trees were scattered about, giving the place a spaced out ambience coupled with the cool chilling night breeze which swept up some of the leaves. A mountain range was the end of the horizon. Up above, a purple night sky with streams of clouds blocking some of the stars but never the moon.

On the side, a long and wide dirt road much stepped and driven on as could be seen by the deep markings of horseshoes and the lengthy flat trails of carriage wheels. Beside that, a solitary railroad but no sign or sound of any incoming trains.

She closed the window.

Inside, treasure boxes, extra cards, bouquets of flowers, black hats, bird cages, bits, chained hankerchiefs, small tables, and several magic wands. These were littered about, making a cluttered mess of the whole interior. Over there was a short bed.

She sat on the bed and levitated a sack of bits.

Opened it.

Sighed as she closed it.

"Ponies will get upset if nopony stands up to the challenge." She threw the sack to the wall. "To realize that I might be somepony's only joy left when a dear loved one's 'out of town'...and, that foal. I never got her name, but I know there's so many like her, so many in her place."

She eyed the sack again.

"Does it give me lots of bits? No. It's less profitable to be a magician when everypony's busy with 'the cause' or whatever they call it these days."

She put her hat on.

"But, if the Great and Powerful Trixie can expand her base of fans and support them while doing her best to dodge arrows and not get killed—because being dead is usually bad—then, the Great and Powerful Trixie shall move forward!"

She stood up on her bed and pointed toward the sky. Or, the ceiling.

"Right in the morning."

And she slept.

Brooks

Do you want to know something funny if you try to stick to grammar rules while talking about time travel? Those rules break down.

Dismiss my humor as dry as a rock, but it's true.

Say, you want to stop a time traveling villain. He goes back into the past. How will you phrase the statement, "We will stop him!" if the act of stopping him would take place in the past? I've posited this seemingly impossible question in some niche sci-fi magazines years ago, and the answers I've seen are what you would expect. "We will have stopped him!" is the tamest of them all, and already, ponies at large can't form something even close to a somewhat correct answer. Here are some of the answers that pulled no punches unlike the one above:

"We will stopped him!"

"We will stop him in the past!"

"We will had stopped him!"

"We'll stop him ten years ago!"

"We had stopped him later!"

However, this little comedic pause from all the heady stuff you've digested from the previous chapters (I'm assuming you did) serves to make a point: That it's hard to talk about time traveling actors without a proper frame of reference (and, sometimes, it's hard even when there is.

Think about it. Star Swirl the Bearded's present is our past. Our present is his future. Our great-grandfoals' present is our future, our present their past. Bring ponies from those points of time together in one room and force them into a conversation about time travel or, at least, "present history". Not only will you be blasted by lots of angry ponies, but you will also learn that they'll have a hard time getting along (except in dishing out revenge on you for your hypothetical time travel shenanigans).

A bang on the wagon.

Trixie levitated a bit on to the open book and went to the open door window. She poked her head out and looked around in the lonely night.

A pegasus mare banging on the wagon with a hammer.

"Hey!" Trixie yelled, shaking a hoof at her. "You dare vandalize the vehicle of the Great and Powerful Trixie?!"

"Not really, ma'am," the pegasus said as she hovered to the ground. "I'm part of the Equestria Games Society and I'm nailing notices of the upcoming Equestria Games which will begin three Mondays from now."

Trixie recoiled at that. "The Equestria Games?"

"That's what I just said," the pegasus said, placing the hammer on the grass. "They'll be taking place in Ponyville. Not that far from here if you plan to use the train, but since you have your very own...wagon..."

"Well, the Great and Powerful Trixie does not distrust wheels. She merely prefers the practicality and the effort dedicated to pulling one's own wagon!"

"Uh-huh." The pegasus scratched her head in confusion. "I'll...leave you alone since, uh, the notice is done and I, uh, already notified you so reading that notice is redundant." She bowed her head a little. "I apologize for damaging your wagon."

"As you should, but the Great and Powerful Trixie forgives you."

She levitated her wizard's hat on to the pegasus's head.

"Oh!" The mare looked up, handling and fondling the hat. "I...I don't know what to say."

"Say, 'Thank you, oh Great and Powerful Trixie, for letting me wear this one-of-a-kind hat made to grace the head of the Great and Powerful Trixie!'"

The mare flinched. "That's a mouthful."

"Then, you don't get the hat," Trixie said as she magically pulled it back to her head. "Besides, I only got two of these and the other one's for emergencies."

The mare nodded. "I'm sorry over what I did to your wagon."

She left.

Trixie was alone once again in the open country, more dirt road and railway back and forth.

"Huh. The Equestria Games are in Ponyville. A trip by wagon with lots of stops to put the Great and Powerful Trixie's feats of magical prowess on display...that will take about one week."

She raised a hoof to the sky.

"I'll do it!"

On Monday night, under the same reading light, Trixie lay on her bed with the book in front of her.
There are three main types of timelines from what could be gathered from the tons of sci-fi books I've read (and, yes, I say tons because I put all of them on a weighing scale once and it went over two tons, so I am correct when I say "tons" in that regard):

The Unchangeable Timeline: You can't change the past. Even if you did go back in time, what you did in the past was already done. In a sense, you were only "waiting" to do what you'll do in the past.

A good example of this is this very short story: Say, there's a building that burned down some time ago. A time traveler wants to visit that building before it mysteriously burned down to see for himself what it looked like. He goes back in time and visits the building. During his stay, he trips on a burning oil lamp and sets the whole building on fire. Of course, he wants to stay alive, so he exits the disaster he caused and goes back in time. Then, he realizes that it was himself who burned the building down that time ago.

The Changeable Timeline: You can change the past. This is your usual time travel stuff that appears in the most popular of sci-fi novels (that feature the subject heavily) like "Timely Business", "The Chrono Code", and "The Paradox of the Temporary". You go back in time, do something, and go to a present that's changed.

A good example for this type of timeline is this: A time traveler regrets not getting pizza for a friend last night. So, what he does is he goes back in time, buys pizza, and gives it to his friend that night before traveling back to his present. In this changed present, his friend is happier since he has received a pizza last night.

It's also true that this type of timeline is the one that causes the most problems (and headaches) down the line, since there's only one timeline. It's rife with the possibility for creating paradoxes that, well, nopony's actually caused yet so we don't really know what would happen if a paradox would occur (though lots of authors agree that it's not a good thing). More on paradoxes later but, for now, prepare your mind if you want to dive in to the realm of time travel novels that rely on this kind of timeline.

The Multiversal Timelines: Yes, you read that right. The plural "Timelines" with an "s" at the end. You can change the past, but you'll end up having two timelines, the original timeline where you didn't go back in time and the new timeline where you did go back in time. The former is same old, same old. The latter experiences all the ramifications of what you did, from major things like different heads of state to minor trivia like the most popular pizza flavor in Manehattan being ten cheese instead of five cheese.

Since I've stated examples for the two other kinds of timeline(s), I'm obligated to give you an example for this one: A time traveler goes back in time and gives a random pony a lump sum of a million bits. He goes back in time but then realizes that the present he's in has nothing changed. The random pony is largely unknown in this original present. Lucky for him, his time machine can go to the new timeline to see what's happened. He goes to that timeline and sees that random pony as a rich philanthropist who gives generously to everypony he comes across. He is well-known and well-loved by all.

On Friday night, a kilometer or so outside a city with an entrance adorned with two fountains spewing out water high into the air, Trixie was tucked up on her bed, once again reading the book inside her wagon.
....Alternate timelines are a fickle thing, morally speaking.

One of my biggest gripes in juvenile sci-fi fiction is that it treats alternate timelines like trash. Oh, you accidentally caused a brand new timeline? Too bad, there's a plot to follow, so let's move along. Nothing to see here. It's as if whoever churns out these stories has a vendetta against those timelines without even knowing it.

Want to see the prime example of this? Don't look any further than "The Journeypony's Many Worlds". The titular Journeypony sees time travel as nothing more than a vacation cruise through time. So, he does what most of us expects such a pony would do: Hop to various points in time and see historical events unfold. Well, since he's there, he's impacting the timeline. In one of his temporal jaunts, he bumps into Princess Celestia and Nightmare Moon in their epic duel and eats some popcorn. This causes Nightmare Moon to be distracted and be promptly defeated by Princess Celestia. The narration goes on to state that he comes back to the present and then desires to go to the future (again) on some whimsical whim. What makes this awfully egregious is that the author then off-hoofedly writes down the differences in that new timeline: The Princesses build sea cities, Equestria discovers lasers much earlier, and millions of ponies use jumping as the main form of transportation.

I've seen knock-offs marketed with better sales pitches than this.

To be totally serious, though, this displays a wanton carelessness from the Journeypony about the timelines he's making, as if you can merely classify alternate timelines with three curt descriptors. While I understand that this is for schoolponies and that some things are "dumbed down" to make it understandable for them (a practice which I've railed against ever since I discovered that it existed, but talking about that is beyond the scope of this book), you subtly teach the foals that these timelines have no real substance, no real history behind them, no real ponies within these many times.

Extrapolate that to real-life analogues. A foal visits a city he's never heard of. The ponies there act differently. Why? Different culture, different upbringing, different history, different everything. But, if the foal has read "The Journeypony's Many Worlds" and makes the ignorant mistake of connecting new timelines with new cities, the only thing that will come off for him from that lovely trip is that the ponies there are obsessed with fishing, are addicted to bungee jumping, and would rather chop gum into little pieces first than eat it whole outright. That foal has compartmentalized an entire city, full of complex and intricate interactions and equally different (if not more so) ponies that are different everyday, into three phrases.

You don't. Do. That.

On Monday, early morning, with the sun as if a few meters above the hills, Trixie pulled her wagon into Ponyville.

She remained silent as she walked by the town's many cozy cottages and homely shops. Ponies walked about, minding their own business at their tables, their food, their chairs, their couches. Behind windows, behind doors, more ponies.

Darker.

Trixie looked up.

Pegasi creating a low canopy of clouds, covering Ponyville.

The magician sighed. "Another air raid about to go off? Aren't the Crystal ponies far out from here?" She shook her head. "Nevermind. Now, where's the spa? All this pulling's tiring me out."

Humid yet cool.

Trixie rested on a comfy recliner-like chair, a warm towel bundling her mane. Much of her face was covered in imported mud, her eyes protected and soothed by cucumber slices. Two beauticians massaged her hooves.

"That hits the spot," Trixie blabbed.

"I do agree with you," a voice said.

"Huh?" A frown. "You're the pony beside me, right?"

"Sort of. I'm behind you. In fact, I didn't even notice you until you spoke up."

"Really? The Great and Powerful Trixie is also the Stealthy!"

A giggle. "If you kept quiet, you would've kept that title for yourself, too."

"Ah! You've trodded on what you can rightfully describe as rightfully that of the Great and Powerful and Stealthy Trixie! Take care, lest you face the wrath of the Great and Powerful Trixie!"

"Wow. You really call yourself that, huh? Do you hate first-person pronouns or what?"

Trixie growled. "Oh, so now you think you can begin to think yourself as an equal, to throw out frivolous words like that to my face?"

"Uh, miss," one of the beauticians said, "you should stop moving. It's hard for us to—"

"Fine! But, you better watch out!"

The beautician shrugged her shoulders as she continued massaging the Trixie who did not see anything at all.

Trixie left the spa.

A minute later, the cloaked pony left the spa as well.

She tip-hoofed on the streets, hiding at a moment's notice whenever a pony came into view. Around a wall, under an unattended cart, inside a bush or a shrub.

A few minutes of sneaking around, and she got to her destination: the boutique turned candy store.

The pony went inside.

That brightly-colored atmosphere and theme was there; so was the sweet scent of the candies themselves. Shelves of the same candies, yet something new was put on some columns: huge lollipops the size of pony heads. They even came in different flavors: strawberry, blueberry, apple, and orange. A sign beside them said, "More flavors to come!"

Only other pony inside was Bon Bon. The kitchens were unstaffed, their machinery off.

"Good morning!" the candy pony greeted with a cheerful wave, though had a suspicious eye on the newcomer. "I haven't seen you before. What do you want?"

The cloaked mare locked the door and closed the window curtains.

A darker store.

Bon Bon got out of the counter and leaped right in front of her. "And, what do you think you're doing, intruder?"

"I'm not sure if reverse psychology is going to work on the Ponyville populace, Agent Sweetie Drops."

Bon Bon raised an eyebrow. "So, what? I've heard that super secret agencies take refuge in being as obvious as possible. Hiding in plain sight. I understand if you're very paranoid, but...I'm not a secret agent of a secret agency, doing some secret things and reading secret documents with secret information. I'm just your better-than-average confectioner who passionately concocts candies for a living." A pause, a dead on stare. "Read all the papers I have stashed here and in my house. They'll check out."

"Likely story," the cloaked pony said. "Then again, you're quite good for the pony who got the bugbear in the first place."

Sweetie Drops gasped. Scared, eyes wide, hoof on cheek. "How did you know? I heard rumors that the league's still up and running somewhere in Manehattan, but I didn't know they were true!" Inhaled. "Unless, of course, you're one of those leftover pals who cleans things up and clears agents' memories of their whole agent lives. Well," fumbling a hoof on the floor, "I've contemplated this before, and I'm willing to give up those precious memories if it means safeguarding the secrecy of S.M.I.L.E. I have a good life here in Ponyville as 'Bon Bon' and, to be honest, I wouldn't trade it for the world."

A pause. "You don't have to do that, Sweetie Drops," the cloaked pony said, taking a step forward and peeking out the window for a second.

She raised an eyebrow again. "Then, what is it? The agency's back up, so what's in it for me? Do I have to move out of Ponyville and relocate to Manehattan for whatever top secret operations you have for me?"

"You could say that we've...expanded."

"What do you mean?" she asked, fearful.

"The war against King Sombra has taken its toll on us. You can deduce the rest."

Bon Bon's eyes looked down. Thinking. Another gasp. "You're going to bring the agency to the war?"

"Agent Furlong's bringing the agency to the war. We're already experts in the intelligence division, so it's a matter of time before Princess Celestia calls us up to conduct espionage behind enemy lines."

"How long will I have to stay out of Ponyville?" Bon Bon quickly asked. "I've made lots of friends here in Ponyville! You can't just swipe me away like that!"

The cloaked pony shook her head. "This is exactly why we keep agents at a certain distance from the rest of the world. To answer your question, I can't give even a rough estimate, for the war is constantly in flux. We'll inform you when it's time."

She headed toward the door.

"What's your name?" Sweetie Drops asked, hoof outstretched to her.

"Agent Brooks."

The cloaked pony left, opening the door with a blue wing.

She dashed past the trees leading up to the farm, halting every now and then, breathing almost silently.

Away she went.

A rustle.

The three ponies at the arched entrance to Sweet Apple Acres looked about them, Trixie holding on to her hat as the wind blew.

"You're really sure that there's nopony else here?" Applejack asked her, looking past the magician's shoulders and focusing on the traveling wagon behind her.

"I think so," Trixie said. She turned to Filthy Rich. "So, what were you two talking about again?"

"Oh, I was consoling her about the change coming over the old farm," Filthy Rich answered, standing beside her. "We'll take the mayor's word for it that it'll be reverted back to the good ol' barnhouse of yesterday."

Trixie studied the red structure over there. "It looks like a barnhose to me. What's the big deal?"

"They're doin' it in stages," Applejack replied. "If you haven't noticed, there's...less apple trees in the fields."

She raised her head a little higher to take a look.

The hills were still covered in many apple trees, though there were markedly fewer trees as if somepony took out every other tree.

"They're also green," Applejack said. "Lots of 'em. Filthy Rich found some fert'lizer specifically for sour apple trees and their kind...said it's cheaper than sweet apple fertilizer."

Filthy Rich nodded as he pulled his tie, facing Trixie. "Do you plan to stay in Ponyville for the month? We're wrapped up in two big events: the Equestria Games and the Summer Sun Celebration. Having a magic tricker around would certainly benefit both you and us Ponyville folk."

Trixie turned her head down, pensively staring at the dirt path below. Looked up. "Yes, Filthy."

The businesspony grimaced. "I prefer 'Mr. Rich'."

"Oops!" Trixie covered her mouth.

Applejack chuckled.

She sat on her bed.

It was a dark night. No light but a lantern illuminated her bedroom. She could see the rug jutting out from under her bed, the closed door with an apple sign on it, the window to the outside where she could see more grassy hills and fewer trees.

On her hooves, a package with a letter written on it:
For Applejack,
After the Summer Sun Celebration, they're going to install simple processing machines. Nothing too complicated. Just pull the lever and the conveyor belt will roll. It's up to you to sort the apples.

Consider these hairnets as a practical heads-up from me. I don't want you and your family to suffer blame because of hair strands in the cans. I know you're very careful, but this is very new to you.
From, Filthy Rich

She tore open the package.

Two hairnets. One small, labeled for the mane; one large, labeled for the tail.

"Welcome to a whole different Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack," she said to herself, gripping the hairnets.

In her dark bedroom.

News among Other Things: Summer Moves In

On Friday, this letter was carried by mailpony to Princess Celestia herself in her regal bedroom of white and many windows.
Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia
With the onset of summer and autumn approaching fast, I propose herewith a plan to demolish the defenses of the Crystal Empire once and for all, a plan of which Your Royal Highness may think beneficial. What I propose is a huge fall offensive, meaning that we withold our troops from multiple attacks this early on. We need to train and equip them, for we cannot rely on beginner's luck forever.

This fall offensive will go as planned: Our Western Coast Front will focus their energy on Polnook, the southernmost city under Crystal control. Troops too far away on the front will hold the line. Then, our Manehattan Front will push back the enemy full-scale—nothing left behind. To support this, our Eastern Navies will be bombarding coastal outposts and hostile ports. Finally, the Canterlot Front will break through the weakest points of the line, causing panic within Crystal high command. This front must have our special divisions, which is why I've ordered a move of the Wonderbolts and the Rock Troopers to the Canterlot Front effective at the end of the month.

This offensive must begin as soon as autumn starts. Everyday, the Crystal ponies entrench themselves, making them harder targets to take out. Past the point of no return, we may have to resort to less conventional solutions.

Your truly,

General Spearhead

On Monday, "The Canterlot Sun" featured a picture of a pony lighting up a large torch. Before him, many bleachers packed full of ponies, the open grass, and the many loacales, principalities, and kingdoms represented by the best of the best in an assortment of sports—waving flags. The headline news was:
The Ponyville Equestria Games Begins!
This year's Equestria Games kicked off at exactly 6:00 AM today in Ponyville at the newly erected Ponyville Open Sports Stadium.

Despite wartime conditions, 25 groups are participating in the Equestria Games with representatives on every sport to be showcased.

As of 6:22 AM, over 2,000 creatures are in Ponyville to watch the Games.

Those who want to join the live audience must book their stay in a nearby city such as Canterlot, Plate, and Bellsworth, for all Ponyville lodging establishments are fully booked.

Due to the war, the current Equestria Games will end on next Saturday night which is the night before the Summer Sun Celebration which will also take place in Ponyville.

On Wednesday, a letter was sent to Rainbow Dash in her barracks near Manehattan.
Dear Dashie,
It's sad that you have a scarred eye! I'm sure that must've hurt really bad! But, one of your Wonderbolt friends wrote to me that you still see perfectly! Wow! You have such amazing health that you can beat up half an army with an injured eye because it doesn't matter!

We brought you an extra first aid kit complete with bandages, gauze, alcohol, and even more chemicals that we can't pronounce, but I'm sure you can do it because you're the best hard-word-pronouncer ever!
From your loving Mom,
Windy Whistles!

On Friday, a sealed envelope inside another sealed envelope was given to a pizzeria in Manehattan known as Hay's Pizza. A letter was hidden there.
Got back. Sombra's Operation Gold Mine is real. Rolling out shortly after Summer Sun Celebration. Inform everypony, fast track to the Princesses.

"Uh, what's that?" a customer in line said, pointing at the paper.

The cashier grinned and dropped it.

He looked over the counter.

No letter was there.

On Saturday, a small article in "The Manehattan Times" read:
Cashier Fired from Local Pizzeria
Knead Peel, a new recruit who worked as a cashier in Hay's Pizza, was kicked out today. According to the pizzeria's owner,
Cornicione, Knead Peel displayed behavior unworthy of even his basic job. He has racked up a record of recklessness and carelessness, Cornicione said, which culminated in him tarnishing the name of the establishment by not being careful enough to avoid splating several customers with their own pizzas.

On Monday, President Gestal of Griffonstone made a public statement that circulated much of the Equestrian press:
I, President Gestal over the Griffon Kingdom, and the Griffon Council have decided upon the course of action to take regarding the Great Crystal War. Our position in the matter is that of neutrality: we shall not give aid to either side of the battle.

Our reasoning is thus: We do not support the Crystal Empire in their endeavors due to their blatantly evil intentions upon not only Equestria but also the rest of their neighbors if not the whole world. Reports from conquered cities show no improvement to the life in those places; in fact, they are worse off than before.

We do not support Equestria since doing so would contradict our core political beliefs and principles about helping kingdoms and empries whose ideologies and philosophies are not compatible with ours. We believe that we would be exhibiting two-faced behvaior if we choose to send our resources to an entity who we cannot be on good terms with while holding a good conscience.

To dispel any rumors or fears, we declare that we are not loosening our relations with Equestria. We are thoughtful, intelligent allies that see it best that we cooperate and not fight. However, it is to the advantage of the both of us that we do not join this war.

Griffons who are citizens of Equestria, however, are exempt from this. They can choose to volunteer for Equestria if they so wish.

On Thursday, an image of several sheep being sheared in the pristine fields of some picturesque flatland was the headline photo of the day for "Cinnamon Sentinel". The headline news was as follows:
Big Order of Sheep Incoming
Yesterday, Princess Celestia ordered 10,000 sheep to be herded in select "shearing centers" located strategically throughout Equestria to meet the demand of cheap and efficient uniforms for the soldiers. Farms everywhere are urged to raise sheep for this unique circumstance.

The wool gathered from these sheep would either be picked up or sent away to various clothes processing centers in the remaining metropolises....

On Friday, a letter was shoved inside a full mailbox in front of Lyra and Bon Bon's house.
Dear Bon Bon,
I am very sorry for not replying to you sooner. Getting swamped up in a rush of orders from the most prominent clients in the most trendy city has not given me enough time to give you an answer.

I've seen the photos you sent of the grand opening of your candy store. While I am glad that it has gone smoothly, there is one thing that I have to protest against: the paint! The horrid paint! Have you lost your mind?! Those colors just clash with the natural beauty of Ponyville! Who told you that orange, green, and red slapped haphazardly over the walls was a great idea?! I demand that you revert it back to its original color immediately!

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. I hope that it's satisfactory.

From,

Rarity

On Saturday, in the early morning, before the sun was out, a few pegasi flew about and posted copies of this notice on the doors of each house:
Summer Sun Celebration
It's coming up! What a nice way to cap off the Equestria Games: having the Summer Sun Celebration hosted here as our closing ceremony's closing ceremony! Get your party face on because, after the Equestria Games are over, it's going to be a rocking time all night!

Don't worry, everypony! There's no strict rules to follow here! Do what you'll do and let's make it the best Summer Sun Celebration ever!

As they nailed the notices on the doors, a white figure stood on the crest of a hill under the chilly night. Her mane floated about, a bright anomaly against the dark starry sky.

Princess Celestia looked upon Ponyville from afar.

Solstice

Saturday morning and afternoon came and went. Now, it was night.

Ponyville was festooned up in the Summer Sun Celebration festivities. Yellow banners hung everywhere—from the balconies, the rooftops, the banner posts, the trees, even the clouds. Electro music blared from the speakers installed here and there as Vinyl Scratch, a white unicorn with striped neon blue hair, put on her purple shades and continued her role as a disco jockey over some turntables. Tall cakes were hauled from one place to another as hungry ponies gorged on the plenty of food.

Colorful lights dressed up the town in rays of many hues. Shouts and laughter filled the air.

A magenta unicorn ran up to Mr. Cake who was pulling a wagon full of cakes and pies. "Sir, have you seen Princess Celestia?"

Mr. Cake shook his head. "No, I haven't. Don't you think it's a bit too early to be expecting her? We hit sundown only half an hour ago, Amethyst."

"That's the thing," she said, panic in her eyes. "Is she late? Is she wrapped up in some trouble one of us caused somewhere in some corner of town we haven't checked yet?"

Mr. Cake shook his head again. "Princess Celestia will come when she comes. For now, enjoy the party! This might be the last Summer Sun Celebration we'll have in Ponyville."

Amethyst Star breathed in and breathed out. "I'll take your word, Mr. Cake. Thank you."

"Don't mention it!" Mr. Cake said as she walked away. "Don't let your organizing job get you stressed out!"

Her mane streamed about in the air.

Princess Celestia walked on the fenced dirt path, seeing the excess of apple trees on her left and right, green apple trees.

Alone she was, feeling the cold breeze whip up her mane by an inch or two.

Owl hoots, cricket chirps.

A rabbit hopped across the path, over the fence.

Her surroundings under a deep blue tint.

Looming ahead, the barnhouse.

She sighed.

Walked on.

A minute later, she was at the side door. Through the window, she could see Apple Bloom stir up some apple jam inside a pot with Applejack watching over her.

Knocked on it.

They turned to the door. "Who is it?" Applejack called out.

Celestia giggled. "I think you know."

The two Apple ponies gasped, Apple Bloom almost dropping her stirrer. "Princess Celestia?!" they yelled together.

Apple Bloom galloped to the door, opened it, and bowed down before her. "It's a mighty big thing to be meetin' you, Princess Celestia!"

Applejack gave her a scowl before going to the Princess and bowing down herself, taking her hat off. "Yer' Highness."

Celestia entered their humble abode. "Don't do that for too long. You might cramp your knees."

They stood up, giving the Princess a puzzled look.

She giggled again. "A little royal humor for you."

Then, Apple Bloom jumped up into the air, catching the Princess's attention. "This is gonna be awesome! We have the Princess inside our barn!"

Applejack brushed her sister to the side, putting up a grin for Celestia. "So, what brings ya' here?"

"Oh, I'm here to check on the food for the Summer Sun Celebration. Not a lot else."

The Princess took a good look at Applejack.

She was wearing two hairnets, one for her mane and one for her tail.

Celestia's smile dimmed.

The alicorn and the farmpony strolled about outside, never straying too far from the barn and its lights as they were always in sight. The faint smell of apples could be sensed as they walked on the dirt path.

"Applejack," the Princess began in her regally kind voice, "you've noticed nothing suspicious ever since the start of this war?"

"Nope, yer' Highness," Applejack replied, shaking her head. "Well, other than false alarms 'bout spies in town. That was suspicious, but a fake kind o' suspicious."

"Interesting." She slowly nodded her head, pondering. "What about, hm, your friend Rarity? How is she doing in Manehattan?"

"Her fancy boutique there's doin' swell," the farmpony answered. "I'm surprised that there's still lots of demand for fancy suits an' dresses, considerin' there's a big giant wall of Crystal ponies a pegasus's flight away."

"They're doing their best to retain their dignity at all costs," Celestia explained, her mane glittering under the stars and the moon. "It may not be the best action to pursue, but it is a noble one."

They walked some more, nearer to the barn.

"I assume that the pre-dinner fiesta is done," Celestia spoke. "I must leave you to your duties once again."

"Sure thing, Princess Celestia!" Applejack said, stopping to bow down again. "It's a priv'lige to be before you!"

Celestia smiled. "You don't have to do that all the time."

Under the sparkling night.

"Pardon the thought of it, your Highness," Mayor Mare said as she paced around a single table in town hall's circular chamber of files and cabinets—lit up by several hanging lanterns— "but, I do question your rationale for letting the Summer Sun Celebration go as planned. Is it a bread and circuses ploy?"

"Nothing of the sort, mayor," Celestia said, waving a hoof as if to banish the thought outright. "I don't want to drag our subjects into perpetual dismay. It's not escaping from reality, it's merely facing it head on while smiling and laughing. The war may dampen our moods for the moment, but that shouldn't stop us from enjoying the life that we do have."

The mayor nodded. "Yes, Princess, but some ponies may doubt you on that."

Celestia made a sly smile. "Is that so? I shall speak with my actions and my attitude during the Celebration and beyond, and it'll be up to them to judge."

Mayor Mare shivered a bit. "What if they will conduct a raid in Ponyville? Or, worse, Canterlot?"

"We have them covered," the Princess told, gesturing toward the sky out through the window. "That's why I've brought in additional guards to patrol the village. Canterlot is always on high alert, so there's no need to worry about a surprise attack of Canterlot."

The mayor rested her head on the table, feeling its freezing cold. Shivered some more.

A dark and quiet room. Also small, for the two Princesses had little space between each other.

Some mirrors lying around. Old dusty paintings. An unused bed. A single window that gave the two of them a grand view of the outside night: Ponyville awash in lights of all colors, crowds heading their way to the town hall they were in, the sky in the night's final hour as the moon gradually dipped toward the mountains in the horizon.

Their manes and their tails flowed about, glittering and glimmering.

"This is it, Luna," Celestia said, putting a hoof on her sister's shoulder. "The first Summer Sun Celebration you shall take part in. You will no longer be remembered as an evil legend. You will be remembered as the good, caring, loving pony you've always been, protecting the dream realm and securing the safety of our sleeping ponies."

Tears forming. Silence.

A choke.

Celestia wrapped a leg around her neck. "Don't hold it back, sister." A pause. Closed eyes. "I didn't hold back my joy when you were saved from that monster, when you were redeemed in the eyes of all Equestria."

Sobs, tears streaming. Both of them.

Amidst the happy sorrow: "Luna, this C-Celebration...will n-not celebrate your defeat. No. From th-this day forth...it will celebrate...your r-r-return."

A hug in that dark place, flickers of moonlight shining in reflected by the drops.

"Ahem!"

Everypony in the main hall went quiet.

A red carpet divided the audience into two. Balconies served as the seats for the little orchestra in their disparate places. Banners strewn about from the ceiling, the colossal windows allowing everyone inside a spotless view of the sky about to usher in the morning. Balloons and streamers littered around, though organized enough that they added some taste to the whole occasion.

Murmurs, whispers. Some pegasi flying over the floor and their fellow ponies, the air their "chairs".

Mayor Mare, who was standing on the platform at the end of the hall and under some spotlight, tapped on the microphone. "This thing's on, right?"

The question echoed throughout the room; a few ponies in front covered their ears.

"Whoops!" She adjusted her glasses in shame.

Everypony was silent.

"Good evening, fillies and gentlecolts! In a few minutes, you'll witness the beginning of the Summer Sun Celebration, and it's my honor to present to you the very ponies who will start it all.

"But, before I continue any further, I must tell you that this year's Summer Sun Celebration will be very different. There was never a celebration like this one, and there will never be a celebration like it again. 'Why?' you may ask. It's because this Summer Sun Celebration will not only commemorate the beginning of the longest day of the year, but it will also commemorate the return of a dear pony who ought to be—and is now—close to our hearts.

"This pony is Princess Luna herself. Her first year has been a rocky time for all of us, but most especially for our dear Princess. She's returned to a completely different Equestria from the land she once knew, and she had a difficult time adapting to this day and age. However, with the help of every one of us, most of all Princess Celestia herself, she is not only back with full power but she is also more than able to do her duties as the Princess of the Night.

"Above all, this Summer Sun Celebration will celebrate not just the longest day of the year, nor just the fact that Princess Luna is our Princess once again. This Celebration will celebrate the return of our dear Princess Luna, the pony we should've known all these years ago. Thanks to the heroism of none other than Princess Celestia herself, using the Elements of Harmony and even risking their existence to save her very own sister, Equestria is ruled by the two Royal Sisters—as it should be.

"Without further ado, I present to you the ponies who give us the day and the night: Princess Celestia and Princess Luna!"

The curtains were opened at a higher balcony, revealing the two Princesses standing side-by-side.

Everypony else erupted into cheering roar.

The two sisters looked at each other in the eye.

"Just like old times?" Celestia asked, smiling.

Luna smiled back. "Just like the old times."

Her horn glowed blue.

Her sister's horn glowed yellow.

Everypony looked up, some going out of the town hall to have a clearer glimpse of the sky.

The moon was lowered. Stars twinkled out.

The sky. From blue to a brighter violet to pink.

Moon out.

Bright shining sun in.

Blinding rays.

From pink sky to blue.

Sunrise.

Morning Royal Rounds

The morning sun beamed over the faraway hills and mountains, glints on the orange flagpoles where banners whipped about in the breeze—rays waking many up to yet another morning basked in yet another sunrise. A huge hedge wall surrounded a great portion of land, covering up the garden maze that went on for a good half mile or so, the exit signified by the greater number of flags though cut off by countless misdirections and dead ends.

At this side of the maze, statues proliferated the park grounds. Here, a pegasus adorned with hearts, about to shoot a heart with a bow. There, a robed Earth pony holding an orange flag with three yellow diamonds on it.

Over here, a little to the side though not distant from the entrance, was a statue of someone who was not a pony. Instead, it was a hyrbrid of a creature: bearded reptilian; antler and horn; paw and claw; wings, one pegasus's and one bat's; snake tail tipped with hair.

Before it, a long table and two benches where two ponies sat beside each other.

A.K. Yearling ripped out a marked page of the calendar and threw it at the trash can nearby. "There. Another month gone."

Her gray companion looked at her in askance. "What are you doing that for?"

Silence. Staring off. "Not much. I've let her slip last night. I was this close to catching her—" putting her two forehooves close together but not close enough to touch, to illustrate "—but she poofed out of the area." Shaking her head, she held on to her hat, the wind trying to throw it off.

That friend curled some of her striped purple-white mane. "She must be a good spy...if she is a spy that is."

"I'm leaning towards that," she replied, facing her. "Her being a third party is still an open possibility."

"True."

The two looked off to the sunrise above, feeling the cool wind thrusting stray leaves to loops and leaps in the air, its vigorous sound filling their ears.

"I don't want to burst your bubble, Velvet," Yearling said, breaking the silence, "but...I also know this might sound treasonous, considering why we're here."

"You're getting tired of sitting here in front of a weird statue," Twilight Velvet spoke bluntly.

"Exactly." A pause. "I know that Princess Celestia shifts ponies around every now and then, but we're not working or, well, doing anything."

"It's worth it," Velvet replied. "We're keeping Equestria safe from Discord's release. Granted, I don't know why the Princess chose the two of us—I mean, we're acquaintances and I know you and you know me, but we're not the best of friends and all and—oops!" She covered her mouth, backing away from her. "Oh, did I hurt your feelings?"

Yearling smiled. "I get what you mean. Perhaps there's not that many friendly ponies left in Canterlot." A pause as a sly grin appeared. "Have you seen those scores of nobility marching out?" She snickered. "I'm sure the rest of us 'peasants' are overjoyed at that."

Velvet snickered, too. "Tell me about it!"

Trumpet blares.

They looked up.

A pegasus chariot landing on the stretch of grass before them. The four armored white guards skidded to a halt as Princess Celestia herself stepped down on to the ground.

A smile on her face. "Good morning, my little ponies."

Those "little ponies" stood up and bowed down in front of her.

Celestia brought a hoof to her face; a blushing smile. "You don't have to do that every time we come across each other."

The two got up.

That monarch peered at the jumbled mess of a statued creature known as Discord. "It's in perfect condition." She turned to her subjects. "You're relieved of your admittedly strange duties. I will task two other ponies to take up the helm."

Yearling and Velvet nodded, giving her respecting expressions.

"In the meantime, I will attend to...pressing matters."

Celestia got back to her chariot.

Waved at them. "Farewell."

And away she was.

In some wide open grass field where not much else could be seen even at the horizon, the Princess stood in front of a rumpled stallion wearing a pair of glasses and a blue robe with stars, presenting beside some long-barreled machine with a wheel and some armor plates attached to it.

"I've got something better than cannons or mortar!" he yelled as he rested a hoof on his new-fangled weapon. "I call it, 'the artillery cannon'! It's the best thing since sliced bread!—pardon the cliché." A cough and a sneeze. "Wow! I have spring fever in the middle of the summer! What are the odds?"

"Go on, " Celestia said, a hint of frustration in her voice.

The unicorn levitated a heavy shell, sweating as he struggled to place it inside the chamber.

Locked it inside.

Set off a heavy weight against the barrel's backside.

Covered his ears.

Boom.

Smoke rising out of the cannon. In the distance, a stream of dirt jolted up to the sky.

She and her guards looked on at what they had just witnessed.

"Well, heh, it's a work in progress! I can't rely on weights to fire the thing—unwieldly, unreliable, and unsafe! It's a prototype, yes, but give me, say, a month or two to kink out the defects and the imperfections and it'll be in operating status in no time, Princess!" She saluted her—and his glasses fell off, prompting him to grab it with his hooves.

Celestia nodded. "Your voluminous reading has paid off, Sunburst. In all truthfulness, I cannot reward a pony who serves up new ways of hurt and pain, but I feel that I must do so. After all, this may prove to bring a swift end to the war; the Crystal ponies may give up at the sheer sight of it, despite what that mind control spell has conditioned them to think."

Sunburst nodded rapidly. "Why, yes, yes, of course!"

A pause in that field. "You may now rest. Your two jobs have mentally strained you too much. Besides, you need to get up later at night to meet up with your fellow mages for a special meeting—am I right?"

He nodded again. "That's why I've ordered a whole box of energy drinks! After twenty minutes from my power nap, boom! I'll be up and at 'em like a badger doling out honey! No rest for the wizardly!"

The guards exchanged confused glances with each other.

"Really, Sunburst," Celestia said, dropping her formality a bit. "You need rest."

One of his eyes twitched. "Are you sure about that, your Highness?"

She opened the door and a bell rang.

The librarian stood up from her seat, rushed around the counter, hastily put on her glasses, and bowed down before her. "Princess Celestia! I don't know what I can do to satisfy your needs in this unworthy library!"

Celestia nodded. "Don't worry." She breathed in the musty smell of dusty old books, appreciating the clean shelves of ordered tomes on the walls and in the aisles. "I see that you're quite the housekeeper."

That librarian stood up from her prostrate position. "I...I don't know the words I could—"

The Princess chuckled. "Ironic, knowing that you're a librarian who should know the words to express herself."

She glanced down, puzzled. Then, she laughed at that. "I guess you're right, Princess." A bigger smile.

Celestia's eyes met a door at the back of the library. "How is...your assistant doing?"

"Oh, you mean Crystal Hoof?" the librarian asked, her grin muddled. "He's doing fine for a Crystal pony refugee." She looked up, tapping her chin. "It must be difficult for him to live in a land where his kind is hated. Good thing he managed to escape before the war blew off."

"It is a good thing," Celestia said. "I assume that he is sleeping right now."

She nodded again. "His waking hours are hard to follow. He sleeps at unusual hours. Is that a quirk of his sort of pony?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

The librarian looked past her shoulders. "Is that all?"

"That's all. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Princess."

Celestia left, the bell ringing once more as the doors opened again.

An Evening for a President

Snowy Mount Guicelos was a wonder to behold under the night sky. Huddled up with its brother mountains in the Gerrated Range, it stood out as the eldest of them all, its peak higher than any that could be seen in the clear sky.

Yet, the thunderclouds brewed ahead, the coast ways below shrouded in dark fog as lightning sparked forth—creeping closer.

Into the freezing cold and the windy bellowing gale as snowflakes hit as hard as pebbles, off the beaten path bent around huge boulders on precarious footing and looming cliffs whose drops were as far as could be seen, a wooden cottage lasted through the chilly whirlwind. Though the lights were on inside, only a haze of them could be discerned even from a medium distance, owing much to the severe conditions.

Closer to the little house, one could make out a chariot's outline glimmering under a lightbulb, leaning on the exterior wall. Two lone pegasus guards braced the elements, their stoic faces persisting with not a sign of a shiver as they protected the chariot assailed by snow but never stolen.

Inside the sturdy structure, what would strike a newcomer first was the unexpected presence of paintings. Lots of them. Hanging on the walls, they depicted various moments of Griffonstone's rich history: the dark ages portrayed by a black night and griffons robbing each other of their gold hoards, the turning point where a griffon king held up a golden statue before a throng of his subjects, the bright ages illustrated by proud (and prideful) griffons turning their heads upward while they talked with each other on the clean roads populated by respectable houses, the sharp decline where another griffon king lost that golden statue to some one-eyed monster, and the long night.

Which was depicted by a copy of the first painting.

An empty bookshelf stood at the wall. A few lanterns were strewn about, scattered and littered like garbage.

In the living room, a small table where two chairs held two leaders: Princess Celestia and President Gestal himself, a stout brown griffon who had glasses perched on his large yellow beak; he also wore a coat and tie.

On the table, a few papers.

"Gestal," Celestia spoke in a sober tone, "if you want to see the survival of Griffonstone, if you want to save as many griffon lives as possible, then you have to let our forces help yours. It's wisdom—is it not?—that dictates, 'Two heads are better than one'. It doesn't matter what our differences may be—now, we have to unite to make sure you and your citizens are safe."

Gestal sighed, holding his two claws together on the surface. A small glare reflected on his glasses. "That would serve to bring upon me and the council the label...of a hypocrite. There is not much to salvage from that kind of reputation when one has sunk that low."

"It's not being a hypocrite," Celestia replied, raising her voice by a notch though keeping that mellow kindness. "If you were dying and the only one who could help you was a pony who did their best to embody what Equestria stands for, would you refuse his honest offer to assist you?"

"Probably so," Gestal simply answered, adjusting his glasses.

A downcast look on her face. "Is that really your firm belief, Gestal? A belief that will not fail nor falter?"

"I believe it as firmly as I believe that the sky is above us."

Silence. Her mane flittered about, his glasses remained still. Both shimmered under the lights.

"Even if many griffons die?"

He opened his mouth, raising a claw to make a point.

Nothing.

Celestia closed her eyes. "That is why I posed the question, why I asked if what you believed about us would continue in your mind no matter what would happen. If you were to follow your conviction and lead it through its logical course, you would end up in a horrible situation where so many lives could have been saved—and we were willing—yet, you said 'No' out of what I want to prove as a faulty idea. I know you griffons value pride and honor, but I know, too, that there is a limit...that life goes beyond them."

Gestal coughed, covering his beak. He ruffled his feathers as he gathered the papers to his side and read one line before looking up. "If you help us, then we have no choice but to be indebted to you. Who's to say that you will not request of us unreasonable demands, carrying our gratitude as your reason to get us in line with your agenda?"

"There is no agenda," Celestia said, "not with this war going on. Whatever interest Equestria may have had before the war, they are irrelevant and moot compared to the urgency of this conflict."

He said nothing.

Stared at the Princess for a good while.

Took off his glasses. Put them on the table, reflecting the lights.

"It does come back to something that tugs at the heart, doesn't it?" Gestal spoke. "Griffon lives. The lives of an entire kingdom at stake." A pause. "I do see where you are getting at. I and the council do care for them—that is why we have pursued these careers in the first place. However...it is better, in the end, to leave the kingdom in ashes and in good name than to let it suffer a prolonged state of besmirched agony dragged through the mud."

She clasped her own forehooves on the table, covered in metal hoofguards. "Your kingdom is not living out another set of glory days," Celestia said. "Its image in the eyes of the world is that of shame and disrepair, a kingdom in name only where its inhabitants do not live but only exist to grab and to hold. That would not be enough to defend your home if and when the Crystal ponies make it to the capital. As we speak, there are approaching regiments on sea and air, about to land on the beaches below. There is a reason I've foregone normal formalities and protocol by letting my own regiments enter your borders: there is no other way to help you."

Gestal looked down at the table, a poignant and thoughtful expression on his face.

Put his glasses on.

"What if I don't want your help, Princess Celestia?"

A shocked look. Then, a sigh. "There is little else I could do. I cannot call them back, for my heart, my conscience, beckons me to extend all I could give to the griffons."

Thunder blast.

The two stood up from their chairs.

"We don't have much time," Celestia said, levitating a lock and key. "They'll be in the airspace any second now."

Gestal nodded, stuffed the papers into his coat pocket, and flew out of the cottage.

The open door re-introduced that gale's howl and its harsh onslaught of snow. The fog had reached the mountains, harder to see through the gray mist.

Bits of snow fell to the floor.

The Princess looked out the door, not seeing much.

Gestal flew in the dark and starry sky, above dry and desolate lands of rock formations strutting out from the ground. There, he could see the dilapidated train station in shambles, a mere shadow of itself.

He looked ahead.

A dull outline of Griffonstone. An enormous, vast gray tree where dozens of nested houses dwelled, overhanging the great distance between the branches and the ground. At the base, on the plateau, more sticks and hay filled the surface beside more houses.

On a carved out portion of the tree, a pointed castle rose above its peers.

Gestal landed in front of a cracked archway, what used to be a grandiose entrance to a great and majestic kingdom.

Before him were shattered homes, cluttered streets, and hobbling griffons.

Aux Armes

She woke up with a yawn, alarms banging in her head, scratching her face with her sharp claws—careful not to scar it.

A gray morning out the circle window.

Rattled nest for a bed, sticks sticking out. A pillow of cloth and loose change. Cracked, decaying wooden planks around her served as walls. Broken pictures of herself as a fledgling and a rainbow-maned filly—down on the floor, glass shards here and there. A stone table, stone chairs, stone plates where a box of stone scones stayed still in a stale state.

Barebones inside Gilda's house.

Alarm ringing outside. Bells jingling.

Whooshes.

Swung her head toward the window.

Flocks of griffons flying.

"Town square" was surely in a town but it was in no way a square. It was just an open space where hay, sticks, stones, and trash flittered about in the growling wind. There was no such thing as a crowd in this place: griffons bumped into each other, then bursted into arguments of who provoked who. Everyone joined in, young and old and those in between.

A ruckus as the storm clouds brooded.

"Order! Order!" a pompous voice commanded. To no avail.

Gilda pushed her rickety scone cart full of hard rock scones, held up by rickety wheels and handles. A portable oven was attached to it.

An old griffon pushed his way through the crowd, budging by. "I demand that I get three scones and nobody else gets it!" he shouted, banging the cart with a fisted claw.

"That would be ten bits, Grampa," she replied, making a "give me your money" gesture with her claw coupled with a deadpan face.

He groaned as he parted with those ten bits and received three scones. Took a bite of it.

Another tooth chipped.

"That looks fine!" another griffon shouted, rolling up his non-existent sleeves as he approached Gilda's grandfather. "I'll pay you twenty bits for that!"

Felt and heard his stomach rumble.

Gave the scones in exchange for bits unparted.

Gilda watched him, a pained expression on her for a moment before reverting back to a bored, apathetic front.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?" another voice requested.

Yet above the din, the commotion, of an infighting populace. Words, insults hurled and lobbed; others asking for a fight.

"Attention!"

All stopped. Turned to him who stood on the rooftop of a house.

"Thank you," President Gestal said, seeing most, if not all, of the Griffon Kingdom's inhabitants gathered into one square, or at least something that was called a square.

Silence, though the thunders echoed through the vast sky.

"As you may or may not know," he began, "there is an imposing enemy on its way to attack us, to take our land. I've already sent the entirety of our military to confront this threat—even some volunteers—but that is not enough. We need the help of each and every one of you to stave off King Sombra and his mindless foes who wish nothing but our death. We have to rally, to unite, under the single banner of Griffonstone, of the Griffon Kingdom."

Raised a claw to the air, an open claw.

"This morning," he continued, raising and rousing his voice, "we shall not be a quarreling gathering! No! Who we shall be, who we shall become, are the glorious griffons of days old, the griffons who heralded and cherished an age of gold when—"

"I'm joining if you give me thirty bits!" a griffon in the crowd broke out, shaking a fist at him.

"Yeah!" another griffon yelled, joining the first complainer. "What's in it for me?"

And the crowd erupted into an explosion of arguments, demands, entreaties for bits.

From behind the house, two griffons carried a huge metal safe and dropped it on to the roof, bending the poor house though Gestal kept his stance.

All became silent again.

"The council expected such a response from you," he said. "Which is why I chose to take out the one and only safe from our bank. This is the whole treasury of our dear kingdom. It is unfair if we do not give you good reason to fight."

They flocked to him, punching and prying the safe, trying to get to the bits.

Gilda left behind with her scone cart, looking away.

The Baltimore harbors provided anyone entering "The Best Town in Equestria" nothing short of a breathtaking view of the city. On a boat or a ship surrounded by a great extent of water, Baltimore was in every direction. In the evening, the skyscrapers and the parks were illuminated by an extravaganza of lights, even some airships dotting the air as they passed by while they shouted and screamed the names of their sponsors and advertisers.

A passenger steamer docked. A ramp was dropped on to the harbor and several ponies landed on the sturdy concrete.

Gilda, meanwhile, did not land on the concrete for she hovered about, first amazed and then puzzled at the dazzling, dizzying sights of the city.

Woke up, drooling.

"Gilda?"

Rubbed her head and eyes. "Wh-What's going on? Who are you?"

A gasp. "You don't remember me?!"

Gilda jolted awake, scratching the train window in the surprise.

"Yikes!" Gabby held the seat's railing tighter, eyeing her mailbag. "I didn't know you were down and out!"

"Down and out?!" Gilda yelled.

Grabbed the mailpony by the throat.

"Are you taking me back to Griffonstone?!" Gilda shouted to her face, the sheer force shown by the wavering feathers on Gabby's face. "Because, if you are, you're not going to like what's happen next!"

"N-No, I'm not!" Gabby shouted back, shaking her head fast. "Honest! Honest times infinity!"

Gilda paused. She looked to her right, out the window.

Endless tracts of grass glistening under the moonlight. A tower, like a lighthouse, shone the brightest.

Gilda let go of her.

Gabby breathed in, breathed out, holding on to her neck.

Gilda slumped back to her seat.

The air was cold. Under the flourescent lights that emanated a blue-green tint, here were some ponies who sat in the same carriage, but most of them were sleeping. Those who were awake gave them an odd look before they returned to their newspapers or their own conversations.

Gabby closed her mailbag, then looked at Gilda straight in the eye. "What are you doing here, anyway? You're not supposed to be outside the kingdom!"

"I'm not supposed to," Gilda shot back. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to."

Gabby gasped again. "You're...you're fleeing from your duties?"

"I can't flee from duties I haven't taken up," Gilda said matter-of-factly. "Let's face it, Gabby: No one in their right mind would think that we stand a chance against those crazy powerful ponies. They have everything we don't have. That alone should make us surrender."

Gabby gasped yet again. "B-But, does that mean you don't care about what happens to other griffons like me? What happened to your optimism?"

"Who said I was optimistic, anyway?" Gilda asked, giving her a questioning look. "I see things as objectively as I can. What do I see? A doomed country, that's what." She brushed her gaze off to the outside.

Gabby sighed. "But, where will you go? Have you ever thought of that?"

A pause, Gilda never looking away. "There are a few options. I can ask for asylum in Canterlot. From what I've heard, the Princesses aren't as mean as the others make them out to be. Of course, Canterlot's also the home for all the uppity snobbish ponies who look down on 'outsiders' like me." Another pause as she tapped her chin, thinking. "There's the Blazing Coalfields. Everything's dirt cheap in those towns. Doublehitch would be better than nothing."

"What about Cloudsdale?" Gabby suggested.

Gilda gulped. "You did not just say what I think you just said."

"I did." Gabby smiled. "That old pony friend of yours from way back—she lives in Cloudsdale, right?"

"What if she's enlisted?" Gilda asked. "If she's the same pony she was when I went to flight camp, I wouldn't be shocked to see her home empty."

"But, what if she isn't?" Gabby prodded.

A pause, the two griffons looking at each other.

"Come on! It's worth a shot!"

To be on Leave

A clank as the plate was put down, burdened by the weight of the tall sandwich on its shoulders, its layers of potatoes and cream and pasta oozing out.

In the Rainbow family's kitchen and dining room rolled into one, as Gilda and Dash's parents sat on the couch around half of the table.

The sky outside was a yellow morning, the sun's rays piercing through the clear windows and reflecting off of the sink, oven, stove, and plate.

Smelled of baked pasta, steamed potatoes.

"So..." Gilda spoke up, coughing right after. "Where's Rainbow Dash?"

Windy Whistles scratched her head, about to laugh a nervous streak. "Funny you should ask that, Gilda...considering that this is the first time you've seen this sandwich in forever...her favorite sandwich..."

Bow Hothoof patted his wife beside him on the head. "You've never heard of her in the news? At all, Gilda?"

"You could say we griffons aren't so keen on reading about current events," Gilda said, tinge of anxiety in her tone.

Windy gave a solemn nod. "If you don't know...she's part of the Wonderbolts."

Gilda was taken aback, evident in slanting her head a lot. "Really, now? She finally accomplished her life-long dream, huh?" She crossed her forelegs together, a smile creeping up. "You must be proud of her."

"We are very proud of her and what she has done," Bow said, pulling Windy closer. Noticing her moist eyes. "But, when the war came on, the Wonderbolts were taken up for the fight."

"Which means that..." Windy choked, "that she's...not with us for the time...being."

He tilted her head up a little. "There, there, honey."

Gilda raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me she's dead?"

Windy fell out of her chair, screaming.

Bow picked her up, struggling.

Gilda watched, standing up from her seat, holding on to the table, watching a loving husband bring her faltering wife up on her four hooves, her four unsteady hooves.

"Dead..." Windy murmured. "Dead...dead..." She stared at Gilda with wild eyes. "She's not dead! I know that she isn't!"

"OK, Windy," Bow said, a hoof and a wing on her neck. "You've been through so much work for the day. I think you need some rest."

"But, it's early morning," Gilda observed.

"Quiet, you!" Windy screamed, huffing as she left the room and flew up the spiraling stairs.

Bow looked at the ceiling, as if tracking her movements on the second floor.

Door slam above.

He shuddered, sat down on the couch again with Gilda.

Chilling silence in the morning.

"I'm very sorry for her lashing out at you like that," Bow said, speaking in an apologetic way. "I get that you and our Rainbow Dash had a unique, youthful dynamic, but...I couldn't put the blame all on her. No, I couldn't put a single ounce of blame on that fantastic mare." A heavy sigh, almost heaving. "There's a good reason why she's so high-strung."

Gilda tilted her head a bit at that.

"Our Dashie...she's hurt. Hurt really bad. Last month, somepony took a jab at her face. She got out mostly fine, but her eye's got a scar. Nothing too serious, but still...anyway, that's not all." A pause, catching his breath, catching himself close to tears. Almost a choke. "A week ago, we've received a letter. It told us that a part of her ear was broken off in battle. Her hearing's as fine as before...well, we hope. Then, a few days ago, I was reading the news when I discovered that she cut her tail short. I thought it was some sort of new regulation or something, but I did some research...found out that she was grabbed by the tail and was close to getting captured because of that—which is why her tail's like that now."

"But, she's good, right?" Gilda asked, anticipating.

Bow sighed again, eyes toward the table with a penetrating gaze. Looked up. "It's...unfortunate that you came here today...of all days, Gilda."

The griffon raised an eyebrow again, a frightened expression. "What happened to her?"

Bow took out a note from his pocket.

Hoofed it to her.

Gilda unfolded it and read.
Mr. Hothoof and Mrs. Whistles,
Your daughter, Rainbow Dash, is recuperating from an unprecedented injury. While we cannot disclose the details of her condition, what we can divulge is that she is not permanently disabled. However, she cannot fight effectively at the moment, so she will be on leave beginning next Friday. Her recovery will surely be hastened by your parental care.
The Wonderbolts

Underneath the typed letters was a hoofwritten postscript.
Bow & Windy,
Your Dashie is not in good condition. No matter how much the censors up here try to suppress me, I'll still do my best to prepare you for what's going to happen on that fateful Friday.

Believe me when I tell you this—not as the Captain of the Wonderbolts nor as Rainbow's boss, but as a friend:

Your daughter needs you through this trying time. Her "injury" is not a mere bruise. She's lost something dear to her, something she's cherished so much.

I've seen her kicking and screaming when she understood what she had lost. I've seen her smash all the locker rooms. Rip the beds into pieces. Shouted to our faces at every turn. Shattered the windows. Hurt her friends. Everything.

We've had to call in our guards and higher officers to restrain her more than once. We've told her to rest, that there are ways to mitigate the loss.

She would have none of it.

The Rainbow Dash you knew right up to her leaving Cloudsdale is gone. The Rainbow Dash you'll meet next Friday is a battered, beaten mare—a horrible wreck of a once bright-eyed filly.

Please. Help her. Take care of her more than you have ever done.

She needs you.
Yours,
Spitfire
A tear fell to the letter.

Gilda looked at him.

Another tear down his cheek.

The griffon stood up, slowly hovering back to the front door.

Watching him silently cry.

Gilda closed the front door, back in the open air of the suburbs in the clouds and made mostly of clouds—the cool morning air of Cloudsdale.

Landed on the cloudy "paved" path to the sidewalk.

Turned around to face the street.

"Oh, uh, hi!" Scootaloo greeted, a bit nervous. She stretched a hoof out to the griffon. "You must be a fan of Rainbow Dash, too! I'm Scootaloo, and I'm the President of the Official Rainbow Dash Fan Club!"

Gilda glanced left and right, timid. "Uh...hi." She weakly waved a claw. "I'm...Gilda." A forced grin.

The filly gasped and shook her claw fast. "The griffon that Rainbow Dash made friends with a long time ago at the Junior Speedsters' flight camp?! I'm so honored to meet such a historical figure—"

"Shh!"

Scootaloo hopped away. "Wh-Why did you do that?"

"Rainbow's parents are busy," Gilda said, brushing and nudging the filly toward the street. "We don't want to disturb them."

"Busy with what?" Scootaloo asked, curious.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Personal stuff."

At the end of a long hallway of doors, paintings, and portraits of Rainbow Dash in all stages of her life—from foalhood to adulthood—at the end, there was a big picture.

Of Rainbow Dash in full Wonderbolt uniform. The old one. The one without any of that bulky armor or that cumbersome helmet. A simple blue and yellow suit, a simple pair of goggles.

Windy Whistles stood in front of it, looking up at it.

Crying.

Tears flowing.

"Dashie!" she shrieked.

A maddening scream.

Banged her head on the wall.

"Dashie!"

Flung herself at the door.

Cracking it.

"Dashie!"

Punched the wall.

Once, twice.

Lost count.

Huffing, breathing.

"Honey," she could hear him say, "you...you should calm down now. What...what if they're wrong and—"

"They're not!" Windy howled, pointing at him. Accusing. "I know what's happened to our Dashie!"

Bow held his chest tight.

Windy opened the cracked door.

Slammed it shut.

Locked.

News among Other Things: Zero In

On Monday, "The Ponyville Express" had the following as its headline news over a picture of a bronze-colored pony wearing tons of medals—so many of them that, if one would squint their eyes, they could see some of his neck nerves sticking out:
General Big Brass Sacked
At 5:39 AM this morning, new overseer of the West Coast Front, General Big Brass, was fired from his post. This proved to be a shock to many of his equals and his former classmates in the Canterlot Military Academy from which he graduated with flying colors.

Reasons stated by the rest of High Command and Princess Celestia herself include: constant misue of fire arrows, abuse of reserves, forfeiting early strikes because "they're not cool", ordering offensives without sufficient (and, sometimes, without any) large arms support, suggesting to put Captain Shining Armor a mile ahead of the frontline "to raise morale", always attacking straight ahead and never considering subterfuge and infiltration tactics because "no one's watching you spy the enemy out", and general disregard or misvaluation of pony lives.

"He is a sad example," Princess Celestia said in a speech announcing his discharge. "Whenever a new batch of ponies complete their time in the academy, I always remind them that, since we've never had a war in a long time, they should be open to combat innovation and new martial concepts, to be ready to discard the old ones that they've been taught for years. With Big Brass's fiasco, the cost of not learning that truth has been shown to us yet again: Innocent ponies dying not because the enemy is stronger and smarter but because of their own leader is incompentent and careless."

On Wednesday, this appeared on the front page of "The Canterlot Sun" although it was not headline news itself:
Toothbrush Production at All-time High
Toothbrush factories throughout Equestria are reporting peak demands of toothbrushes.

Much of this demand's influx comes from several branches of the military.

"I have no idea what's going on," said Nylon Dental, head of the Clean Teeth Toothbrush Factory in Delphi Ark (the largest toothbrush factory in Equestria). "Weren't these guys always brushing their teeth?"

General Spearhead said in response to the above statement, "Many of the noble snobs refuse to get down and dirty. It's either they run out and fight or scrub every inch of the barracks with a toothbrush."

On Friday, gracing the "Daily Fetson" was a picture of several yaks wearing olive green uniforms, saluting a few decorated ponies wearing berets and caps—all standing inside a large and spacious room. The headline news was:
First Yak Squad Formed
In an undisclosed location, several yaks passed the rigorous training of the E.U.P. Guard and have been given a place in the Equestrian military. Various officers and other government officials including Captain Shining Armor himself attended their formation as the first yak squad with Prince Dubna as squad leader.

"Yaks make fight for homeland!" Prince and First Yak Squad Leader Dubna declared in the event. "Yaks contribute many things to ponies—will fight for them, too, but homeland and other yaks above!"...

On Saturday, "Crystal Propaganda: Getting the Guard Down" was the main headline for "Equestria Magazine" over a cover of a black folder with a stylized depiction of Sombra's head on it. An excerpt of it:
....The contents of these notes and papers aren't what bothers everypony since most of us have dismissed them as what it was: propaganda, meant to dissuade and to discourage our troops at the front. What bothers everypony is that they sent these things in the first place.

A terrifying truth is still a truth, and one of those truths is that Crystal ponies are ponies. Sure, they're not themselves and you can blame it on Sombra for that, but they're still ponies.

From previous discoveries, we've found out that the mind control spell can be dialed up or down—on one end, total servitude to accomplish its given purpose; on the other, complete freedom in everything as long as it contributes to its goal in some way. What mages and command have deduced together is that the Crystal propaganda was made by ponies who were freer than others, giving them a rather awkward feel.

Why awkward, though? Is it because it reminds us that, yes, they speak the same language we do? Is it because it reminds us that they know how to use paper and know how to write like we do? Is it because it reminds us that they can think as complexly as we do when not mentally locked up like the cannon fodder ponies usually seen either charging or retreating—or dead?

A death is a death, and that is non-negotiable. A huge number of our soldiers have been numbed to that fact. Regular training today employs tactics that desensitize the enemy's life on the other side. They've been reduced to dummies with poorly-drawn faces whose emotion is always anger, hatred, and fury. Never a smile, never a frown.

While everypony can see through the lies of Sombra's propaganda, what's strange about it is that it has succeeded—just not in the way it intended to. By reminding us of the plain-faced truth, a good number of our soldiers have wavered and are second-guessing their past actions....

On Monday, a notice was put up on several houses in Ponyville.
Are you looking for more ways to help out in the war? Come to Sweet Apple Acres and help us shear the plenty sheep we have! The wool will be sent directly to various uniform factories across Equestria which will produce comfy and useful clothes for our fighters!

On Tuesday, Teddie Safari received this letter in yet another apartment room in Sorrel:
To Teddi Safari,
My first few days with the orthos was fun. And weird. Nopony here has seen a two-headed dog yet, but it gives them a bit of relief to pass the time with. It's as if every one of my neighbors is "war this" and "war that" these days. Wouldn't that be stressful after a while, huh?

The caretaker is a nice touch, too. Actually, she's not just a nice touch—without her, that dog could've bitten me a hundred times by now! But, Fluttershy is a really kind pony, the perfect one for the job. She may be, well, shy at first, but she opens up from time to time, even if rarely.

It's well worth the purchase! I'll keep in touch with you if anything interesting comes up.
Strawberry Sunrise

On Wednesday, a list was given to Mayor Mare in Ponyville's Town Hall:
The following ponies arrived for sheep-shearing today:

- Bon Bon

- Bulk Biceps

- Carrot Cake

- Davenport

- Electric Sky

- Filthy Rich

- Fluttershy

- Gizmo

- Lyra Heartstrings

- Minuette

- Trixie

- Vinyl Scratch

I hope that's enough ponies. We're still counting the crates of wool, so we'll send that one up later tonight.
Applejack

On Thursday, this note appeared at the Cloudsdale Post Office's doorstep:
Can someone please send a few pegasi to the Breezie delegate in the embassy? We've been receiving complaints from various neighborhoods about them causing disturbances. We've already told them that we can't function properly because most of our staff is technically unqualified for their jobs, but we can't do anything about the draft.

Later that day, the reply reached the Cloudsdale Embassy which was a formidable blocky building with imposing columns and arches along with some open spaces where pegasi and other flying creatures could roam about.
I'm on it!
- Derpy

On Friday, "Cirro News" reported this as its headline for the day:
Is Conscription Taking its Toll on Cloudsdale?
Months after the city-wide draft, its effects are in full force.

With a lack of young stallions, much of Cloudsdale's activity has dropped to record lows. Local weather maintenance, for example, has been spotty due to an understaffed weather factory, with several accounts from nearby towns such as Ponyville sending a total of 156 weather grievances in the past week alone.

This lack has also reached the personal lives of family and friends. Visitors to Cloudsdale during the past week, too, have said that the city feels incomplete, "like it's lacking that 'oomph' but I can't describe it," says Sunshower Raindrops, a resident of Ponyville. This can be attributed to the absence of precious ponies, whose being away are causing more than our fair share of anguish....

Descent

It was Friday night.

In the living room, the wood-trimmed couches had cloud pillows and cloud cushions. Some warmth came out from the rainbow-arched fireplace which had no timber or anything carved from a tree at all; instead, what gave heat were some fire crystals—not a single lick of fire, yet their glow radiated, warming a cold place. On the shelves, above the fireplace and over the windows were two sets of Princess Celestia memorabilia: the shelves had Celestia figurines with the Princess herself portrayed in different poses (and almost always with a smiling, happy face); the fireplace and the windows had three commemorative plates with different designs, each of them detailing a sun in its own way. An abstract painting, a rock-wood sculpture, and several potted plants completed the living room.

Outside, the night sky, lit up a little by the houses down the lanes, down the road. Through the window, one could see a shades-wearing pegasus sitting on a recliner, resting in his front yard.

Bow entered the living room, stretching and cracking his wings as he approached one of the chairs. He plopped himself on it, brought out a bag of chips, and ripped it open.

A blast of spicy scents. "Mm-hmm."

Knocks on the door.

He turned his head about. "Who is it?"

"Pinkie Pie," a voice answered from outside. "Rock Trooper."

Bow's ears drooped, putting a hoof to his chin. "And, what's your business here?" A pause, scratching his head. "You're an Earth pony." Brows furrowed; distracted. "How did you get up here?"

"I've escorted your daughter home."

A muted gasp. "Sorry, what did you say?" in a louder volume.

"I've escorted your daughter, Rainbow Dash, home. She's on leave until further notice."

Sweat pouring down his face. Teeth bared, gnashing.

Irises shrunk.

A gulp.

Another gulp.

Tugged at his shirt, nervous hoof.

"What's going on?" Pinkie asked, still outside. "Is there something wrong?"

"Wait!"

He threw the chips away, flew out the living room, through the hall, to the front door.

Held the yellow door knob with his wing.

Mouth agape.

"I know you're right in front of me," Pinkie said.

"Just give me a moment, miss!" Bow replied in a shaky voice.

Eyes raced here and there, focusing on everything but the door knob.

Vision rested on the stairs on his left.

Looked up.

"Should I?" whispered he.

Staring up.

Bow sighed, head downcast. "Let me call my wife first, Pinkie."

"Don't worry," she answered.

He drew in breath, facing the stairs and the ceiling.

Turned to the door. "Pinkie," he began in a fragile tone, "you've...you've been her close friend. We know it because of the letters our Rainbow sent us every so often." Another sigh. "Could you do us one favor?"

Silence. "What would it be?"

"Let us see her alone." A pause. "Be anywhere but here. This...this is something that's between the three of us family."

Silence. "I understand."

Bow rested his head on the door, closed his eyes.

"When you hear Dash knock once, it means that I'm far away."

Eyes opened. Watery. "OK, Pinkie. Thank you."

No word. Hoofsteps away.

Interrupted breath.

Looked up again.

Closed his eyes.

"Honey? There's somepony outside."

A windy swish from above.

Windy Whistles flying down the stairs, holding a book with one hoof.

He caught a glimpse of what was inside the book.

Pictures. Baby pictures.

"Who could it be?" Windy asked, eyes stuck on the photos.

"I guess it's time for us to find out," Bow said low.

Turned the doorknob halfway.

"Wait," Windy spoke up, raising a wing in protest. "You didn't ask who the visitor was?"

A pained face on him. Closed eyes.

One knock from outside.

He nodded.

Opened the door.

On her.

"D...Dashie?" she eked, hoof to her chin. Shivering, wobbling. "I-Is...that...you?"

The mare in front of them. Disheveled, spiky mane. Tail cut short. Across her eye, a pink scar. Her ear, a chunk out.

"We're...we're..." before Bow locked up. Tear running.

Their eyes on her.

Her wing.

Right wing, almost whole. Some feathers missing.

Her other wing. Her left wing.

There was no left wing.

"Rainbow...?" she spoke. Hoof stretched out.

Dash's lips trembling.

Lunged at them.

Cried.

The family mourned. Windy burst into a terrifying howl, embracing her, a hoof on what used to be a full and healthy wing. Bow hugged her, weeping, screaming a blood-curdling sorrow to the sky.

Rainbow Dash...

Rivers of tears. Rending roars.

On her knees.

Eyes up.

Red eyes covered by her hooves.

Fell.

A horrible wreck, reduced to a blubbering mess on the moonlit floor.

Wails tearing open.

Banging the floor.

Breaking.

"Why?!"

She woke up.

Cold sweat.

Dark.

Ignoring her posters, shelves, cabinets—the rainbows on the walls.

"Agh!"

Jumped up, flapping her one wing.

Crashed to the floor. Broke a lamp.

Limp.

Groaned, standing up.

"I...I thought it was back..."

Spread out her wing.

Looked at it.

To the other side.

No wing.

"It tricked me!"

Screamed.

Ripped blankets, pillows. Chair hurled.

A hole in the door.

"No!"

By herself, at the table.

On it, a plate of lettuce leaves, cabbages, and carrots.

Morning sun; rays gleaming on the table.

Head down.

Ate.

Whipped her head to the door.

Indigo head away.

Another bite.

"Bleh!"

Threw it out.

Lifted a hoof.

Tears.

"M-Mom...D-Dad..."

Curled up at a lonely corner.

Knees at her head, scrunched up.

Eyes open, staring a million miles.

"M-Mom...D-D-Dad...?"

Looking at her. Gazing upon her.

That wretch.

"You'll be better...Dashie..."

Motherly hooves around her.

Wrapped around.

Fatherly arms.

Their wings spread, covering her.

Her eyes rested on them.

Burst out.

"No!" she screamed, pointing at them. "I'm not gonna let you do that to me!"

"Wh-What's wrong?!" Windy asked amidst misty eyes. "Was it something we—"

"Yes!"

Stomped the floor.

"Every time I see a pony up here at home, you know what I see? Two. Wings." She flared her remaining wing. "I might as well be a flabby Earth pony, for all I know! I can't fly straight, I can't fly at all! The moment I lift off, I'll tumble down because I need two wings to fly!" Counted two with her pinions. "Two! And you're not helping me since your pairs of wings remind me of the pegasus I'm not!"

"But, Rainbow Dash," Bow spoke up, about to cry again, "you know that we love you no matter what happens to you. We don't think of you any less if you have only one wing."

"And then what?!" she shouted back. "Could you give me one of your spare wings? Could a unicorn give me a spell that will make it grow back? Or, even those flying contraptions some mad scientists are making these days? Huh?! No answers?!"

Spat on the floor.

"Why did I get sent here, anyway?!" she shrieked. "Back at the front, there were other kinds of ponies to hang around with! Here?! All pegasi, pegasi, pegasi with two wings! Argh!"

Stormed away.

Back to her bedroom.

Parents' shoulders cold, staring at the broken door.

Knock.

Dash looked up from her book.

Of her old photos.

"Who's there?" she casually asked—rasp.

"Uh...R-Rainbow Dash?"

Ears perked up, taking off from her chair.

Fell flat on her face.

"Agh! I'm getting tired of this!"

Closed her wing.

Walked to the door and swung it open.

Silence between the two, across the open space, the open door.

"Fluttershy?" Dash spouted out. She looked at her from head to hoof. "You look...dirty."

The kind pegasus wiped some dirt off of her face and coarse bangs. "I came here the moment I heard the news! I-I'm sorry that I was late. Oh, please don't attack me!" Cowered.

Dash sighed, an air of something like defeat. "Well, there's not much I could do, anyway, considering that...I'm not so complete." She spread her one wing out to demonstrate.

Fluttershy gasped, clattering her hooves. "It's scarier when you're this close!"

Rainbow rolled her eyes. "Could you keep it civil? I don't want everypony in the whole neighborhood to 'feel sorry' for me."

"But, they should!" Fluttershy said, pushing the marred mare back into the house before closing the door.

Turned her head around inside.

"Where did they place the medicine? Bandages—do you need bandages?"

"I feel fine," Dash nonchalantly replied as she walked back to her chair, to her book.

"No, you don't!" Fluttershy said. Covered her mouth. "I mean, feelings could deceive you, but I'm not here to judge your...uh, feelings."

Dash glared at her with her scarred eye.

"Eep!"

Fluttershy up the stairs.

Another knock on the door.

Dash about to take off, wing open.

Pouted as she closed her wing and walked to the door.

Opened it.

"Wha?"

"Yes, Rainbow Dash," Pinkie Pie said, donned in her gray and black Rock Trooper uniform—her face stained by a forehead's scab. "I stayed here for a few days. I knew it wouldn't be wise to sneak up on you or do any of the old pranks we've done. Also, I had to make sure that your parents weren't at home—otherwise, I'd think we'd be having a case of chronic crying on our hooves for your poor folks."

Rainbow nodded. "Yeah. Good. Come inside. Try and 'comfort' me away."

She went inside and closed the door after her.

Back inside the living room.

Pinkie noticed the closed windows. Did not say a word.

Rainbow plopped herself on her chair. Picked up the open book.

Pinkie went to her side. Reading, too.

On the right, a single picture of a blue foal hugged by her Mom and Dad.

All smiles.

Still another knock.

Slowly, up from the chair walked to the door.

Opened it.

A stifled gasp. Bit her hoof.

Trembling.

"Rainbow...Dash?"

Patted the filly on the head.

Under the night.

"I know, Scootaloo," she said. "It's true."

Spread her wing open.

"One wing."

Scootaloo breathed fast, wheezing. "Wha-how-how?! You're the best of the best! And, here—and, there—what could—is there—did you—"

Firm grip on her shoulder.

"I was the best of the best." Peered to the side, avoiding her face.

That innocent face.

"I am not anymore, squirt."

Heaving sobs. Wiping her tears to no avail.

"Rainbow Dash!"

Hugged her.

Rainbow hugged her back.

Closed eyes.

Laying on the couch in the living room.

"How am I supposed to live?!" she cried out, stretching a hoof toward the ceiling. "What's a pegasus without a pair of wings? A pegasus flies! I can't fly!"

"Rainbow," Fluttershy said, walking to her as she carried a plate of biscuits with her, "I don't think that's a nice way to talk about yourself. You sound so sad."

"Thanks for the obvious, Fluttershy!" she retorted. "Look at you! You're Fluttershy! Doesn't even wanna fly half the time! Yet, here I am, and you're better than me at all things flight! Better than a Wonderbolt!"

Fluttershy hastily put the plate down, whimpering. "S-Sorry that I bothered you! I...I..."

Ran off, out the house.

Resisting the tears.

A pelt on the door.

Dash spread her wing and flew.

To fall down to the floor again.

Saying nothing. Only grunts.

Walked to the door and lurched it open.

"Who could it be now?!" she roared.

The newspony dropped a bundled newspaper and flew away, screaming in fright.

Looked up at a poster.

Three pegasi suited in yellow and blue. Flying off, the sun reflected on their goggles.

Looked down.

Forlorn.

A tear on the cloudy floor.

"I...I wanted to be a Wonderbolt all my life," she whispered. "I achieved it. My dream."

Furled open her wing.

Looked at it. Examined it. Cherished it.

To her left. Space.

No wing.

"Gone."

One more knock on the door.

Dash was already standing.

She walked through the hall and to the door again.

Opened it.

"Oh, it's you." She faced Pinkie Pie.

Who had a little smile on her face.

"What's going on?" Rainbow asked, disinterested. "It's been some time since I've seen you smile."

"Well, I searched about," Pinkie replied, a little energetic. "You wanna know what I found?"

"What?" Dash said with a groan. "If this is another one of your jokes...I don't want to hear it."

"It's not a joke!" Pinkie said, taking a step forward. "I Pinkie Promise it!"

Dash gave her a curious glance. "OK...what is it?"

"Could you go down to Ponyville?" Pinkie asked. "Specifically, Ponyville Hospital?"

"You know I can't just 'go down'." Dash spread open her wing yet again. "Remember?"

"Which is why I brought over a familiar face to help you!"

Stepped aside to reveal an armored Thunderlane standing in the front yard. He waved at her.

"What?!" She reeled back. "Thunderlane?! How did you get the permission? The clearance?"

"Spitfire herself approved them all," he replied.

Pinkie's smile grew. "Oh, Rainbow Dash, you're going to be in for one big surprise!"

A way off from Ponyville was the Ponyville Hospital. A three-floor establishment surrounded by fresh fields of prairie, it beckoned both the well and the sick to enter into its welcoming embrace.

Fluttershy went inside.

The waiting area had pillow-lined seats, coloful landscape paintings, bright yellow lights, and a receptionist's desk where some nurses were, attending to a short line of patients and their families.

Spotted a caramel-tinted pony wearing a long white coat and a pair of glasses.

Ran to him.

"Uh, doctor, sir?" she asked, tapping him on the stethoscope around his neck.

He turned around. "Right!" he said in a ready tone. "You must be Fluttershy."

"Why, yes...Doctor Horse?"

He nodded. "I'll lead you to the other waiting area for more serious cases like Rainbow Dash."

And she followed him through the hallway and up a flight of stairs.

In front, two wide and white doors. No windows on them. They stood out from the green walls and the blue carpet, a disturbing oddity in the mix of colors.

Opposite the doors, sitting on the waiting chairs, were Bow Hothoof, Windy Whistles, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Scootaloo.

All waiting.

Silent, watching the doors.

"What are they doing to her inside?" Scootaloo asked, shaky and unsteady as she turned to the parents.

Windy shook her head, turned away from her.

Bow faced her. "They're doing the first ever surgery where they install..." and turned to Pinkie. "What do they call it?"

"A cybernetic limb actuator," Pinkie said with a blank expression.

Bow turned back to Scootaloo.

"And that is...?" she asked further, trailing off.

"A mechanical wing," Fluttershy told, leaning in to see the filly from the other side of the seats. "It will take some time getting used to, but...it's better than not having a wing."

A sob.

Bow held Windy tight. "Don't you worry, honey. Everything's going to be alright. Ponyville Hospital has expert surgeons and prosthetists helping our Dashie right now. You've got to trust them."

Covered eyes, hoof and foreleg over them.

She nodded, whimpering though not a word.

Scootaloo looked back at the doors.

No sounds could be heard from behind them.

Only the hoofsteps in the hallway.

And a mother's muffled melancholy.

A Crumbling Pedestal

Blaring brass.

Double Diamond jolted out of bed and banged his head on the window.

The bedroom was quite small, perhaps overloaded. Several bags and backpacks cluttered the sad sleeping quarter. Paintings and drawings of equal signs and ponies smiling—posted, tacked, taped on the walls and one beside a decaying calendar on the ceiling. A few books on the shelves and on a little table, most prominent of all a huge book with the words "Communal Harmony: An Anarchist Manifesto by Starlight Glimmer" plastered across the cover's whole. This hodgepodge of a bedroom was topped with the scent of coffee emitted from a cup of tea—a bag of loose "coffee tea" rested on the manifesto's side.

Double Diamond wrested the curtains away from their captive windows, letting in the sudden glare of the morning sun.

He snarled.

On the wide boulevard fixed up by ribbons, streamers, posters, and rainbow-colored decorations all around, a bombastic parade went on. Unicorns dressed up in purple-black uniforms levitating an instrumental array: drums, trumpets, fancy horns, trombones, tubas, obes, flutes, violins—in tune, together, and producing a grandiose piece, introducing to the tiny lakeside town the one and only on a wheeled platform: Rainbow Dash.

Despite the village's relatively unimpressive size, crowds of ponies flooded the sidewalks with some attempting to gallop to the famed pegasus herself before being swatted away by one of the armored guards. They reached out to her, eyes on her as their sole focus as screams and shouts and yells saturated the atmosphere—"Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!"

The Wonderbolt herself was in full armor except for her helmet. Her spiky mane and her rugged face remained stoic, waving to the crowd with an emotionless move—narry a smile. Her wings were closed.

Both her natural and her artificial.

Double Diamond narrowed his eyes down on that strange wing.

It was an intricate yet robust cybernetic limb. Each component was a sleek metal part, crafted to match her real wing as close as possible. Seamless, too, that wing was, for there he could see none of the inner wiring or other materials between the spaces—for, in that wing, there was no space; it was one whole new wing, shining under the sun.

He closed the window and plugged his ears, still sitting on his bed. "So, she's back. More of that nonsense drivel."

Eyed the manifesto on the table.

"I'm not Starlight's right-hand pony for nothing," he mumbled.

Sharp, indignant eyes.

Star Tracker waved at the approaching Rainbow Dash on the platform as it slugged through the road. He stepped out of the sidewalk, only to be cut in by a swift guard planting temporary fences separating him from the celebrity on that pedestal.

"Oh, come on!" he cried out loud, yelping at the surprise fence before him. "You have a fencing regiment now?!"

Though his complaint was drowned in the sea of applause, march, and music.

Drooped his shoulders. "Never mind. It's probably for the best and—"

Spotted a white pony jumping to the road.

Others pointed at him. Gasping, questioning.

"Hey!" Tracker shouted, pointing at him. "What are you doing?!"

That pony ran on.

Skidded to a halt in front of the parading band.

Between Rainbow Dash and him, a few musical platoons.

The music stopped.

All went quiet.

Double Diamond beat his chest. "I'm a conscientious objector! I'm here to tell you—all of you, yes, especially those of you who are on the sides, thinking about volunteering in the war!—I'm here to tell you that this war isn't as nice as you think it is!"

Murmurs, shocked whispers around.

Rainbow Dash spread her wings open, flew down to the ground.

The band gave way to her.

An open path to him.

Walked her way to him.

The short buildings, the unlimited grass fields, the large lake a little ahead of the bridge, the snowy mountains up ahead—faraway witnesses to this scene.

Then, paused.

Mere inches away from his face.

"What are you doing?" Rainbow said in a growling voice. "Are you a spy?"

"The opposite of a spy," he replied, staying resolute with a cold face. "I'm Double Diamond. I live in the Town of Efficiency. I'm here to protest against this senseless war because it goes against harmony!"

Rainbow spat at the asphalt. Gave him a mean look. "I don't reason with pacifists like you, wise guy! Sombra attacked first! We're only defending ourselves and making sure this evil won't come up again!"

"And, you'll do that by what?" Double Diamond retorted. "Banishing him to the moon? See how that worked out for our beloved Princess and her mental state!"

Gasps. Some fainted mares.

A growing cry, a growing counter-protest—rallying against him, closer and closer to him, spilling from the sidewalks to the road.

Rainbow Dash opened her artifical wing, glaring at the angry mob.

Quieted down.

Closed her wing and looked at him straight. "Do you have a major malfunction? Because, that's not how you refer to Princess Luna."

"I'm only citing a historical example," he said, matching her straight look. "You can't fight against facts, can you?"

"It was the best option Princess Celestia had at the time!" Rainbow shouted. "She couldn't do anything else then, and she can't do anything else now because war is the best decision! If it weren't for us keeping you safe, you pacifists wouldn't even be alive to talk about peace!"

"Yes, we can't do anything about that," Double Diamond conceded. Raised his head. "But, there's the next best action: peace now. Why can't we co-exist with the Crystal ponies, trying to understand what King Sombra has to say?"

"Are you out of your mind?!" Rainbow yelled, slapping the air before him—nerves strained. "What's so 'good' about brainwashing your subjects? Or not obeying war conventions like treating the white flag right? Or aiming for hospitals and medics before anypony else?"

"Maybe he's only grown that ruthless because of what you've done."

Rainbow smacked herself on the head, shaking in disappointment. "OK, arguing with you guys isn't my talent."

Double Diamond smiled.

Both in the middle of the road, the pegasus surrounded by the full force of the marching band.

"You're saying that you know the consequences of your deeds in this unlawful war?" he asked, bitterly happy.

Dash smiled back. "I've got a better solution."

And whistled.

Guards charged at him, bound him in chains never breaking in his struggle.

"Talk to the hoof, buddy," Rainbow said as she took one more step to the apprehended objector.

Then, slapped him on the face.

Kicked him with a hoof.

Silence on that broken parade, that broken march on the road.

"That oughta' teach you a lesson," she said, smirking before flying back to her platform.

Everypony watched as Double Diamond was whisked away by his captors into a cage on a wagon. Locked up two times, he was wheeled from sight, disappearing from public view.

Rainbow stomped on the stationary platform in the middle of the boulevard. "Alright! Let's get a move on already!"

A second's pause.

Then, the marching ponies got back to formation, raised their instruments, and played once more.

The parade continued, though the audience restrained themselves—dull sounds, a lone fanatical cheerer in the audience before being hushed down by his neighbors.

Only the pompous, triumphant music reigned.

Inside the Cutie Mark Crusaders treehouse, Apple Bloom drew an apple tree on paper. She nailed it to the wall, tilted her head a bit, and smiled at herself satisfied.

Heard the swerving of tires on the ground.

She opened the door. Looked down the flight of wooden stairs, saw Scootaloo running up—helmet still on.

"What's the matter with you, Scootaloo?" Apple Bloom asked, confused.

Scootaloo gripped the wall, gasping for air. Exhausted.

Apple Bloom saw the photo on her other hoof.

Closer to grab it.

"No!" Scootaloo shouted. "Don't touch it!"

"Why?" Apple Bloom said, scratching her head as she walked back inside.

"It's...it's Rainbow Dash." She threw her helmet at the painted target on the floor. "I don't know...what just happened to her..."

Apple Bloom closed the door. Locked it shut.

Sighed.

"Take a seat," she said, gesturing a hoof toward the floor as she herself sat down. "Talk about it with me." A hopeful turn of the lips. "That's what friends ar' for, right?"

An Assistant's Sweater

Back at Canterlot, inside that small bookstore, the librarian closed her large tome entitled "The Bay of Liberty" which reeked of eons. She yawned, and then snuffed the candle on the counter, engulfing the whole place in darkness touched only by the shimmering and shivering streetlights of a quiet, perhaps silent, road.

With that, she took off her glasses.

A door creaked open.

The librarian quickly put them back on, a cautious step forward. "Oh, it's you. I forgot that you were in there."

A shy laugh from the shrouded figure at the door. "Heh. Yeah. Sorry about that."

She laughed back, muffled and muted. "Up for another midnight coffee break at the Granule Café?" Another yawn. "I'm gonna go give the keys to you." A pause. "Are you wearing your sweater?"

"I certainly am!"

"Good, very good." She walked to the door and opened it, letting in a rush of cool air—rattling her teeth. "I'll be cleaning up your room before I leave." Her horn glowed, a yellow magical candle of its own, illuminating the bookstore though dimly and lighting up her green face. She looked at him intently. "Remember to be careful out there. I don't want you to get trampled down by a street of rioters."

He shuddered. "They're getting intense, aren't they?"

"Anything to keep a semblance of order, sanity, and...normalness." Took up some breath. "What's the number one rule when going outside here in Canterlot?"

"Avoid tourists at all costs," he repeated.

She smiled.

"Careful, Crystal Hoof."

Lines of cermaic cups on a long wooden counter.

These cups had pieces of fine paper on them, where small batches of wet ground coffee were set. Tiny drops of that caffeinated beverage dripped from the filter to the stagnant yet fragrant, rejuvenating, drink in each.

An aproned barista levitated a cup, mostly finished, to Crystal Hoof who sat on a swivel chair at the counter. After removing the filter, there it was: a cup of black coffee.

His blue forehooves clasped the warm cup, letting him feel its heat against the coffeehouse's air-conditioning. He fixed the little hat on his head, bunching up some of his black and blue mane inside it before going back to his order, comfortable in his blue sweater.

The Granule Café viewed itself as a pioneer of some bygone decade. Some square wooden columns stood out, providing the coffee shop a sense of scale—though little. Old photos of delighted customers and baristas together, sharing the picture and the time, filled the noticeboard where yellowing notes of appreciation, satisfaction—thank you's—continued to age. Fitting the columns, the floor was made of wood and so were the tables and chairs. On these sat a smattering of patrons, chatting much and sipping their coffee not so much. Behind the counter were two baristas, one mare and one stallion, below some chalkboards detailing the menu of the day and in front of some coffee machines and stacks of paper filters. These were under dull ceiling lights.

The defining smell of the coffeehouse? That scent of coffee.

Outside, a quiet and gloomy road with lonely streetlights.

Crystal Hoof took a little gulp of his cup.

Bitterly dark.

"...but, how could you tell a shiny one by their eyes if you can't see them?" he overheard a high-falutin voice say.

He turned his head a bit, just enough that the pony and his friends were in his sights.

"I mean, they're all green," the voice rambled on, belonging to a lanky yellow unicorn sporting a bushy purple mustache. "A ghastly color for the entire eye, though rare, indeed, in a normal pony from my experience."

"Of course, they're all green," one of his companions said—none other than professor Top Marks. A sniveling guffaw, almost slapping his knee. "Well, not all of them are green, that's what I assume and know. It's common knowledge that it's the helmets that make them look green."

"But," Sweet Biscuit, a cream-colored unicorn, interjected—raising a hoof, "don't we have pictures of the Crystal ponies before this whole war and the brainwashing and the mind control, right?"

"Which is of no good use to any of us except to see who's telling the truth," the lanky unicorn said, fixing his purple tie.

"They would be awful at disguises," Sweet Biscuit reasoned. "They would have to remove those helmets first."

"Just you wait, miss," that lanky pony replied, putting both of his hooves on the table—and a drip of coffee splashed on to the table. "If we don't win this war soon, they will only get better at whatever secret skills they are training. I would not be surprised if one of them is the art of espionage itself."

"That would mean finding a way to control ponies without the helmets," she said further.

He raised an eyebrow. Looked at Top Marks. "What do you think?"

"It's a proposition that's been thrown around for some time," the professor answered, rubbing his head as he thought. "Now, however, nopony is sure about where it stands. For all we know, it might not be worth the time and effort to invest in, even for a powerful pony like Sombra. Even if it is worth them, he is simple to a fault: he wants the downfall of Equestria and nothing else, and he wants it immediately. He's not willing to wait for the perfect time, so, from his point of view: Why think about a better way to deceive when...he doesn't have to?" Shrugged his shoulders and floated his coffee to his mouth.

A bit of silence as the other two sipped their coffees as well.

Crystal Hoof kept to himself, looking back on his cup.

"Too much of a good thing," the lanky unicorn began, "is a bad thing. A word of wisdom that I could glean from you, professor."

"But, I wasn't the one who said that—"

"I did not word it the same way as others have done," he interrupted. "I know the usual saying is different, but I do not care to think about that for now. What matters at the moment is that we're here safe and sound, away from that grim danger." A fancy-sounding snicker. "That does not mean that I'm ignorant of the dangers that lurk even in our fair capital. It is, indeed, safer here, but there are threats to one's well-being in Canterlot, too, because of this war...even in this very café."

Crystal Hoof sipped his coffee again. Hooves shaky.

"I'm an interior designer by trade," that lanky unicorn resumed. "As the name of my profession should state clearly, I design building interiors. However, during my tenure in that field, I've developed a competence in astute observation. In other words, I'm good at reading ponies, knowing that they're subtly affected by the environment around them—including the environment inside."

Crystal Hoof took another sip, a bigger one.

"But, you don't need my history to tell that, here in Granule Café, we have an unordinary pony in our midst."

Sweat pouring down Crystal Hoof's face.

A drip down to his coffee.

"Sweet Biscuit," that pony continued, facing her, "I've heard rumors that Crystal ponies' eyes are slightly different from ours. Their...shall we say, sparkle is like that of a, hm, crystal. Many sides, not exactly curved."

"That is true," Top Marks said. "Although...I don't know exactly where you're going with this, Dandy Grandeur. Are you saying that the only other pony in this place is a Crystal pony?"

Crystal Hoof drank the rest of his coffee in one go.

Dandy Grandeur smirked. "I should be expecting that kind of question from a smart professor like you, sir."

And Crystal Hoof stood up and brisked his way out the coffee house.

Reached the bookstore with curtains drawn inside. Still late night, too early in the next day's morning.

Dragged the key out of a pocket. Jangled the door open.

Slammed it shut, locked it.

Staggered to the back door.

Unlocked it.

Entered and slammed it shut.

Slumped to the floor in his half-furnished bedroom of one bed, one shelf, and some books.

Gasping, panting for air.

Then, his whole body engulfed in a blue glow.

Gone was the Crystal pony. In his place, a buggy, hole-infested, fanged changeling.

"They almost got me," Thorax muttered to himself, resting on the door. "They...almost got me..."

Silence. Save for his hushed breathing.

Threshold

Sunburst, with his robe, skimmed through the book he was holding, flipping the pages quickly to the end and closed it shut.

Plopped it on the counter.

"And that would be thirty bits?" he asked the librarian who was taking the book and his bits.

"Yes, mister," she said as she inserted the bits into the cash register and hoofed the volume back to him. "Is it for work or for leisure?"

"Work is my leisure!" Sunburst replied, a bit cocky with strands sticking out of his unkempt mane. Coughed, then rubbed his baggy eyes while levitating his glasses. "I say to myself, 'Why relax when you could be doing something productive?' Heh-heh!"

"Heh...heh..." was the librarian's answer.

He levitated the book into his saddle bag. "Have a good day ahead of you!"

"You, too!" she said, waving at him as he left the bookstore and entered a pink sky's dawn.

Cool morning air permeated the shop.

The back door screeched open, revealing a haggard Crystal Hoof with half-open, sleepy eyes and a wide long yawn.

She winced, pinching her nose. "Yuck! Did you skip on your breath mints or what?"

He shoved a hoof into his mouth, giving her an apologetic face of a frown—or, as much of a frown he could make with a hoof between his teeth.

The librarian groaned as she floated a little jar of such mints. "You know, you're like a dragon sometimes. Yeah, you don't really eat crystals, but...an honest question, Crystal Hoof."

He shuddered. "Wh-What could that be?"

"Do you have sulfur inside your stomach?"

Gulped. Shaky legs, shifting eyes. "Not that I know of, ma'am. We didn't have biology textbooks a thousand years ago."

"Oops." She blushed. "How could I forget that?"

"Well, I've been your assistant for a few months now," he replied, that innocent smile creeping back up.

She nodded as she took off the jar's lid and levitated a simple white mint to him. "Just...just eat it."

The Crystal pony ate it, chewed on it, and swallowed it.

The librarian let out a sigh of relief. "Better?"

"Always better," he said, feeling the intense freshness washing over his mouth and even up to his nose.

Then, her eyes went wide open. "Oh! I forgot to tell you something else."

"What is it?" he asked, walking to the counter, getting closer to her.

It was now only that counter that separated the two.

"I think that you've proven yourself wary enough to go to an event today." She paused, giving him time to let it sink in. "There's an exhibition in the Canterlot Castle. Nothing too flashy or gaudy, but...treat yourself to some rest."

"Really...?" he said, blurting it out as he leaned closer to her.

"Really," was her short reply.

"But," he continued, his smile becoming a pensive frown, "what is it about?"

"Some royal paintings, some magical artifacts, things like that. Of course, they'll be cardoned off by the usual security guards—plus, they'll be having some of the actual soldiers there, too." Another sigh, gazing upon him with a tender turn of her eyes. "Try to fit in with the rest. Don't make too much noise about you being a Crystal pony. I have to keep you away from harm, but I don't want to do that by confining you inside this little wayside bookstore."

It was Crystal Hoof's turn to nod. "I understand." He saw the back door once again; it was open. "So, I'll prepare my things, right?"

"Yes, yes," she said, her second "Yes" much quieter.

The grand, spacious hallway in the castle was, like the rest of them, an artistic masterpiece in and of itself. There was the (probably obligatory) red carpet cutting through the middle, the wall-tall windows that had huge and dangling curtains drawn over them, and the polished checkerboard floor that stank of newly-applied and experimental varnish scented like that of roses and violets (for there was a glass bottle standing at the corner with its label proclaiming, "Researched and guaranteed to give you the shiniest of shiny floors that the world of shiny floors have ever shiningly seen!").

On easels, paintings of various kinds teemed the hall. From the realism of a farmpony hard at work to the abstract of undefinable shapes and strokes, an entire gamut of imaginative finesse was on display here for everyone present to admire.

Crystal Hoof stood, with a few others beside him, in front of a particular painting.

This one depicted a white pegasus of the guard, armored and standing on top of a hill overlooking a vast dry field of rocks and barrenness sliced open by the glaring sunrise. His eyes shimmered, his armor gleamed, and that look on his face was as stoic as ever—unfeeling, unchanging.

The Crystal pony walked away from the painting.

He passed by several more, giving them peeks long enough to digest their immediate messages, their first impressions.

Then, he entered the artifact section of the event.

While there were only a scant number of them compared to the numerous paintings present, these artifacts were treated with a care and a defense unrivalled by their canvassed counterparts. Under a thick and airtight glass cover and on a raised platform, each relic also had four guards posted there, emulating the unemotional hero idealized in the painting before. Added to them were short fences that stood between the guards and the relic, short enough that ponies could tilt forward a bit and take a more detailed inspection and examination of these valuable items.

The first one at Crystal Hoof's left was a faithful recreation of the Elements of Harmony themselves—it said so on the elevated nameplate in front of it. "The Elements that you see here are imitations made from readily available diamonds and precious stones," read a part of the description on that plate. These fake Elements of Harmony were different-colored gems, the six of them. Five were generic in form, but the sixth was shaped like a star with six points.

The second one at his right was an ancient, decaying tome, the edges browned with tear and wear. A few scribbles could be discerned from the pages that protruded from the book, but they were not enough to make a whole word. "This cobbled up collection of Starswirl the Bearded's letters to and from one of his students, Clover the Clever, is a priceless glimpse into the life of ancient Equestria. Due to these letters, many of the historical mistakes made about this period have been rectified."

The third one located on the middle of the carpet was a big mirror, full height. Its rim was like a horseshoe and studded with gems. Above it, a symbol of a pony on a window.

"This mirror," read the nameplate, "is a mysterious object. Its magical properties are unknown."

And that was all.

Crystal Hoof faced one of the mirror's four guards. "Do you have any idea what's the mirror for?"

The guard stayed still.

"Alright. That's because...you're here...uh, doing your job..." and gulped again. "I think I should stop talking right now."

The guard made no motion at all.

He laughed nervously to himself as he shuffled away from the mirror.

It was deep night.

Inside a small room with some shelves that contained brooms, toothpaste, and buckets of paint alongside other maintenance tools and equipment, there was the mirror, too, hooked up to a combination of tacked-on components and parts—wires, levers, indicators, and, resting on a little metal table, a book with no name nor picture.

Princess Celestia bowed her head down.

"This war may have taken its toll," she said, alone, with somber timbre, "but it shall not stop me from seeing her once again...whatever trouble she may have gotten herself in."

She put her hoof on the lever.

Pulled.

Thoughtful Reflection

It was still deep night.

At an uptown intersection, cars whizzed by, shadowy blurs with huge lights ahead of them. Streetlights glowed white, casting a sharp glow on the sidewalks prettied up by the occasional tree. Some people strolled up and down those paths, showing a gaudy diversity in their fashion with expressive clothes. A giggle went up in the air, giving the slumbering night a merry note.

A light pink woman dressed in yellow coat, purple slacks, and yellow tie—she walked past the only lit building on the block. She could see what was going on inside.

There, inside the roomy café, arponed waiters and waitresses strode about the place, taking orders and giving orders. Some steam and smoke could be seen from the open kitchen behind the counter, their equipment covered in metal sheens as large sandwiches were wrapped, tall burgers were prepared, and fries were fried.

The diners themselves had that diversity in their clothes, too. Among them were some students in purple-black uniform, conversing with each other around a table with some half-eaten grub.

At the corner, sitting alone, was another student. She had the same uniform as the others. Her dark blue hair was frayed, her glasses was a little hazy. She gasped and took them out and wiped the lenses. Put them back on and continued her intense research which involved two calculators, one ruler, five sheets of paper, some circuitry, and seven folders of photos and notes—all on one table.

The woman outside looked at that curious student.

Bumped and fell down.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Principal Celestia!" she heard as the figure pulled her back up on her two feet. "I was in such a mighty rush an' my head's about up on the orders of apple pie tomorrow!"

The principal gave a soft laugh, dusted herself off, and placed her hand on the person's shoulder.

That one had a country hat, a green-white shirt, a denim skirt, and a pair of heavy boots.

"It's OK, Applejack," Celestia said, smiling. "The night is often the time for thoughtful reflection...although, I must admit, you seem to do that while running around the city at midnight."

Applejack blushed, scratched her yellow hair. "Well, ma'am, I was gettin' late—big line at the groc'ry an' all."

"That would be quite alright," she replied before glancing back at the lone student at the corner inside.

"Uh, Principal Celestia?" Applejack spoke up. "Why are you checking on Crystal Prep students?"

"I am much interested in one of them specifically," she said, not looking away.

Applejack stepped forward, the lights glowing on her, too. "You mean Twilight Sparkle? The odd Shadowbolt out?"

Celestia nodded as she crossed her arms. Then, she stepped back, about to walk away.

"Wait," Applejack said, raising up her hand. "What's so interestin' about her?"

Celestia stopped. Turned around. "I am figuring that one out myself."

"Uh...alrighty, then. I trust you're doin' it for something good, ma'am."

Celestia nodded again. "And, it was nice bumping into you."

Applejack's smile dampened at that. "Oh, uh, OK! Well, see ya' tomorrow!"

Celestia snickered, covering her mouth with a hand. "It's already tomorrow."

She gasped. "The pies! I hope they ain't overburnt!"

And the farmgirl ran away, into the night.

Celestia stood there for a few seconds, watching the spot where Applejack was.

Then, walked away from the café, her figure no longer covered in its artificial blaze of light.

She turned to her left at the next building which was a small two-floor apartment-esque brick house. Its roof was a dull yellow, its door was orange, and a tiny potted cactus rested on the side.

Walked up the few steps to the door.

Knocked on it.

Stood, waiting. Tapped her shoe.

Hard footfalls inside.

Louder, nearer.

Jingle of the knob.

Opened, revealing someone who broke out into a yawn. She wore a jacket, a shirt, and a skirt. Holding a cup of coffee. "D-Don't you know it's the...what?" Looked back inside, rubbing her heavy eyes. "Half past twelve?"

Celestia let a smile go over her face. "When has that prevented me from checking up on you, Sunset Shimmer?"

Sunset gasped.

Her living quarters was mostly made up of, technically, one room. The living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the study, the bedroom: none of these were separated or divided by a wall. Only the bedroom stood out a little more from the rest since it was on the second floor, and it was not a room—the whole floor was merely a wooden platform connected by stairs, overlooking the rest of the interior.

A faint scent of coffee could be detected.

Windows were closed.

On a couch, with a small table before it, were the two people. On the table was the cup of coffee half full.

"So, the rest of Canterlot High still haven't figured out that you used to be a pony?" Celestia began.

Sunset nodded. "Yeah. At least, no one's acted strangely around me recently, nor have they found any holes in my cover story."

"Which means that my other self and her sister remain the only ones knowledgeable about your...unique past."

Sunset nodded again.

"That is good." She looked out the window. Then, realized it was closed. "Are you sure that there has been nothing else strange going on as of late?"

Sunset shook her head. "I've been keeping tabs on the sirens. No serious moves yet, but I'm still finding a way to get them without causing a lot of attention."

"Hmm." A pause. "Of course, it would be difficult to pull off without resorting to magic. This world has not witnessed magic, and I dread the consequences if someone were to show it to everyone."

Sunset nodded once more. "I don't think that's all, is it?"

"No."

The student looked wistful, eyeing here and there. "It's about the war back in Equestria. There's no other way."

Celestia turned her head away, downward.

"Principal Celestia had private conversations with me ever since she heard of it from you. I...I couldn't keep that out of my head for a long while. To imagine...that my home is in turmoil while here, wherever this dimension is...it's peaceful." A pause, a downward head, too. "At times, I feel like I'm cheating. I get to hang out with some good friends, learn more about this weird new world, and I even have a little job connected to Equestria—thanks to you, Princess. I don't even know what to say, really..."

Celestia then lifted up her head, to look at her.

"That takes me back...to the first time you came here," Sunset continued, earnest. "Told me that saving your sister from Nightmare Moon revealed to you some startling truths. Changed you."

Not a word.

Sunset sighed. "Now, I'm here and you're...here, too. I 'frolick' in the field of friendship while Equestria..."

Celestia placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault that this happened, Sunset."

"I know that," she said, about to snap, waving her hands about. "But, I can't just stay here! I have to do something to help out my fellow ponies, my family—to help you out, too!"

"You are already helping by safeguarding this world from magic," Celestia replied in that reassuring tone. "What would have happened if you weren't here? The sirens here would've spread their hatred and discord throughout this land, which is something I do not wish upon it. The fact that they have delayed their plans means that you've already made a lasting impact on this world for the better."

"How is that helping?" Sunset whined, her face contorted.

Celestia heaved a sigh. "In certain ways. I myself do not know many of this world's intricacies. What you and I both know is that there is a balance between here and Equestria. Not a perfect one-to-one correspondence, but a balance, nonetheless. By spreading friendship wherever you go...you are helping all of us hold up the friendship we have back home, to unite us to end the war as soon as possible before the cost..."

Hesitated. Winced.

"Before...it becomes too much to bear."

A hand on her shoulder.

Sunset's hand.

Silence. That reassuring hand.

Celestia straightened up.

Sunset took her hand back.

"One more thing," Celestia said, eyeing the computer and the tackboard in the study. Then, turned back to her. "How much progress did you make on Twilight Sparkle?"

"The Shadowbolt you told me to spy on since last time?" she asked, standing up.

Celestia stood up as well. "Yes. Her." Gave her a disapproving expression. "And, I didn't ask you to spy."

The two walked their way to the study area.

"Well, you haven't told me exactly why you want me to research all about her. I know she has a pony counterpart drifting about somewhere, but you just gave me a name and that was it."

Celestia kept silent.

They reached the study where a long table resided beside a refrigerator, and on top of that was a microwave. The tackboard was nailed to the wall, displaying notes, photos, strings, ribbons—connections. The computer with its keyboard lay there, and so were a few books.

Sunset sat on the office chair, booted up the computer, and swung another chair at Celestia.

The Princess took a seat beside her.

Monitor flashed bright, showing a black background with a few files on the desktop.

One of them was labeled "Starlight Glimmer".

Celestia flinched. "Huh. There's a Starlight Glimmer here as well."

"What?" Sunset turned around. "Who's that?"

"The mayor of a new town," Celestia replied. "Funny that you know, since I've never told you nor the other Celestia about her."

"Actually, I don't," Sunset said. She clicked on the file. "I don't want anyone snooping around and think I have an evil plan against Crystal Prep. They're not that pragmatic, but I wouldn't be surprised if they just sneaked into my house and open this up. So, I took Twilight Sparkle's name, switched it around with some similar words, and out came 'Starlight Glimmer'."

A white window glowed on screen.

"Neat coincidence if I've ever seen one," Sunset topped off.

"Yes, a coincidence," Celestia murmured as the loading bar on the monitor zipped to 100%.

Then, a messy chart was present. Mini-windows of phrases and sentences, arrows and lines connecting them together, and pictures of everything that could be related to Twilight Sparkle: the shiny exterior of Crystal Prep Academy where a parking lot and a soccer field existed within the premises, class photos where she appeared in, stores and restaurants where she was not looking—or even aware of—the camera, other places deemed as "Frequent" by the caption underneath, multiple angles of her manor, and family photographs where she, her parents, and her brother all smiled.

"It's hard to wade through all of this," Sunset said as she rolled her chair away, giving Celestia more space, "but here's the major points I've learned," and, counting with her fingers: "One, she's a Crystal Prep Academy student, and even a Shadowbolt, but I guess you know that already. Two, she is very scholarly; studys a lot and is regarded as a star student. Three, despite what I just said about her, she's pretty much treated as the weird girl; socially awkward, basically—doesn't have that many friends if she has any."

Celestia tapped her chin, drinking as much information from the screen as she could. "Anything else?"

Sunset waited a few seconds, a shudder across her face. "She's curious. She's been on lots of websites researching things like, um, the 'fabric of reality'. Dimensions, time travel, spacetime...that kind of thing. What's worse, I discovered that she already has blueprints of...I can't tell what it was, but, judging from the research she's doing...it's a good thing I know for sure that she can never travel through time or twist reality since magic isn't here."

"Yet," Celestia spoke. "As long as magic stays away from this world, then you can let Twilight do what she wants. I believe that she does not have any ulterior motives. She is curious, as you've said, and that is nothing wrong by itself."

"You...you're right." Sunset arranged herself better on the chair. "But, that still doesn't explain why her. There are at least one or two like Twilight who study at CHS."

Celestia made one more sigh.

A sorrowful sigh.

She took out two pictures from her coat pocket.

Handed to her.

Sunset received them, holding them up to the monitor's light.

"One look is all it will take," Celestia said, lower, quieter.

Her voice, a hint of pain.

Celestia brisked her way on the sidewalk.

Across the road were the suburbs. Not a single house had a light on save for, maybe, a porchlight or two against the bleak night.

On the road itself, no cars. Not a whir far off.

At her side of the road, there was a massive brick structure, flooded with windows. On the roof was a giant glass dome with a red flag flapping over it; on the edges of the building top were yellow busts of horses' heads.

Several meters from the entrance and its white steps, there rested a marble white statue of a rearing horse.

Celestia approached the statue, quickening her pace.

Saw another woman standing there. A blue one.

"I assume that you are done with your important task," that person said.

She nodded slowly. Sober. "Sunset knows more than almost anyone else in Equestria about the situation."

Celestia then took out her yellow tie and gave it to her.

"As always, give it back to your sister, Luna."

She nodded, wearing the tie around her neck. "Are you completely certain that you do not need our assistance?"

Celestia shook her head, sweat going down her face. "I am completely certain. Besides, you and your Celestia have already done more than enough to help Sunset in her job here. If we all keep to the plan, then we may end this tragedy much sooner."

Luna leered at the statue's base. "Which means that you are ready to transport yourself back to your war-torn world?"

Celestia wavered, her hand twitching as it stopped an inch before the marble surface.

"Take care of yourself," Luna said.

Placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I and Celestia—" coughed "—my sister, Celestia...we may not have a clear idea of what a magical world might be facing with this war. But, whatever you seek to do...do not forget the wisdom you have gained over your thousand-year lifespan."

Celestia stayed there for a moment.

Turned to face her, hand still near the surface. "Thank you for reminding me of that. I hope I will never throw away your wisdom, Luna."

Placed her hand.

Walked through the statue's base.

And disappeared.

Luna stared at where she had been. "I hope so, too."

The mirror glowed bright.

And appeared Princess Celestia on her four hooves, back to her normal alicorn self.

With Princess Luna standing in front of her in the same room.

Celestia widened her eyes. "Luna?"

"Yes, sister," Luna replied, her horn glowing blue as she magically lifted the book on the table. "It is I."

Celestia bowed her head down.

"When I took a break from my duties in the dream realm," Luna explained, "I wanted to look for you, to see if you had gone on yet another midnight trip to the frontlines to inspire our soldiers. As it turns out, I was not entirely incorrect—you were not in your bedroom, and you could not be seen in any of the public spaces in the castle. I decided to check this room; I knew that if this book was in the machine—" she motioned the book about "—then that means that you have traveled to the other side."

"And that is true," Celestia replied.

Nothing as they were surrounded by the same shelves of brooms, toothpaste, and buckets of paint.

In the dark.

"Celestia," Luna spoke, looking up to her, "you must rest."

The book glowed from blue to yellow as Celestia gained control of it, her horn glowing.

"You cannot go to and fro at such a length. While you have proven to be an inspiring force to our brave and loyal troops, they already trust in you—and this you know. Your absence would hurt their morale little, if at all."

"I cannot rest," Celestia responded, giving her sister a frantic glare. "If I rest, I won't rest easy, knowing that sending our ponies to battle is something...criminal, even if it is an evil necessity." She paused, trotting. "Seeing how our citizens, our subjects, our dear ponies not only get hurt but even die only because some mad king thought that the world rightfully belongs to him and that he should be its sole ruler...how could I not be there for them?"

"There is oversleeping, sister," Luna curtly replied. "If you oversleep, you'll raise the sun too late, which will spell disaster for high command's coordination."

Silence.

"That, however, would be the least of our problems if you tire yourself out, Celestia."

The two Princesses looked at each other, Luna with a commanding air about her.

Celestia with a thoughtful face of reflection.

Contemplative.

"Trust me," Luna spoke, almost pleading; her eyes asking. "The whole of Equestria trusts us, that we are more than capable and willing to fulfill our responsibilities as Princesses during these troublesome times. You must rest, lest you send our ponies to a fatal future by your well-meaning carelessness."

And silence.

The door glowed yellow and opened, showing a dim hallway.

"I shall take your advice, Luna." Turned to her. "Thank you for telling me, sister. The both of you."

"The both of us?" she said back, balking.

Celestia walked out the door and in the hallway, floating the book along.

Luna could hear a loud yawn.

Then, she nodded. "Ah, yes. I understand what you mean. The both of us, indeed. The other Luna has helped you, also."

The Princess of the Night exited the room, locking it with twenty locks and a spell before following her sister.

A whiff of lavender.

Beyond Remark

Three weeks later

A brown Earth pony looked down the timber stairway. She was wearing a simple, cheap hat and had a camera slung around her neck.

Sour chinks from the ground floor.

"That doesn't sound like a lot of ponies," she muttered, going down the stairs.

Turned left.

The wooden table was quite lengthy, able to seat dozens. Yet, it was bare, save for two who sat at the near end of it, eating some fruit pies smelling fresh.

"Took you long enough, Long Shot," Press Release said as she struggled to turn the chair around to face her. "You're late by five minutes."

"That's not nice," Eff Stop told his companion, pointing a hoof at the newcomer. "We're all tired from the journey here. I've had enough of huge explosions from that mortar whatchacallit. Kept me up all night and I'm sure it kept you up all night, too!"

"But, what's for breakfast?" Long Shot asked.

Press Release brought a hoof up to count. "Apple pie, pear pie, orange pie, banana pie, mango pie, strawberry pie, chocolate pie, cream pie, blueberry pie. Nothing but pie. And water. Not water-flavored pie."

"Eww!" Long Shot cringed. "I don't want to know what that would taste like!"

"Tastes horrible," Eff Stop said. "I've tried it once as my midnight snack, 'cause I spilled some water."

It was Press Release who reeled away from him. "What?!"

Then, he stuffed the rest of his pie into his mouth.

Long Shot looked around the room.

Delicate shelves of vases and other pottery. Magnificent portraits of sodliers and their commanders. Closed windows, ceiling lights on. Floor waxed clean and shiny.

Eff Stop finished his pie.

"So, where's everypony else?" Long Shot asked.

"Where do you think they went?" Press Release snapped. "Your birthday party?"

"Don't they have the Rock Troopers here?" Eff Stop quipped.

"Birthdays are delayed by several hours per military order," Press Release said back while holding up a scrap of scribbled on paper, glaring at him.

"But, where's everypony?" Long Shot persisted. "Shouldn't we be wherever they are?"

"They're at the front!" Press Release shouted, pushing up from her chair. "At the field! You happy?!"

Eff Stop patted her on the head and pushed the seething newspony back on her chair. "There, there. You don't have to be mad all the time. Just be yourself, your good ol' normal self and—"

Levitated a slice of pie and whacked it straight into her mouth and chewed.

Eff Stop laughed nervously, slowly turning to Long Shot. "Well, she's grumpy because of the loud noises last night. I'm glad that you aren't grumpy. So, uh, why don't you sit down and I'll get some pies from the fridge? Can't do our work on empty stomachs, am I right? Heh?"

Long Shot nodded and sat down. "OK!"

Eff Stop stood up and fluttered his way to the fridge at the other end of the room. "Heh."

Sleet of snow. Cold wasteland, some rocks its only beauty.

Gray, foreboding sky; a tint of red orange.

Before the three newsponies, a rising blank and gray hill.

Where several battalions stood still.

A swarm of ponies in armor. A sea of them where one could easily drown and be lost, perhaps to never be found again.

"You know what your job is, right?" Shining Armor said as he walked with the three, leading them toward the peak. He was levitating a pair of special black glasses or goggles.

"Uh, y-yes, sir!" Long Shot said, saluting him.

Her two fellow newsponies looked at her strange.

"Always stay behind cover," Shining told. "Don't get too near the action. Take pictures in a way that you won't reveal yourselves to the enemy—they're ruthless and won't care about hurting civilians for their ends. Understood?"

The three of them nodded in agreement.

"Hurry! I'll stay behind and direct everypony here after the battle starts."

And, the three of them left.

Not a word exchanged as they walked up.

Finally, they reached the first line of soldiers and halted.

Looked up at the top of the hill.

There, near its apex, Princess Celestia.

Silence except for the howling, growling gale.

Everyone's ears lent to her.

"My ponies," she began, her voice loud and clear, "we are about to embark on an historical encounter. Here we are, mere miles from the Crystal Empire itself. Those of you who've made it this far, I congratulate you for your efforts—rest assured that you will not leave this place empty-hoofed. Those of you who only see themselves as new recruits—this is your time of testing, when you will become hardened soldiers, where you will learn the misery of warfare.

"Yes. I will not sugarcoat. While there is much to be had in victory, there will be defeats, too. Some of you seek war as a grand adventure with your friends...drop it right now. By the end of this war, you may be the only one of your friends left standing. By the end of this war, you may be the only one out of your original squad to remain alive. By the end of this war, you may be the only one who knows what war truly means.

"I know what I've asked of you and what I continue to ask of you is not an easy thing. I know that your families suffer, that they yearn for you, that they dream of being together at some cozy fireplace again...to eat dinner together and laugh at days before.

"But, this sacrifice is for a worthy cause. A world under the iron grip of King Sombra is not ideal, nor is it even tolerable. It is a world where oppression reigns supreme, where every freedom and right enjoyed is thrown away to advance the life, the reason, and the purpose of one selfish king. What use is there in bettering Equestria and, indeed, the rest of the world when all is directed to feed the ego and the hunger of Sombra?

"One only needs to look at the atrocities committed under him. Cities are now just places to train new soldiers and produce goods for the front. There is no room for the pursuit of something else—no room for an artist to take a break and to paint a painting in the middle of a lush park, no room for a cook to unleash his creativity and create a dish that would captivate many, no room for a comedian to set up shop in a public square and entertain the passers-by. There is only one thing to do there and that is to work, work, work—for Sombra.

"Past Crystal territory, there is also the fear Sombra inspires through bombings and ambushes. Because of him, nopony can live with ease—they are here today, but what about tomorrow? Yet another purple cloud might extend its evil grasp and take the life of a pony who doesn't deserve death in some remote countryside 'safe' in Equestria. This is without mentioning the more conventional attacks he issues against small villages near the front, terrorizing them to no end, traumatizing them to no end.

"Worst of all is his crime of enslaving his own subjects, his own ponies, to obey his will without question. To force them to trust in you, to obey you...it is beyond words. They have not a single thought for themselves nor for others—not their families, not their friends. All is for their king, all is for Sombra, and their entire energy is spent in doing his will, his bidding. And, what of our captured ponies, those who were not able to escape the invasion in time? They, too, are brought under his control with no consideration of who they were, wresting them away—against their will.

"What shock would their families and friends feel when they know that their loved one has been tormented in lifelong servitude to a monster?"

A pause.

Breathing, panting.

"A world where Sombra rules is not a world where ponies could live in. It is a world where death and destruction thrive, where nopony is truly free.

"Think about it. Think hard and clear. What will you fulfill if we let this tyrant take Equestria over? You will protect the Crystal Empire. Well, why will you protect the Crystal Empire? Because it is, admittedly, a stabilizing actor if it does win this war. But, what do you gain from a protected Crystal Empire?

"Tell me. What do you gain from it? Could you pursue your heart's content, its dreams and desires? Could you express yourself as you please, to talk and to be talked to, to speak and to listen to a great variety of ideas and opinions? Could you bond and befriend anypony, secure in the knowledge that you will not be berated for your actions?

"This Crystal Empire is our enemy not because it is at the opposite side of the ground. It is our enemy because it assails against everything we all stand for: friendship and harmony.

"To this Empire's end, we must fight!"

"For Equestria!" a lone voice cried out from the sea.

"For Equestria!" everyone else rang out.

To silence once more.

Then, synchronized stomps in the distance.

"That is the sound of their approach," Celestia said, spreading her wings.

Turned round toward the vast empty land. A few steps up to its crest.

Gritted her teeth.

Said nothing.

Pointed at the horde of gray on the other side.

And the Wonderbolts flew overhead.

Ground troops at her side.

Flowing down the hill drop.

Them galloping forward.

The enemy galloping forward at them.

On this snowy, barren field.

Closer, closer.

Collision in a cloud of smoke and dust.

Within the confusion, all formation disintegrated. What was left, individual scuffles between Equestrian and Crystal everywhere. Groans, grunts, punches, kicks.

From the smoke, a sturdy gray stallion clothed in metal. A royal robe flapping in the wind. His mane and his tail pitch black, twirling in the gale as if they were shadows. Eyes red, horn a gray becoming red.

Several guards charging at him.

As he looked up.

Horn glowing a frightening purple and green.

Rocks grew up from below, lifting him up.

The guards hitting them, bumping them.

They looked up at the regal pony.

King Sombra laughed.

Dark.

Within viewing distance, a gray-winged Wonderbolt pummeled more Crystal soldiers.

Landed on the ground again, surrounded by friends fighting foes. Cacophony, grunts, downed allies, enemies.

Another Crystal soldier lunged at her.

Shook him off.

Helmet thrown out.

Revealing Rainbow Dash, her artificial limb clean unlike her natural, worn wing.

Rushed to another Crystal soldier.

A red one.

Tackled him, stained in bruises and snow.

A shadow loomed over him.

And her.

Rainbow looked up.

A falling boulder.

Closed her eyes, foreleg raised high.

Blows and cracks, wallops and smacks in rapid succession.

Stones, pebbles peltering her.

Opened her eyes. Looked up.

To her sides.

Pinkie and Maud in full, solemn uniform.

Saluted her, then trotted off.

Rainbow flew up.

Not far from here, the Princess walking down, a face of horror as she surveyed the four ponies about her—near unconscious.

Ground rumbling.

Four Crystal ponies appeared, digging up from below.

Celestia aback.

Stepping forward, toward her.

Stood down.

Her horn glowed.

A white dome around her.

Expanding, exploding.

Away those Crystal soldiers flew.

Celestia back in her commanding stance.

Yet, those four Equestrians down.

The battle raged on around her, more Wonderbolts sweeping Crystal ponies up and dropping them from afar, more ground soldiers attacking others, more Crystals burrowing up and down and throwing rocks, more rocks and stones being crushed to little pieces, more rock and crystal walls formed by Sombra, more ponies down, more medics coming, more beams shooting and zipping, more arrows flying, more orders and shouts floating and flitting, more eyes fluttering, more scars and scabs gained and nabbed, more snow building up, more searing screams from those in pain, more dome blasts and explosions, more dark crystals rising, more reinforcements coming and suffering, more smoke and dust obscuring, more coughs to be silenced, more lives to be risked, more everypony dy—

"Get out, now!"

Commotion infested the barracks, the living quarters. Reservists packed up their things and slung their bags about their torsos, some murmuring sentences like, "I hope they'll be safe!", "Octavia, we will meet again!", "I just need to stay alive!"

Doors jammed, doors broken down into the open.

Pegasi flying back away. Others running away across the grass field.

Both under the cloudy sky.

"They're going to get us all!" one of them shrieked as he ran from the barracks, bag in tow.

Crystal ponies fell from the roof and seized several of his exiting squadmates.

"Agh!"

Out he went, dodging arrows and beams.

Over old, abandoned trenches. Over trodden, dirty roads. Over fallen comrades.

Whizzes, whooshes, barely missing him.

Sweat down his face, pulse racing.

"I didn't sign up for this!" he yelled, dodging yet another surprise attack from a hiding Crystal pony.

Kicked him on the head.

Galloped.

"Come on, come on, come on, where's the nearest train station when you need one?!"

Whistle ahead.

A structure clearer with each leap.

"Got it!"

Several bounds.

A huge beam tearing a hole in the station's roof.

"Ah! OK, OK—" still galloping, still running "—as long as the train's intact, I'm going to get out of here and be the very antithesis of dead!"

And a few more jumps.

Past the station, into the carriage.

Door closed shut.

Whistle shrilled.

Off it went, wheels turning fast, train chugging at breakneck.

"Tell me...tell me I'm dreaming...I'm just dreaming, right?...right?"

Slap on the face.

"N-No...I'm just...just your average Manehattanite...wanting to have some fun with my friends...your friends...everyone's...friends...and we could have lots of polka...and..."

Cold water splashed on his face.

"Agh!"

Hooves, legs, face, whole body shivering wet.

"Whaddya' do that for?!" Cheese Sandwich yelled, holding on to his blanket as he lay. "Is this some kind of wake-up prank? Hey, I'm the one who does the pranking around here!"

A sloppy, big-toothed Earth pony and a blonde-maned, medalled and ribboned unicorn stood before him on his bed, each holding a bucket of what used to be water.

Around him, a white hospital room with various medical instruments strewn about.

"We had to make sure ya' were fine an' not gettin' the rickety rickets or the shockin' shocks o' the century!" the Earth pony said in a thick accent, putting down his bucket on a cabinet labeled "Emergency Wake Up Buckets".

The unicorn nodded. "If you are wondering where you are now, you are precisely at Middle North Point."

Cheese Sandwich leaped up his bed and hit his head on the ceiling and fell down. "What?! We've gone back?!"

"I was pretty sure the whole retreating thing was a big giveaway," the unicorn said.

"But, wh-where's everypony?" Cheese yelled. "Are you and Hayseed the only survivors? Is Equestria doomed or what?!"

"We've suffered major casualties, yes," the unicorn went on, watching his Earth pony compatriot arrange the buckets in order, "but we are not too badly affected by it. We have more than enough to conduct another offensive."

"Another offensive?!" he shouted. "But, Blueblood—can't you do something about it?"

Blueblood shook his head gravely with closed eyes. "No. Military wisdom dictates that we must regroup as fast as we can. Autumn will not last forever. When winter comes, no offensive can be made—and, during that time, the Crystal Empire will definitely think up of some nasty plot to upend Equestria as we know it."

Cheese coughed on his bed, lying down. "Have...have I been hit?"

"Ya' passed out; that's all!" Hayseed Turnip Truck answered, raising another bucket of cold water to the air. "Needs lots of air to get yer' noggin working straight and not curved like a curved line o' circle!"

Opened the shutters.

Lots of light inside.

"Ah!" and Cheese covered his eyes.

Blueblood trotted to the door. "I have to attend to impertinent business." Turned his head at him. "It's understandable that I leave, is it not?"

Cheese moaned, stretched his hoof out at him. "Are...are my accordions safe?"

"They're here in perfect condition."

"And..." raising his hoof to the air, too, "and...and Boneless...?"

A little cackle. "Oh, he's fine. You need not worry about him."

Out he went.

A fracture on the table.

Shining's white hoof, teeth bare.

"We had it!" he shouted, his voice the only one. "We had them right in our sights! There was no way that this could've flopped, but it did!"

Blueblood looked down, the only other pony in the room as they stood before a table's map. A single light hung over them.

"I've had my doubts when you were up for the list," Shining went on, pacing the room. "Those who knew you so well had told me that you had been a royal brat, a snobbish Prince who knew nothing but prosperity and wealth." A pause; he halted. "I'd looked past that, for personality was second to military knowledge and ability. You knew much more than the average pony about warfare, so I got you in."

Smacked the table with his hoof.

"Now, explain yourself, Blueblood!"

Nothing. His eyes under his mane's shadow.

"Silence is not a valid response!" Shining screamed, smashing his hoof on the table again.

Crack.

Shining groaned, gripping the table with his hooves, horn glowing. "We were this close." Held a hoof up. "You know as well as I do how close we were."

Silence.

"Five miles, Blueblood." His eyes drained. "Five miles from the Crystal Empire, five miles from the heart of their operations, five miles from the root of this evil Empire! It was the closest we ever got to them and you blew it!"

Blueblood silent, head down.

"Where was your military genius hours ago? Where did all the knowledge go? Down the drain?!"

Silence.

"OK, I'm not having this any longer!"

Walked up to the door.

Kicked it open.

A hallway of curious soldiers and reporters peeking in.

"Face me, Blueblood."

He did so, facing him, the hallway to his right.

Silence once more.

Shining ripped one ribbon off Blueblood's uniform.

Then, the next one. The next one. The next one. The next one.

And all his medals, too.

At the end of it, a rumpled pile of gold and fabric.

Crushed.

Shining panting for breath.

Pointed at the hallway, not lifting his head to give the pony in front of him a glimpse.

"Out."

Blueblood nodded and walked out of the room.

Picturesque fields of grass, pristine under the breeze's sway and the sunset's glow.

Inside the train, the lone Prince sat, looking off to the horizon, to the orange sky.

"Poor guy," a voice said some seats apart. "Heralded as the general who could stave off the Crystal Empire and turn the tides. Here, he has nowhere to go but some menial job with lots of manual labor."

On those seats, Press Release and Eff Stop along with Long Shot, all wearing cameras. Some notepads, notebooks, quills, and ballpens were on hoof.

"Don't be so loud!" Press Release said, shushing him right after. "He's still a Prince. He could take you down with him to the uniform factory!"

"He's in no state to do that," Eff Stop said. "Especially considering what just happened to him. If he tries to send me to one of those powerhouses, then he's gonna heap upon himself even more fuel to the fire."

"What about we give him something?" Long Shot suggested, an innocent smile on her face. "Like...a flower?"

Press Release gave her a strange look. "You're kidding me, right?"

Blueblood was in line at the factory's entrance. Smokestacks billowed out smog and smoke, filling the air with a heavy, dreary gray.

"Stop."

Looked up, saw a mustached pony holding some bunched up clothes. No ties, no frills. Only fabric.

Blueblood levitated it with his hoof.

"Go."

Walked inside.

The clangor of collective processing and manufacture. The sewing machines were the drums, the percussion that served as the music to the work. Crowds of ponies creating the same clothes, the same uniforms—shirt and pants.

It was hot, it was nerve-racking, it was stressful, it was mind-numbing. On every face, there was no smile. Only a sweaty frown, perhaps a tearful one instead.

Blueblood slung his clothes on his back and walked to an empty spot.

Where some burly stallions carried a new sewing machine, nailed it to the floor, and left.

One empty, unoccupied sewing machine.

He trotted his way to it.

Then, a cart stalled at his side. The driver ran off.

"Hey, hey!" Blueblood cried out after the fleeing pony. The Prince held up a hoofful of wool and fleece from the cart. "How am I supposed to turn this into clothes?!"

"Well, that was a disappointment," Press Release said as the evening landscape buzzed by, the stars and the moon once again gracing the sky. "Didn't get to see much of him inside. Or anything else, for that matter."

Long Shot was drinking some soda, watching the conversation before her play out.

"Maybe it's paying some courtesy," Eff Stop said. "There's a limit to everything. Gotta give him some leg room. He's already gotten enough as it is."

Silence except for the wheels whirring and the train chugging.

"At the very least," Eff Stop spoke, "we're going to have our first break in a long time. Extremely taxing—I'm planning some simple living."

"Simple living in Manehattan, eh?" Press Release quipped. "As if that's going to be simple. You might as well ask to be drafted right there and then the moment you step off of this train. That front hasn't moved a meter away from the city in ages."

"Better than being in the line of fire," Eff Stop said, wiping some sweat off of his face. "We're going to need serious paychecks to cap off the workload." Let out a laugh. "Right, Long Shot?"

Her sipping became sputtered. "Whoops! Ran out! Hey, do you guys have any more?"

Eff Stop scratched his head. "Were you even listening?"

"I was. But, I'm empty."

He laughed again, giving Press Release a nudging look. "Hey, she's not as bad as you think! I think the three of us will get along just fine. Earth pony—" pointed at Long Shot "—pegasus—" pointed at himself "—and you!" Pointed at Press Release.

A subtle, small smile on her.

"A younicorn!"

Press Release proceeded to throw the empty soda cup at him.

Away

Manehattan's downtown maze was still up and kicking, and, at night, it was a sensational maze with all the spotlights, searchlights, streetlights, city lights, and other kinds of lights including flashlights wielded by a group of ponies entertaining urban hikers with flashlight juggling. Carriages and wagons, either civilian or military, ran on, always in a hurry and only slowing down to drop a passenger and pick up another one—and off they went, sometimes with the driver rearing and whinneying for show or style.

One of these dropped passengers was Long Shot, who bade farewell to her two reporter friends, waving at them waving back at her, shouting goodbye's.

Alone she now was at a busy intersection where masses of ponies and non-ponies walked or, rather, jogged and scurried to wherever. Quick, few-sentenced exchanges were flung and lobbed, ending as quickly as they begun. For a few seconds, she was blinded by the fast and large lights.

So it was, again, in Manehattan.

Amidst the hubbub and the pedestrians pressing on her from all sides, she could hear a distinct chorus of three voices:

"Get your carrot dogs here! Only three bits per 'dog"

Long Shot's ears perked up. "Carrot dogs? Boy, do I need some chow right now!"

Dodged and avoided several ponies coming the other way.

Skidded in front of a little wheeled stall with a crudely drawn picture of a carrot dog at the top, its logo. Below that, behind the counter, three young ponies and a freckled stallion grinned at her, with Babs adding a sharp turn of her brows, giving Long Shot a cheerful scowl.

"We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders!" Sweetie Belle yelled.

Long Shot held on to her hat against the wind, glancing here and there as more ponies passed by her. A few had stopped to note the yell.

"And," Tender Taps continued, tap dancing his way closer to her, "we're selling carrot dogs! The finest in town!"

"Just like every other carrot dog stall," Babs murmured aside, rolling her eyes while keeping up that totally optimistic smile.

The stallion chuckled. "Yeah, m-my name's Star Tracker and I'm giving these foals a chance at earning their cutie marks, because why not?" He raised his hoof up in the air, shrugging with only one hoof. "Hey, I'm helping these ponies with their destinies 'cause I have nothing else to do. It's a slow day."

Long Shot licked her lips. "Alright! Win-win for every one of us!" She hoofed out a purse. "I'll have two plain carrot dogs, please!"

"Coming right up!" Sweetie shouted.

She levitated one of the grilled and charred carrots from the heater.

Taps caught it in the grasp of a long bun.

Babs squirted ketchup and mustard on it.

Star Tracker hoofed it to the customer in line. A line only one pony in length.

Long Shot gave the three bits to him.

Took the carrot dog.

Ate it.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders smiled, leaning closer and about to fall.

Gulped it down. "Delicious!"

"Does that mean you'll buy more?" Sweetie inquired.

She shook her head before wolfing the rest of it down.

"Huh?" the Crusaders sounded out together, looking at each other perplexed.

Long Shot wiped her mouth.

A carriage swerved to a harsh halt behind her. Silently except for the gruffs, Mr. Stripes paid the driver and trekked away, blending in with the rest of the fuzzy crowd.

Sweetie's eyes rested on him, distracted.

"So, what yer' sayin' is, you like what we're cookin'," Babs reasoned, "but you say 'No'?"

Long Shot nodded. "I only wanted a fast snack. After that, I have to return to my apartment. Gotta rest up, catch my Z's. Tomorrow's gonna be reckoning day for us newsponies, and I can't wait to see what'll happen."

Babs grumbled, taking off her smile. "You can always buy one for the go, you know."

Star Tracker took a step back, shifting his eyes and refraining from the filly and colt.

"That'll take up my time," Long Shot said. "It's awfully late and—"

"It's only seven," Babs said, pointing at a large clock streetlight illuminating the corner across the road.

"Seven is very late for us on the journalism side of things!" Long Shot replied, sweating. Muttered to herself: "Wow. I didn't know this one's got the attitude!"

"It'll only take up thirty seconds of your time, so quit your whinin'!" Babs shot back, raising her voice.

Sweetie whispering to Star Tracker in the background.

Taps grabbed a hold of Babs. "Uh, i-if she doesn't want to buy another carrot dog, then let her be! We're not supposed to force our products on these poor, innocent little ponies!"

"They're not poor and they're not little!" Babs hollered, pushing the hoof away from her and slapping him with it. "They got bits and that's what we're aimin' for, right?"

"We're aiming for our c-cutie marks, remember?"

"Oh." Babs rubbed her chin. "Right. I remember." Looked up at the confused reporter and pointed at her. "That doesn't mean we don't see through your excuses, ma'am!"

Taps shoved her to the side, facing Long Shot with a failing grin. "Eh-heh! Ta-da! That was our...presentation?" Coughed and resumed his grin. "Have a fun night, uh, sleeping on your bed!"

"Why, thanks!" Long Shot said. She looked at Star Tracker who was busy quietly speaking with Sweetie. "Star Tracker, they're really good at making and selling carrot dogs!"

"Wait one sec, miss," he said, holding up a hoof as he listened to Sweetie's whispers.

It was Long Shot's turn to say "Huh?"

Babs and Taps looked back, too.

Sweetie nodded and rushed to her fellow Crusaders. In an apprehended voice: "Guys, come with me to Rarity's."

Taps's teeth clacked. "Wh-Wh-Wh-Why? There must be trouble brewing o-over there. I kn-knew it!"

Babs lightly whacked him on the back of his head. "Get yer' butterflies outta' yourself! It can't be that serious."

"Y-You saying that makes it e-even more serious!"

"If what Sweetie Belle says is true," Star Tracker said, hastening his nervous speech, "then we gotta move!"

And he was the first one to gallop away, pushing the cart ahead.

The Crusaders followed him, galloping.

Long Shot trailed behind, dodging and avoiding yet more ponies—streetlights, trees, boxes, carriages, sewer holes, moving clotheslines.

The zooming blur disappeared when she and all of them stopped before that boutique, Manehattan Boutique.

Where sobs and screams pealed from the inside as some mover ponies carried boxes of precious suits and dresses out the door.

"Out of the way!" Star Tracker yelled as he and the rest of them—Crusaders and Long Shot—pushed past them and stormed the fashion store.

Inside, almost empty—a floral scent, perfume. Platforms and racks where trendy attire used to be on display. A single carpet survived, but it was pulled out of the boutique by some other movers.

At the center, a pleading Mr. Stripes before an armored blue pony.

A few hoofsteps away, Rarity weeping, face covered and away.

"Look, sir!" Mr. Stripes begged, on his hind legs' knees, bearing the fashionista's wailing nearby. "What about we, uh, we compromise? I'll send Rarity out, give her new job away from the dirty factories and mills! Rarity will be fine, I will be fine, you will be fine!"

"That's not how the order framed it," the armored pony said, rubbing his shiny metal leg guard. "Rarity is an important pony, important for the cause. Her ideas have caught our interest, and we know that she can be helpful in concocting up better uniforms that'll look good and be good."

"But, you can't send her to factory!" Mr. Stripes shouted, eyes welling. "Please! Understand me—I know what it feels like, because I have lovely wife and wonderful daughter—"

"Your family doesn't concern us at the moment," he said, brushing that off with a hoof's swing. "Who we're concerned about is Rarity, who could prove to be our chief uniform designer." He looked up. "By the way, what do you call that? Military dressmaker? Martial seamstress?" He shook his head. "Nah. Doesn't sound smooth to the ear."

Rarity broke out to another hysterical scream, turning around and showing her face splotched with running mascara.

Mr. Stripes grabbed him by the leg. "Please, General Radar! I don't want to be responsible for sending her off to a cruel fate! Don't you know how bad it's to work like factoryponies?!"

"It's wartime," Radar said bluntly. "We suffer the necessary losses to advance the war, give it a short end."

"But, Radar—"

The general put a hoof to the landlord's mouth.

"If you're not going to obey orders...someone else will."

Glanced at the bawling Rarity raising her hooves to the air.

Peered at a back door.

"Maud?" Radar called out, putting a hoof beside his lips. "We got a pony who's not willing to cooperate with us."

And the door was kicked out, sent flying through the air and barely above Star Tracker and crew (and the movers as well) who dodged the dangerous object. It landed on the road outside, casuing many carriages to veer and lurch around it, almost crashing into each other.

Out of the dust, an unkempt and scarred Maud trotted her way to the general's side, ignoring Rarity's cries.

Radar bit his lip. Without looking at her: "Maud, take her to the carriage."

Rarity's screams ended. "What?! No! I will not be carried off!"

Stood up on four hooves.

Gray hoof caught her tail.

Smashed against the wall, cracking it.

"Rarity!" Star Tracker, Long Shot, and the Crusaders cried out.

"Rarity, no!" Sweetie Belle shrieked.

Rarity fell down to the floor.

Eyes closed.

Picked up.

Maud walked to the door, with an unconscious Rarity in tow.

With Star Tracker and friends standing between her and the noisy Manehattan outside.

"Out of the way," Maud simply said in her monotonous voice. "Official military business."

Sweetie pushed the others aside, standing in front of the Rock Trooper. "How dare you?!"

Maud blinked.

"You think you can beat up my sister like that?!" Sweetie howled, eyes dead on at her. "You think you can just swing my sister like that?!"

"Yes, I can," Maud replied.

And walked past the ponies.

Sweetie dashed around her and pushed against her hooves.

Yet Maud walked on unimpeded into the outside.

On the road, parked by the sidewalk, a large carriage with a huge wagon hooked up to it, movers hauling the boxes of clothes to the wagon.

Maud threw Rarity up in the air.

She landed in the wagon, gone from sight.

"No, no, no, no!" Sweetie cried out.

Jumped at the wagon.

Stopped by Maud's stretched out hoof.

Fell down flat.

"Sweetie Belle!" Babs and Taps cried out as they ran to her, picked her up and put her back on her four hooves.

On the sidewalk, cold and windy, lit up bright as ponies slowly assembled to witness what was happening outside the boutique.

Star Tracker and Long Shot ran outside, seeing a sobbing Sweetie Belle beside her companions doing their best to comfort her—pats on the head, hushed words.

"Hey."

The two looked around to see the general behind them, standing against the interior's light.

"What I'm about to say...you probably heard it before," the general said, a stern expression. Pursed lips. "I did what I had to do. After the general failure we've had earlier this morning, we need to redouble our efforts. I'm...I'm sure that you understand."

Long Shot pushed a hoof against his chest. "How can we understand pulling a dear pony from her life's ambition, her talent, her dream?!"

"You..." he looked away. "You must be new to this, aren't you?"

A pause as she nodded, Tracker looking at her. "Received my license a month ago."

Radar rested his head on the doorway. "Well...you gotta know how we think through this. Do I look cruel at times? I...think so. But, it would be crueller to be kind, to give in to everyone who cries and weeps at my hoofstep. If I did that, everyone would be happier right before Sombra destroys Manehattan and all who live in it." A sigh. "The best I can do: Hold it off no matter what."

Looked at them with half-open, reflective eyes against the night.

From the sidewalk, Sweetie Belle's muted sobbing.

Out of the Frying Pan

Long Shot could see it all.

Down there was Manehattan Park. The clean, crisp rivers and streams winded and bended, littled curved bridges punctuating them every so often. Parklights illuminated the grass and paths as the streetlights illuminated the roads and streets; instead of carriages, they were mostly ponies. Above them, some flying and glowing figures of different shapes and sizes.

"Glow in the dark kites!" she said, pushing her face up to the wall. "I've never seen one this up close before."

Grabbed her camera, brought it up to her eye, opened the window.

Letting the cool night breeze in, her mane flipping about.

A knock on the door.

"Oh! Hold up!"

Long Shot scrambled to her hooves as she ran on the bare wooden floor and past a table and a mirror on the yellow wall.

Opened the door.

The plump figure of Mr. Stripes.

"Wait..." Long Shot furrowed her brows. "Aren't you...?"

"Yes," was his concise answer, his cheeks marked with dried tear brooks. "You may not have caught my name in chaos, but I am also landlord here." Sniffed. "You are good mare...good pony. But, no one can't do anything about her."

Long Shot's eyes went left and right. "I'm...I'm s-sorry that you lost a valuable tenant."

"No need to be sorry," Mr. Stripes said. "You did not do anything bad to her. You only came at bad time." A strained groan.

Long Shot observed his ruffled mane and mustache.

"Thank you for caring for Rarity," he said. "Not even her friend, and yet..."

Words off.

"Enjoy your night here."

Door closing.

"Tonight's free of charge....Don't ask. You know."

Door shut.

Long Shot stayed there for several seconds, stunned.

The next morning, inside a diner and in front of a table of savory mushroom soup, bread, and soda, she wrote some almost unreadable lines on her notepad.

The buzz around her was decent. Discussions everywhere, with some words repeated more so than others: "war", "battle", "invasion", "threat", "safe", to name five of some.

Then, a flyer slapped on to the table.

Long Shot turned her head up, seeing the offending pony who had done the deed. "You know that's rude." Switched her hat forward.

Face to face with a three-suited stallion. "Well, well, well. Aren't you the kind of pony that the Countess is looking for right now?"

Long Shot cleared her throat. "You mean Countess Coloratura?"

Svengallop nodded.

Murmurs and whispers rose around in the diner, catching the attention of both eater and staff.

He tugged at his red tie. "If you care to read the flyer, you'd know that the Countess herself is in town—and, may I say, one of the best towns to have as a popstar's venue. And," pushing a hoof on the reporter's hat, leaning over the table which included the hot bowl of soup, "you're a journalist, are you not?"

Long Shot nodded, her mouth trembling.

"Then, you get half off at ticket prices," he announced. "If you have your associates in the vicinity, get them up. She needs as much coverage as possible to send her skyrocketing off the charts!"

The reporter gulped. "I'm the only one I know staying here. My friends have their job at the front."

"Pshaw!" Svengallop gestured with a hoof, showing disdain. "I'll have you know, miss, that I've personally asked for an entire reserve regiment to be in attendance. Do you know why?"

"No, I don't...?"

"Because they need the encouragement!" Svengallop replied, slanting himself more forward. "Unlike her usual tours, this one will incorporate wartime ditties—get them riling up at a fever pitch to go and fight!" He raised a hoof in the air, displaying an awkward grin.

Now, more than half of the diner were watching him. The rest were watching the bowl of soup he and his fine suit was hanging over.

"Soon," he spoke, rising in volume, "the Countess would not only sing for the masses...no, she would also sing for the war effort! She would lift the mood of every bridgade, nay, every corps that could be amassed in all of Equestria! Then, when it all ends, she would be cited as a hero in her own right without having to fire a single arrow or otherwise hurt a single pony, for by the lyrics that she sings with her beautiful voice, she will—"

And fell over, throwing the bowl up in the air.

Splat on his face, covering his head in mushroom soup.

"Ooh!'s" from the audience as they stepped back, away from the tripped Svengallop.

Long Shot scarfed down her bread and softdrink and stood up. "Do you need a hoof?"

Svengallop rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer succulent éclairs, thank you very much."

At Manehattan Park, a crowd was gathering, overflowing to the sidewalks and flooding the pathways. Benches were not enough for those who could not stand...standing for a long time; some brought foldable chairs. One pony in particular, who had a chair for a cutie mark, brought only a red button. He pushed it and out of the button unfolded a line of chairs connected to each other by a metal rod.

Several of the park's paths were knee deep in Countess Coloratura merchandise and its hawkers who could be identified by their attire that had no color other than purple, pink, blue, and black. Their wares included, beside the Countess's albums: hats, shirts, perfume, fans, paint cans, biographies, autobiographies, flags, figurines, dolls, fake wigs, pre-signed photographs, hay burgers, and chocolate bars.

On the concert grounds, a swarm of ponies though most of them were equipped in armor and with weapons. Most of them had uniform coat colors, too—white ponies, gray ponies, blue ponies. Like the rest of the fanatical crowd around them, they were not backing down in enthusiasm; in fact, several of them swapped out their helmets for Coloratura hats.

On the vast stage, the only ponies obviously present were the musicians, tweaking and testing and tuning their instruments. Behind the scenes, backstage ponies soundchecked and talked in secret code with others.

Then, smoke filled the stage.

The crowd went silent.

A shrouded silhouette appeared from within.

The crowd went wild, thrusting their screams of her name to the wind. Hooves stretched, reaching out to her. Bouquets of flowers delivered via throw to the stage while the unicorn musicians levitated the bouquets out of sight.

Coloratura alone at the front of the stage, the smoke subsided and gone, revealing her long hair, her glitzy and flashy suit, and her thick-eyebrowed face behind a thin black veil.

"Everypony."

And the crowd went silent again.

They could hear the carriages, the stomping carriages with their loud thuds on the asphalt.

"Welcome...welcome to the first show of 'Coloratura's Extravaganza on the Front'!"

The crowd went wild again.

"But..."

The crowd went silent once again.

"Before I begin," she continued, "I would like to thank you, all of you, for coming here...because I know that you didn't come here just to see me." A pause, changing her view a little to the left. "You came here for something more important. You came here to support these patriotic soldiers," motioning a hoof toward the armored ponies on the grass.

And the crowd cheered for the soldiers who replied with waves and shouts of their own. A few near the rest of the audience hugged their family and friends before parting a meter or so.

"They're brave enough to do the most dangerous task of the war: Carrying it out, risking life and limb to ensure our safety." A pause. "It would be mean to not give them anything back."

The crowd hushed down to a piercing quiet.

"So...to inspire you, first and foremost, noble warriors..."

An enormous flag hung down from the top of the stage.

A banner, sky blue in background. Thirty-nine stars surrounding two alicorns—one dark blue, one light white. These alicorns surrounded the sun and the moon at the center of the flag.

Coloratura drew in breath, facing the crowd.

A piano's spiralling notes.

Equestria, the land I love,
A land of harmony.
Our flag does wave from high above
For ponykind to see.

Drum roll, strings and brass swelling.

Ponies singing along.

Equestria, a land of friends
Where ponykind do roam.
They say true friendship never ends;
Equestria, my home!

All was then silent.

Seconds passed.

Everypony erupted into approving roars and shouts, stomping the ground with cheer and mirth.

As Coloratura stood still, viewing the mass of ponies in that loyal fervor—that mass increasing as more ponies flocked from the sidewalks and across the avenues and boulevards.

"OK, before I do the next song," Coloratura declared, her voice booming through the speakers, "I would like to tell you a little history behind it..."

While she explained, a white pegasus pony with curly and wavy mane—resembled clouds on her head—passed by the park, walking on the sidewalk but never setting hoof onto it. She saw lots of ponies with cameras, taking pictures of the Countess on stage, including a casually capped Earth pony.

"Ma'am," Svengallop said at a crossing, hoofing out a flyer to her, "what about contributing some bits to the cause and have fun while doing so? 'Coloratura's Extravaganza on the Front' is having its debut—"

"That's OK," she said in a reserved manner. "I'm fine."

Off she disappeared into a moving crowd of ponies.

"What do you want to talk about again?"

The pegasus sat on a chair at a small table. On the other side was another pegasus: Silver Script.

Around them, in the apartment room that smelled of fresh paint, the same celebrity memorabilia: posters, autographs, other such things. Some new ones had cropped up, though, including a picture with a wounded Rainbow Dash snarling at Star Tracker—who was pouring buckets of sweat down his face while failing to keep up a smile for the camera.

On the table: a bunch of paper, a quill, and an inkwell.

"I only want your opinon," Silver Script said. "That's all."

"But I'm not a sci-fi fan," the mare responded, moving her hoof about. Nervous. "I didn't even read 'Alien Alicorns vs. Space Pirates'. I only know sci-fi has lasers, spaceships...aliens..."

Script let out a chuckle. "I'm not asking you for the sci-fi part of my story. I know more than enough to fill that up. What I'm asking you to talk about—"

Raised an eyebrow

"—is your, hm, controversial opinion on the war."

He clasped his forehooves.

"That's all."

Whether Right or Wrong

"So, Vapor Trail," Silver Script said. "You're what they call a pacifist. Am I right or am I wrong?"

She nodded, a glimmer of a smile lurking in. "A practical pacifist, to be sure."

"Not willing to fight in most circumstances, then?"

She shook her head.

"If your hometown of—what was it, Stratusburg?"

"Yeah. Stratusburg."

"OK, at least we're on the same track," he commented, picking up a piece of paper and writing something down with his wing. "If the mayor of Stratusburg declared city-wide conscription for everypony, say, eighteen to twenty-eight years old...what would you do? I got some clippings that Cludclod's actually considering such a measure."

"I'll do my best to legally avoid the draft," she said. "I'll tell the officials that I'm a conscientious objector."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes on her. "You do know that they're going to have hearings to make sure you're really objecting out of conscience, not just because it's convenient."

"Test me," she blurted out, smiling. "You'll see how well prepared I am."

Script placed a hoof on his head, thinking as he wrote further. "They'll immediately ask if you have any connection with Starlight Glimmer and her town. Biggest anti-war movement out there now and no doubt about it."

"No connection whatsoever," Vapor said with another shake of the head. "We merely agree on the tenets of our pacifism. Never met the mare and, as far as I know, never met any of her residents and neighbors either."

"If they search your house?" he prodded.

"My Dad's the ambassador to the griffons, so he'll object first."

He slid his chair back. "Your father's Steer Straight?!"

"Gives me time off from their excessive...dedication to me." She frowned a bit.

He rested a hoof on the table. "Let me guess. Only child?"

Vapor gasped a bit. "How do you know? We only talked once by letter!"

"Power of observation," he replied, pointing to his head. "Natural deduction—well, five percent of it is natural. I ask myself, 'Why does Vapor believe that her parents spend too much of her time with their daughter? It's probably because that there's no other child to spend time with.'"

"Wow." Vapor had her mouth open. "You could be a good detective."

Script giggled. "You wouldn't want to say that. It doesn't work well in real life—trust me, I tried."

It was now Vapor who giggled.

"But, back to the topic." He wore his serious face again. "Still couldn't believe that your father's an ambassador, though." Scratched his mane. "Anyway...they'll ask if you have anything that's preventing you from physically being a soldier. Broken wing? Sick a lot? Are you Stratusburg's best sneeze?"

"I have no idea what the best sneeze would be," Vapor said, looking up as she pondered about it, "but I don't think I have that." She spread her wings out. "My wings are fine, and I consider myself to be a healthy pony all the time. There was this one time I got the cold, but it's only cold. Hot soup, drink water, some medicine, and I was fine before the week was over."

He scribbled down on the paper. Not looking up from it: "How exactly did you become a pacifist? Did you inherit it from a peaceful family? Is Stratusburg unusually for peace, considering it's populated by pegasi? Did you read a book or something from an influential author, especially if he or she's a philosopher?"

Vapor raised up a hoof. "It's a short story. I didn't have much of an idea or a stance about it until the war broke out—I didn't see the signs, so I thought, 'Why bother?' From the beginning, I had qualms about the whole thing. Sure, King Sombra made the first move, but what happened before that? Was there a diplomatic incident hidden from us? Did Sombra have a personal motive against Celestia—or, did Celestia have something personal against him?"

"Ooh." He looked up from his paper, a smirk growing. "One of those, huh?"

"Princess Celestia isn't perfect," Vapor said. "She admits as much from time to time if you care to read her speeches up. She's good, excellent, but not perfect. Did she mess up somewhere down the line during that fateful week or so when the Empire was at peace with us? I hope not."

"A rational pacifist, then," he remarked as he wrote down some more on the paper. "Which means that, if you were to enlist as an Equestrian soldier, then that would mean going against your beliefs about peace and war?"

Vapor nodded. Then, a tilt of her head. "Well, that's not the whole thing."

His scribbling stopped. Wing poised to write.

"Do the Crystal ponies have anything to say?" she asked. "They do and I'm certain of it. Of course, they can't speak since they're mind-controlled...but, so what? There's a pony behind the mask, even if that mask is hard to remove. They have their own thoughts, their own points of view, their own spin on things. We don't get to hear them only because of this war."

And off to writing he was. "Alright. The more common questions that everypony knows."

Inhaled.

"The E.U.P. Guard's purpose is...?"

"To defend the kingdom."

"Are you afraid of using force?"

"Yes, most of the time."

"If somepony stole your wallet, what will you do?"

"Call for help while I chase him down."

"If you're faced with the choice of imprisonment or conscription, what would it be?"

"Imprisonment."

"What are the kinds of books you have? If you cite examples, more credibility."

"Slice of life novels. A bit of adventure here and there. My Mom's got the whole Daring Do collection—all seventeen of them—my Dad's trying to finish his collection of Shadow Spade, and I'm waiting for the last book of the 'Town of Countdown' trilogy by Blaze Winter."

"Non-fiction books."

"'History of the Lipogram', 'The Mob of the Kitchen: Why Cookbooks are a Scam', 'A Treasure Chest of Poems', and 'The Grittish Isles Today'. Nothing about war, I think."

A stroke of the quill. "You'll pass if I was part of the hearing committee."

Vapor smiled again.

"If you don't pass the hearing, though...what would your next course of action be?"

"Hang around a sick person and get sick myself," she said. "We're pegasi, but I'm sure they're not that mean to push a sick pony to the limit during training."

"What happens if they don't buy that?"

"Well, if I can't even go to prison, I'll do my best to be part of the rearline soldiers—the ones who don't do the actual killing."

"Like a medic?"

"Exactly like a medic," she said. A frown again. "Although, a medic's not exactly on the rearline. And, with Sombra apparently ordering his minions to prioritize harming medics first...you can see why I'm hesitant."

"Understandable." He wrote down yet a few more lines on the paper. "That makes it hard to sympathize with the Crystal ponies—ignoring the rules and all that."

"But you and I know it's more complex than that, right?" she asked.

Script nodded. "Way more complex. Sombra's been banished for a long time. He certainly missed out on every modern international convention to decide on the guidelines of warfare. Objectors can say that he was biding by the rules for the first month or so, so that complicates it a layer further." He sighed. "Yeah. Nuanced."

The two were silent for a while, looking at anywhere other than each other.

"Let's slow down." Stretched his forehooves and cracked his neck. "I'm assuming that, if you weren't a pacifist, you'd like to have an army made up of volunteers only. Is that true?'

Vapor nodded.

"Why only volunteers? Does that mean drafting and conscription are bad?"

"I...I think they're not bad per se. It's just...ineffective. You're forcing ponies to do something they don't want to do—which sounds crazy since this is protecting your homeland from the 'bad guys'. Who wouldn't want to secure a better future for himself, his family, his friends, and the rest of ponykind? But, what if he has good, logical reasons why they're not supposed to be fought for? Then, if he's drafted...he's going to fight, but he won't have that passion, that fire in him. He'll probably do worse than the average guard because he doesn't feel the need to battle for Equestria. Volunteers, on the other hoof, want to fight and will do everything to get their skills up to speed, to do it all for the Princesses and ponykind."

"Good point, good point," Script said, jotting down still more lines on the paper which was close to full.

A pause in the interview.

"Uh, how long is this gonna take?" Vapor asked. "I have a train to catch at ten o' clock sharp. Have to meet somepony else there."

Script's eyes went wide. Scratched his head in confusion, pulling on his ear. "That was unexpected. You didn't write anything about a train trip."

"I thought it was a go-in go-out kind of thing," Vapor said, shrugging her shoulders as she looked around the room. "I like sharing my thoughts, but I'd rather do it while we move around." Looked at him. "How long are you staying here?"

"Until I get my book out," he said. "After that, I'll have the money to buy myself a tiny bungalow far away from here. Far away from the frontlines, too. Maybe somewhere in Radon, central Equestria. Not too far from Canterlot. Open fields where I could write in peace...I mean, inside a house in the open fields. Get it?"

Vapor nodded, standing up from her chair. "Yeah, I get it."

"Keep in touch through letters?" Script asked.

"Once every two months. I tend to forget, though."

"Oh, that's alright," he said, waving a hoof aside as he flew and carried the stuff on the table to his bed. "There's zucchini-flavored chips on the counter. You can take it for your ride."

Vapor fluttered her way there.

A green bag of potato chips advertising its "Authentic Zucchini Flavor!"

"That's cute," she said.

Picked it up.

"It was nice knowing you, Silver Script," she said, heading her way to the door.

"Nice knowing you, too, Vapor Trail," he said back, waving at her.

And she left.

As the train left the Maneway Station, going West and away from the sparkling Celestial Sea, Vapor looked at the clock hanging above the carriage door.

It was ten o' one.

"Psst!"

She glanced to the left and right.

Normal passengers reading newspapers, talking with each other, looking outside, eating and drinking, sleeping and snoring.

"Psst!"

Vapor turned around. "Who's that?" she whispered.

A white, shades-wearing unicorn on the side looked at her odd. Before fitting her headphones back to her head and nodding to whatever music was playing there.

"Psst! Over here."

She saw a blue hoof behind that unicorn's seat.

"Psst!" Another unicorn's head came into view from the seat behind. "I'm the pony you're supposed to meet!" he whispered.

And Vinyl Scratch kept bobbing her head to the music.

Vapor trotted her way to that mysterious pony's seat.

Nopony else was there. Only him.

This blue unicorn had puffy blue hair. His eyes, too, were blue. His cutie mark was a balloon animal with confetti and streamers around it.

"Sit down, please," he said, beckoning her with a hoof. "We've got lots to discuss."

Vapor groaned. "Really? Um, I just got out from a writer's interview. I need to recollect my thoughts if you wanted to discuss about this and that and—"

"We're not going to bombard your mind with high-level stuff," the unicorn said, clasping a hoof around his mouth, watching the aisle cutting across the carriage. "You could say that...we've been taking notes on you."

"What?!" Vapor yelled. "You can't do—"

He plugged her mouth with his hoof. She kept speaking, her voice muffling through.

"Psst!" He placed his other hoof to his mouth. "Calm down, OK? You're going to cause a fracas here."

She pulled his hoof out and spat out. Coughed. "Don't do that!" she shouted by whispering, glaring at him. "Don't you know you walk with those things? And, it's 'ruckus', not 'fracas'."

"I'm a party pony," he said, wiping his hoof with a tissue roll. "I'm obligated to say 'fracas' instead of 'ruckus' because it's funnier that way."

Silence as the landscape outside changed yet stayed the same. Open fields of grass and trees. Farms with their crops as farmponies harvested the yield. Sky above: clear and blue.

"Who are you?" she asked. "You said your name was 'Festival Three', but I'm pretty sure you weren't named with a number."

He grinned and rested on his seat. "That's because I need to keep some things confidential. Secret. Classified. Private. Hush-hush." He put on black shades—though they were really several small balloons shaped to look like shades. "Party Favor's the name."

Vapor twitched as she shook hooves with him. "The party pony of..." and gulped, "the town?"

"Town of Efficiency. Yes, ma'am or miss," Party said. "By the way, would you like to be called 'ma'am' or 'miss'? Or, you know, we could just—" a little laugh "—say your name."

Vapor stood up. "I don't like being watched like I'm a pony of interest. I'm a pacifist like you, yes. I don't like this war just like you don't, yes. But, I have other things to do. I'm going home to check the bookstore out and see if 'Upset Land' is on shelves yet. After that, I want to try out bungee jumping—I know, sounds weird for a pegasus to bungee jump, but it's exhilirating. At least, that's what I heard from those who tried it."

Party took his balloon shades off. A grim curl of his lips. "So be it, then."

Vapor halted. "Are you threatening me?"

"Eh...it's a shame that you've declined our offer before we even began. The Town of Efficiency is a utopia realized, but it cannot co-exist with this...conflict. With you, we would've persuaded many ponies to desist from their support of senseless killing and murder of other ponies who don't know what they're doing—but our troops do and do it anyway."

"I know already," Vapor said. "It's flawed. Doesn't mean I can find a way to improve on it."

"Improve on war, hm?" Party stroked his non-existent beard.

"You're putting words on my mouth—ugh!"

Vapor flew out of the seat, opened one of the carriage doors, and moved to another part of the train.

The Stratusburg Train Station was witness to an interesting sight.

Up the paved trail around jagged and rocky protrusions. High up in the mountains were small tracts of hilly fertile grasslands. On the hilltops, quaint cottages dwelled; several had the interesting design of having roof-shaped houses, as if somepony made a tall building, cut off the part beneath the roof, and made a home out of what was left. One of those 'roof abodes' had a big backyard where a large pegasus family played about—a stallion and a mare jumping on the same trampoline, two more mares showing their father their furniture designs laid out on the table, and the mother seeing her filly ride a unicycle. Painted on a drooping banner above the house's main door were the words: "Happy Family Reunion!"

What made Stratusburg more than a regular pegasus town, though, were the clouds that floated close by, holding entire domiciles, shops, and workplaces by themselves. A faint mist went through the settlement, giving the city an atmosphere of wonder.

Stratusburg was, in a way, two cities. A terrestrial one on the mountains, and an aerial one on the clouds—the distance between them merely a throw or a pace away. Pegasi flew back and forth between the two parts of the city, some stopping at the gap separating (or connecting) them to talk and share some stories.

Vapor Trail passed by the house and its family celebrating the reunion.

One of the younger stallions—having spiky blue-white hair—waved at her.

But she went on, flying higher.

"What do you mean it's not out?" Vapor asked, placing a firm hoof on the counter.

The bookstore was a small and quiet place where a line more than five ponies long would spill over to the outside. It smelled of fresh wood with a hint of mint.

A tiny pony-like creature stood on the counter. The size of an insect, she had hefty yet delicate wings, long antennae, and big eyebrows.

"What do ya' expect me to do?!" the breezie librarian shouted back in a squeal. "Tell him to write faster?!"

"But, h-he said that it was coming out today!" Vapor said, sounding a bit desperate. "There were press releases, news articles—everything!"

"That's why I don't read the news!" she answered, crossing her forelegs and shaking her head; disapproval. "Not saying that they also make me dizzy when I flip the page the wrong way!"

Vapor groaned and gripped her head with a hoof. Glanced at her twitchy wing, then at the breezie.

Boom!

And the breezie sent flying behind and below the counter.

Gust of wind through the door's open window.

Pages flapped, books fell.

Vapor felt her mane whip by.

Covered her face with a raised leg.

Hovering.

"Everypony, please get into orderly fashion," a dull voice announced through far-off speakers.

Amidst screams and panicking pegasi dashing across the street just outside.

Vapor yelped, bent over the counter, cradled the unconscious breezie with a hoof, and flew out.

Organized road networks and planned out structures towering over the normal pony against the blue sky and its near-noon sun.

She did not mind that, for her eyes caught the purple cloud approaching from her right first.

Slow, sluggish. Nearer and nearer, closer and closer, inch by inch.

A pony grabbed her by the neck, pressed her snout. "Train station, immediately!"

The two opened their wings and flew, Vapor keeping the breezie close to her chest, eyeing it as the creature's wings swished under intense speed and wind.

Below, more pegasi, and even a few Earth ponies and unicorns, were galloping their way on the ground toward the train station.

Looked behind her.

Half of the cloud city eaten up by the purple gloom.

Mountain homes on fire, inhabitants evacuating.

Breakneck speed, forward to the train.

Crashed into it.

Blurry vision, throbbing pain. "Ow..." and rubbed her head.

Gasped.

Relaxed her hoof.

The breezie fell limp on to the carpet.

"No time to waste!" the other pony yelled, pulling her up and away from the breezie. "Get to the seats!"

Pushed there.

Swooped the breezie with a wing.

And sat down, the other pony sitting across.

Put the breezie down beside her on the cushioned seat.

Flocks of pegasi entered the train en masse, at times squeezing through the door, at other times jamming at the door altogether. The train conductors, with their unique hats and glasses, attempted in vain to dissuade them from panic—the residents had crazed looks in their eyes.

"The poison's only two hundred feet away, ponies!" one of the conductors exclaimed, pointing at the nearing purple cloud about to engulf the final roofs on the hills. "If you want to get out of this alive, then please cooperate with us!"

Teary-eyed citizens they were, stuck at the door.

Others got up from their seats and pulled the hooves of the stuck ponies.

Barged in.

"Last of 'em. Let's go!"

Conductors went inside.

Closed doors.

Closed windows.

Closed curtains.

Closed lights.

Not much to see in the dark.

Whistle shrilled.

Wheels chugging.

Train was ahoof.

Lights turned on.

Silence gave way to unnerving chatter. Fast words, quick sentences—long periods of more silence for others.

Briefcases and baggages proliferated the carriage. Train attendants glided by, carrying baskets of food and water and first aid kits to the passengers.

Vapor Trail breathed in, breathed out, hyperventilating. "Wh-What just happened? D-Did I just see our whole home go up in smoke?" Held her head, irises shrunk. "I...I...I can't..."

"Hey," the other pony said, waving his hoof in front of her. "You're not the only one who lost her home in five minutes."

Vapor tilted her head up a bit. "W-Weren't...weren't you the pony who tried to get my attention earlier?"

"Y-Yeah," the stallion replied, somewhat timid.

"And I don't know your name." Looked down on the floor.

A smile over his face. "I'm Sky Stinger," he said. "If we're going to survive this together, we might as well know each other's name first."

Vapor forced a giggle out. "Yeah. I-I'm Vapor Trail."

Sky Stinger's eyes rested on the unconscious breezie. "Ouch! Was that the librarian?"

"One and only," she said. "Poor little thing." She brought the breezie up to her face and tapped the librarian on her head. "If only I knew anything about how to treat a breezie."

"Attention!" another voice blared and echoed through speakers, filling the carriage with the word.

Everypony looked up.

"This is not a drill. This is an emergency situation. Please remain calm as we head to the nearest place of refuge."

"Which would be Dirtfield," Stinger pointed out, then shuffled his eyes at Vapor. "A dump, but better a dump than dead. We'll receive all the help we can get. If you want, you can join us—our family's thinking about moving West, maybe the capital."

"Canterlot?" Vapor said, frail in accent.

"If we can get in line before anyone else does, that is," Stinger went on. "They've got workers and builders propping up houses like there's no tomorrow—"

"Oh, hey, Vapor Trail!" yet another voice called out.

Vapor gulped. Not turning her head to see the mysterious speaker: "Why do you sound so familiar?"

A balloon came into view.

"Don't recognize jolly ol' Party Favor?" the unicorn said, about to take a seat beside her.

"W-Wait—hey!"

Slapped him.

Grabbed the breezie and put her on the other side of the seat.

Slapped Party again. "You were about to suffocate a breezie to death!"

"Woah!" he said, finally sitting down. "I didn't know."

"Oh, for all your watching me, you don't know about the breezie!"

"Uh, the breezie was small and—"

"Attention!" the announcer declared again through the speakers.

The upheaval—the quick talking, the painful mourning, the comforting hugging—it was all quieted down and silenced.

"Please remain calm. We are under attack by enemy forces. Hold on to your seats in the following manner—"

Boom!

Tied Down

Blurry again.

Looked up.

A hole on the ceiling, only sky in view.

Then, ponies leaned in.

Wearing black helmets, eyes glowing green.

"It's them!" Vapor screamed.

Opened her wings.

Kicked Party away.

Flew.

"I'm coming with you!" she heard Stinger cry out.

Speeding above the passengers, dodging baggages and other flying pegasi.

Door in front opened, revealed armed charging guards.

Tilted her body to the side.

Avoided them.

To another carriage.

Bumped by another pegasus.

"Sorry!" he shouted, zooming away.

Kept flying, looked behind her.

Saw that spiky-maned Stinger following behind.

Looked ahead.

Approaching a pile of luggage.

Steered up.

Steered down.

Through another door, to another carriage.

Landed on the floor, gasping again.

The door to the next carriage barricaded by a mob of ponies clambering their way to it, banging on the door when they reached it. "Let us in!" several shouted.

More pegasi whizzed by her, only to land and stand helpless, staring at the obstructed door and the panic surrounding it.

On the side, passengers trembled, holding on to each other.

Muddled, muddied shrieks. Weeping and wailing under volume. Words of relief spouted out in bursts of mumbles.

Door's crowd broke out, running away from it.

A few stayed at it, exerting pressure on the door.

Through the window, Vapor saw what was in that next carriage.

More Crystal soldiers.

A blue wing spread in front of her.

"I'll take care of this," Sky Stinger said, stepping ahead and giving her a reassuring expression.

"No!" Vapor said, clinging on to him. "What if you lose?!"

"I know the odds," Stinger said. "But, if it means buying everyone else more time...and, besides," smirking— "I have absolutely zero doubts about myself."

"A-Are you sure?" Vapor said. "Because, I could help, too."

"You and that funny-looking unicorn could be more useful alive," Stinger said, spreading his other wing. "I'm not risking that."

Banging on the door from the other side.

"But...we just met! Well, you saw me and I saw you at times before but..."

"Does it matter if I met you before?" Stinger answered, raising his voice above the din of shouts, screams, sobs, and bangs.

A pegasus hurtled by from the previous carriage, reached the door, and proceeded to rest his entire weight on it.

The Crystal soldiers covered the entire window with their obscured faces and their armored hooves.

Shatters.

Vapor and Stinger turned their heads.

Pegasi flew out of broken windows, the wind thrashing the curtains and their manes—some little items went flying.

Those pegasi escaped the train.

Only for most of them to be tackled by flying fighters, never to be seen again.

Screams, both in and out.

Stinger turned to Vapor once more, surrounded by growing disorder. "Vapor Trail, you still have life left in you. I don't know who that other guy is, but he seems to know a lot more than I think. So, stay behind cover, keep yourself safe, bring your friends along if they're here. I'll stall for time."

He took off.

Snagged wing.

Fell to the floor.

Looked at the wing in question.

Another wing held it.

"What...wh-what if you're not as good as you think you are?" Vapor asked, almost shouted, gripping and clinging on to his wing. Almost whimpered out.

Stinger gave her a pat on the shoulder with his wing. "Time to find out."

Spread his wings.

Took off.

Flew to the door, hovering above the ground.

"Guys!" he yelled, catching the attention of those still blocking the door. "We're not gonna do anything by standing here. I need you to let go!"

"Are you crazy?!" one of the mares screamed while she pushed on the door. "You're going to let all these mindless creatures take us by storm without a fight!"

"Oh, I'll give them a fight!" Stinger said, rolling up his forehooves and punching the air. "When they're out the windows, you'll know the coast is clear!"

The rest of the ponies at the door looked at each other.

A stallion took his hooves off of the door. "Why didn't I think of that?!"

The door broke down, hitting him and knocking him out.

Crystal ponies swarming in.

The pegasi there opened their wings and fought them.

Pummeled down.

Thrown out a window.

Swung a bag at him.

Somersaulted, letting two Crystal warriors bump each other's heads.

Kicked down, kicked up.

Uppercut, both with a hoof and a wing.

Magical beam neutralized another Crystal soldier.

Stinger glanced back.

Party Favor's horn had smoke coming out of it, glowing red.

Stinger lobbed a Crystal pony out a window, smashing a window.

"There's too many of them!" one of his fighting fellows roared as he hurled several soldiers to the next carriage.

Stinger looked at that next carriage.

Half-full with Crystal ponies, all armored and with glowing green eyes.

There was a hole in the ceiling there.

Stinger lunged at them.

Kicked one down, punched another.

Grappled by one more.

Tackled to the floor.

Kicked him with his hindleg.

Stunned and out.

Up on his four hooves.

Another lunged at him.

Flew up, dodged him.

Crashed out another window.

The rest charged in, battling the rest of them out.

Then, all the Crystal ponies there were down.

Stinger dusted his wings off, facing his impromptu crew of civilian combatants who were cleaning up themselves, too. "That was great, everypony! I'm pretty sure if we get to Cloudsdale and enlist as Wonderbolt trainees, they're going to be blown away by the heroes of this very train who saved the day—"

Boom!

Rumblings.

Many staggered to the ground.

And that carriage torn into pieces, chunks of debris plunging down the aisle, taking down unwary passengers and knocking them cold.

"Sky Stinger!" Vapor cried out, reaching a hoof toward the door—or where it had been.

Her cry drowned in more names screamed out, screeched out.

Past the door: fields of grass, line of track, all moving fast.

Vapor rushed to one of the windows.

A speeding landscape of grass, endless grass, with hills and mountains in the background.

Could see a few unmoving bodies before they disappeared.

Caught a glimpse of a blue one.

She choked up.

Eyes welling.

Held on to her head.

"I...I...just met you....a-and you're gone..."

Stretched her hoof out the window.

Her head out the window, to look.

Heads of other ponies out other windows.

Then, only grass.

Cried.

Vapor Trail got off of the station, ignoring the passengers who crowded and moved around her, ignoring the celebrated pegasi who stopped the runaway train (or what was left of it), ignoring the throng of doctors and nurses and other medical ponies who offered her bandages or treatments or medicines, ignoring Stinger's entire family bawling and lamenting over his dead body on a stretcher.

Flying mindlessly, fluttering mindlessly, flitting about mindlessly.

Bumped into another mare.

"Oops!" that mare yelled, hopping out of the way. "Sorry, stranger! You're one of those, right?"

Not a nod, not a word.

Only flying on, over sidewalks, over roads, through parks, through fields.

Under a sunny afternoon.

Her face: a daze, mouth open but never a sound except breathing.

Eyes upward, toward the sky.

Sat there on the seat.

Surrounded by other ponies on other seats.

On the open field. Around them, acres of grass, bushes, and trees.

Above: a gray, darkening sky.

Harder to see.

A stallion garbed in black and white stood front and center, facing his audience.

Of only seven.

Behind him, a coffin and a picture of a smiling Sky Stinger.

"We're gathered here today to pay our final respects to a friend. A good friend."

Sniffing from the audience. His mother wiped the lone tear coming from her eye.

Her husband, a half-shaven and stout yet muscular pony, patted her on the shoulder—as more tears poured out from his own eyes.

"As a son, he was lovely and loving. Though he had his quirks, he ended up being a stallion who made his parents proud, made them know that their years of nurturing and caring paid off."

His siblings, four of them, did their best to fight off the tears; one turned her face to the side and looked up. The youngest of them, the filly, whimpered, crying out: "Stinger!"

He looked down, avoided her and everyone else's glance. "As a brother, he was certainly an amiable pony. While the usual sibling rivalry is experienced by all, it did not escalate to lifelong feuds and we have him to thank for that, always seeking to bring something good to his sisters' day."

Coughed.

"As a Stratusburg citizen, he contributed much. He helped out in the construction of several institutions and parks, represented the city in many flight competitions nearby and around Equestria, and even laid the foundation of a new flight school in his hometown, though, sadly, he—and many others—would never see it completed.

"In the end, however, as they say, 'After you die, you will not remembered for what you've done. You will be remembered for who you are.'

"This day, we saw who Sky Stinger truly was: A selfless hero. Willing to sacrifice his life to ensure the safety of many others, he and those who went with him...they saved the rest of the ponies on that fateful train.

"He did not give his life up in vain."

Silence.

Vapor looked.

Fixated on that forever smiling portrait.

Tears flowed.

From family.

From her.

Knock on the door.

"Come in," Vapor called out from inside.

The stallion entered the house.

Inside the living room, Vapor Trail sat on the sofa before a tall table of fruits and vegetables. Scattered on the sofa itself were newspapers and magazines and paper pads with hoofwritten scrawls. The blue and red walls gave off a sharp feel to the home, though the red dominated under the sunlight through the windows.

"There's one benefit of volunteers leaving their homes," Party Favor said as he closed the door, glowing the knob and shutting it without using his hoof. "And, you're living proof."

"No, Party Favor," she said, lifeless and placid—half-open eyes. "I...don't feel right."

"You must be sick," Party said, levitating a bowl of hot soup, bringing in its mouth-watering scent. "Maybe this could cheer you up."

"I'm not sick," Vapor insisted, only turning her head around; staying on the sofa. "I don't want your stalking and watching and whatever your leader wants you to do..." and let a hoof hang limp over the rug.

Party levitated the bowl to the table. "I wasn't really stalking these past few days here. I only knew you weren't well because...you didn't seem so happy."

"Well, of course!" she screamed, rising up from her sofa and pulling his face closer to her, letting the papers fly to the floor. "I was warming up to him, and we could've been friends—memories, experiences, everything!"

"Now, Vapor—"

"And, don't you twist this into an advertisement for your silly town!" Vapor roared, pulling his face even closer. "I lost my belongings, I lost my home, I lost my town, I lost my friends! I'm not in the mood to listen to your speeches about the Efficient Town or whatever you call it!"

Threw him at the wall.

Plopped back down on the sofa.

"Ow!"

Party slid to the floor, then stood up. Sighed.

"OK. I get it. You don't want to be disturbed. You're depressed over Sky Stinger, I know—plus, that funeral guy's probably getting tired making the same speeches out of the same forms and templates."

Then, put on real shades, reflecting the sunlight off.

"But...why are you this sad?"

Silence. Could not see her figure behind the furniture.

Took steps forward, closer to her.

Leaned over.

She shuddered.

"I have this...feeling." Vapor gulped. "I have this feeling that...this wasn't meant to be."

Party raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "I don't want to make you more mad, but that's kinda' cliché."

Vapor grabbed him again by the neck. "Listen to me!"

Party gulped.

"I'm not talking about romance or love!" Vapor began, eyes straining. "I'm talking about how I...I should've known him and his family."

"But, where are you getting that sense?" Party asked.

"I don't know!" Vapor yelled, pushing him off. "Was it something I read? Something I said? Did my Mom or Dad tell me this? But...I've had...feelings. Hunches. Thoughts about what if...what if we were foalhood friends?" Looked out the window, seeing a street decorated with tufts of grass and potted flowers; a lone tree was in view. "That...that we would be there for each other."

"I don't know about it, too," Party said. "Sounds like romance to—"

"If it is romance," Vapor interrupted, hovering above her sofa and above him, "it doesn't matter! Because...nopony just thinks of thoughts like this after somepony dies! Not distinct, thought-out...thoughts like wanting to be Wonderbolts together—that I'll be his wingpony, but, at times, he'll be my wingpony. Giving him boosts—probably hurting my own flying skills, but...I think it would be all worth it and—argh! Stop meddling, Party Favor!"

Threw a newspaper at him.

Party stopped it in mid-air, levitating it, crumpling it, and throwing it to a garbage bin.

"Those are unusual thoughts," Party remarked.

"I know, right?!" Vapor shouted, about to cry again. "It's like I was given these thoughts—I didn't think them up, I couldn't think them up in bouts of depression and anger and—get out!"

Chucked a newspaper at him.

Hit him.

"Alright, alright!" Party yelled as he galloped out of the house.

Hoofsteps fading away.

Vapor sighed.

Stared out the open door for a while.

"What's causing this?" Vapor asked in a weak voice.

Party Favor sat on a bench in a park.

It was morning. Some pegasi flew about in the sky, moving clouds and coordinating with each other about the positions of such clouds. Then, guards posted themselves on smaller puffs of cloud, standing vigilant with their spears or bows and arrows by their side.

Out of his mane, he pulled out a balloon.

A simple yellow balloon. Round and standard.

"She was a good candidate," Party said. "That 'thought' problem...mind problem? Starlight is good in that department. Maybe her magic abilities can help solve the case, lead her to us—she should be on our side. Wasn't she affected by the attack on the train?"

Brought out a small piece of paper.

Scribbled some sentences on it.

Tied the paper to the balloon's string.

And let it fly.

He got out of the bench, standing firmly on the grassy soil moist with dew. Felt cold hooves.

Watched it go higher.

"You will be missed, Malcolm," he said, saluting the fleeting balloon. "I may never see you again, though the friends that you will see...we shall reunite."

A tap on his shoulder.

Party turned round to face the armored guard.

"Uh, did you just salute that balloon?" he asked the unicorn, pointing upward.

"Why, yes!" Party said, closing his eyes and taking a bow. "In fact, I name each and every—"

Jangling of hoofcuffs and locked.

"What?!" he yelled as he gawked at his subdued hooves. "Are balloons illegal now?!"

"You've been on our wanted list for some time," the guard said. "Can't let rabble like you stir up 'peaceful' trouble with your interference."

Party opened his mouth to say something.

Locked up.

"Also," the guard added, smiling, "you weren't looking."

A Glimpse of Their Town

It was night.

The equal blocks of buildings had their lights turned on, illuminating the paved roads where scant few carriages strolled by, waiting for passengers—usually a tourist or two. Innocent chichat rolled on for the residents who walked about under the starry canopy, under the occasional streetlight, also.

Inside the town bakery distinguished by a wooden outline of a pie hanging from above the door, the flavor of freshly-baked goods wafted around, pervading the whole eatery in that sweet smell. Desserts of all kinds and more: cakes, pies, jams, butters, cookies, pancakes, waffles—on the displays, on the counter, on the tables right before being devoured by hungry diners.

A suave stallion strode his way in, carrying a bouquet of roses and violets with his teeth, emanating the flowers' very fragrance.

Everypony there looked at him, even the curly-maned baker herself.

He marched his way to the counter, dumped the flowers on it, and eyed the aproned mare.

Half-open eyes of romance, intrigue.

"So, Sugar," Feather Bangs began, speaking low and attractively, "as you know, I always write poetry by the pond—"

"For the fifth time," Sugar Belle broke in, resting a hoof on the counter, "there is no pond in town."

"B-But, I found these flowers for you!" Feather said, holding the bouquet up with his mouth again. Dropped it nicely on the surface. "I even cranked out a new poem hoof-made just for you!"

A mare galloped out of the bakery, leaving her food behind and screaming "Get me out of here!"

Feather Bangs cleared his throat, brought up a sheet of paper.

The customers scooched their chairs and their tables to the edges of the bakery, doing their best to hide their faces from him.

"Uh, Feather Bangs?" Sugar Belle began. "You do know that I have a business to run—"

"Oh, Sugar Belle,
It's as if you fell,
Onto my hooves,
Like geese and...dooves."

Sugar Belle slapped herself on her shaking head.

"Those eyes of yours,
They never bore,
'Cause I want to be
With you by me."

A pony choked on his food.

"Like a fairy tale,
You surprise like bale.
What a windy day,
With you, it never may."

Some ponies got up and left the establishment, leaving their food behind, too.

Sugar Belle eyed the remaining diners talking amongst themselves, rumoring with each other with covered mouths and shady eyes.

"We'll live together,
Like birds of a feather.
So, honey, won't you say,
'Be my love today'?"

Sugar threw the paper out of his hoof while keeping up that smile. "That was...nice. But, this is a bake shop, not a poetry exhibit."

"Oh, love knows no bounds, Sugar!" Feather said, grabbing her by the neck and facing her toward the open door. "The sky's the limit!"

"I'll punch you straight to the sky if you don't stop it!" she lashed out.

Gasps and whispers around.

Feather stepped back, a shocked face on him. "Why...oh, why are you like that? You must've gotten a sprain, or perhaps you've had a really bad day—"

"Thanks to you!" Sugar vented out.

"I'll...I'll be back when you're more, uh, talkable! Love you!"

Feather Bangs dashed out of the bakery.

Seconds of silence.

The diners scooched their chairs and tables back to their old places.

Sugar Belle sighed, glancing at the oven where a new batch of pies was being heated.

"Ouch," a voice said, approaching. "I didn't know things were getting that bad."

She gasped and looked up. "Starlight?"

There Starlight Glimmer was, levitating a tied up kite beside her while most of the customers watched her every move. "Uh-huh. But...you're OK, right?"

Sugar nodded. "The more he stays away from me, the better."

"Keeps getting on your nerves," Starlight commented.

"Oh, uh, did you want something?"

"I would like a raspberry pie, please," she replied.

"Wait one moment," Sugar said, glancing at the oven again. "We just sold out, and I'm making more."

Starlight nodded. "Yeah...harvest is still going well. Rooted out all of the potatoes in one go. How did harvesting go for you?"

"You sent me to Canterlot on...important stuff, remember?"

"Oh." Starlight snickered, hiding her giggling mouth. "How could I forget? Gotta meet the locals again, let them see the error of their ways, and enjoy being together the whole morning! It was beneficial for both of us—though, mostly us because we have the upper hoof here."

Sugar nodded. "Yeah." Looked at the floating kite. "So, you're done with your duties?"

"Not much to do," Starlight said. "When you're facing détente with the rest of Equestria, there'll be times when there's nopony to discuss terms with. So—" levitated the kite higher "—I'm relaxing until I receive word."

The baker glanced at the oven again. "Hold up. I think your pie's ready."

Starlight rested her kite on the counter, throwing away the bouquet of flowers out the door.

Starlight stood by a lone tree outside town, standing in the rough gray wasteland. Its orange leaves were crumbling away—now, another dead leaf fell on her head.

She blew it out.

A gust of wind, shaking the tree and taking down more leaves.

She licked her hoof, held it to the air.

Her horn glowed. Levitated her kite in the darkness.

Up it flew.

And glowed.

Wind's howling and whistling, a lone kite shining against the sky.

Starlight drew in breath, gazing upon that kite. "You're lovely at night, aren't you?"

Heard a gulp.

Starlight blushed and turned around, still levitating the line. "Double Diamond?! I didn't expect you to be here—uh, how was...um, the mission?"

"Was able to rat out a few stubborn nobles," he said, taking off his goggles. "You should've seen the look on their faces. They thought they could escape the draft—well, as I've said before, if you say that you love Equestria a lot, then prove it!"

Starlight shook his hoof. "That's the spirit, Diamond."

"And," he went on, taking out a letter from his mane, "Party Favor's wrote a letter for you."

She grabbed the note and read it, her eyes scrolling left and right. "Huh?"

"I was confused myself when I read it," Diamond said. "I thought you had an idea about it, on who this 'Vapor Trail' is."

"First time I heard of her," Starlight replied. "And...what's this about 'mind problems' and how some of her thoughts aren't hers?"

"Probably the Equestrian research division going wrong," he guessed, wondering as he looked up. "See how it hurts innocent bystanders who don't know any better!"

Starlight read the note once more. "Actually...this might be hard to listen, but it's probably not their fault."

"So, the Crystal Empire's research division going wrong," he guessed again.

Starlight closed her eyes. "My studies in magic led me to a branch of magic known as 'Remembrance Magic'. Not the most popular name, but I give it that because I liked how it sounds."

He rolled his eyes, smiling.

"With its spells, a pony's thoughts can be tampered with," Starlight explained, opening her eyes as her horn still glowed, as her kite still flew. "Of course, if it were that easy, then any regular unicorn could do it and we would have rampant crime on our hooves. Good thing those spells require serious magic proficiency."

"So...you could handle that?" Diamond prodded. "That would be a powerful weapon to use against our neigh-sayers."

"No, no..." Starlight said, holding up a hoof against him. "Let's not dive into convincing ponies to our side by force. We would end up just like the pushy guards."

A quiet growl. "You're right."

In that cold, windy night.

"So, Party Favor will arrive soon," Starlight said, turning her back on him, minding the kite above. "Do you have anything else to inform me about? News? Important visitors?"

"Nothing, Starlight," Diamond said, backing away.

"Good."

With that, Double Diamond walked away from her.

Leaving Starlight Glimmer alone with her glow-in-the-dark kite in the sky.

On the table, one sheet of paper with multiple pictures on it.

Surrounded by glass walls and one light dangling above, Starlight and Night Glider sat on opposite sides of the table.

"This is very urgent if you yanked me out of the farm to have a one-on-one talk," Starlight said, concern in her voice. "What's going on?" and held up the paper.

"First," Glider began, her airy mane at a standstill, "Party Favor's in custody."

"What?!" Starlight shouted, accidentally tearing a shred of the paper—her horn glowing once more. "One of our best agents is in jail?!"

"That's only the start of it," Glider said. "Word spread fast, and, now, we got entire theories and conspiracies revolving around our town—and this—" tapping the paper "—is what's leading the Equestrian public right now."

Starlight held it up again.

The pictures, on their own, were normal and typical. One showed a crowd of spectators watching several ponies race each other. Another displayed a parade of soldiers with the streets crammed with enthusiastic onlookers waving flags and banner. Yet another depicted the completion of a huge facility in Trottingham known as the "Wind Accelerator Institute".

The final picture was different. While the other three were in tip-top shape, this one was browning, as if about to come apart at the seams.

It showed a pegasi race between three—two colts, one filly. The event's audience stood on clouds, all pegasi.

That was the first set of pictures.

Below it was another set, which were the same except for blue markings on it—arrows and circles, pointing to a specific pony.

The race picture had an arrow pointing at a light pink unicorn obscured by the spectators. The parade picture had an arrow and a circle pointing out a very similar unicorn blending in with the onlookers. Walking behind one of the huge glass walls of the facility, yet another samey unicorn was highlighed with an arrow and circle. The final picture marked a unicorn apparently floating above a cloud.

All in the background, all in the distance.

"Somepony named Prolix supposedly gathered these photos and said that you has this town only as a front to divert public attention away from you interfering with the war effort."

Starlight brought the pictures closer to her, scanning them. "I don't remember going to these places!" He slammed it on the table, gesturing about. "Who's crazy to think I would attend a military parade, a celebration of what's wrong with this war?!" Pointed to the final picture. "And, isn't this a picture of that historical 'Rainboom Race'? Unicorns can't fly or walk on clouds—a few can, but—but, look at this!"

Glider leaned in, closer to the paper.

Pointed at herself on the picture. "This is ridiculous! I was a filly when the sonic rainboom happened! And, I may be good at magic, but why would I study flying?"

"He said that it would be good for fleeing from the authorities," Glider mentioned.

"Oh, so he thinks I'm not brave!" Starlight said, the nerves on her neck pulsing. "You see? This is what happens when you don't think through what you believe in rationally! You resort to crude, basic attacks like this! Attack the argument, not the pony—remember?!"

"I didn't go to argument class," Glider said quick and nervously.

Starlight groaned and hit the table with her horn. "We do our best to present ourselves in good light, I do my best to present myself in good light. I've done nothing wrong to our rivals, and this is how they respond: not with deliberate, intentional arguments, but with sensational and spontaneous hype against us! Do you see how many are against us?!"

"I already knew that when I joined your cause," Glider said. Frowned. "But, are you sure you're OK to keep working at the fields?"

Starlight inhaled, exhaled through clenched teeth and jaw.

Cooled down.

"Thanks, Night Glider," she said, kinder in tone, standing up.

Glider hovered out of her chair.

Starlight looked around her, seeing the open double doors leading to an asphalt street. "Nopony saw that outburst, right?"

Glider giggled. "Don't you worry! Don't you already know somepony else with a short temper, especially around a certain stallion?"

Starlight raised her hoof to her head thinking. Then, gasped. "Oh."

Starlight stared down the apple tree in the fenced mini-field, about a living room big.

Kicked the tree, resulting in a loud whack.

Some apples fell down to the baskets beneath the leaves.

Starlight clapped her hooves. "Perfect! It's a good start."

Saw her Earth pony companions kick trees and all of the apples went down.

Starlight wiped the sweat off of her forehead. "It's OK, Starlight. You're a unicorn and this is your first time taking care of an apple tree. I shouldn't chicken out of this just because I look weak. You've gotta do this for the town—'Everypony must work for their bread'!"

Breathed in, breathed out.

"Yes."

And kicked the tree again.

Fewer apples fell down.

She sighed and groused. "Come on!"

Her co-workers on the field looked at her funny.

She noticed.

Smiled and waved at them. "Uh, carry on with your work, fellow comrades!"

They looked at each other and shrugged, then returned to their work of kicking apple trees.

Starlight maintained her grin against all odds, against all they could throw at her.

Which were lines of ponies waiting for their portion, their ration, of small foodstuffs: sugar, salt, onion, garlic, and—new to the table—parsley, though the sign beside the bowl of parsley said in bold letters, "One leaf per pony!"

She leaned to the side, catching a peek of the outside.

Already night again.

"You know," the pony in front, also a unicorn, said as he levitated the little parsley leaf into his saddle bag, "this town is quite tranquil for a place so near to the Crystal wall."

Starlight's smile twitched.

He noticed. "Uh, hi!" and waved at her.

Back at the lonely tree in the night.

Her horn glowed and so did her flying kite.

Looked to the sky, the starry sky with its gleaming moon.

"Princess Luna..." she muttered, grunting through it. "If only...if only..."

A gale blew past her.

Felt the tug of the string.

Grabbed it with a hoof.

"Phew!"

Silence reigned as the kite flew alone.

"Isn't it strange, though?" she talked to herself. "Somepony willing to look insane in front of everypony respectable by launching those photos in the news? They're going to tell it's all fake, all lies to implicate me in some secret plan to depose the Princesses. Well, I want to depose the Princesses, but in a rational and peaceful manner—and, if they agree to make peace with the Crystal Empire, no need to dethrone them. That easy!"

A whoosh behind her; hoofsteps.

"Night Glider?" Starlight asked, turning around to see her. "Didn't expect to see you here!"

She was panting, gasping for breath. "I tried to rescue Party Favor but...got out by the coat of my teeth..."

"But, you didn't consult—"

"He knows a lot!" Glider said, stroking her mane tired. "The longer he stays there...what happens if the guards interrogate him?"

Starlight smacked the ground, kicking up a mean pile of dirt.

Lowered the kite, rolled it to a neat package.

"Where's the prison at again? Dirtfield?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then, what're we waiting for? Round up Double Diamond. Tell him we're going to pay Party Favor a surprise visit."

"So, Party ain't talkin'," a voice said.

"Nope," another voice replied. "He isn't."

"Wha'bout we give 'im another shot at it?"

"We already gave him three shots. By this point, he's really not going to talk."

"I'll make 'im talk."

"And risk not only hospitalizing him but also our going to jail?"

"Well, we're already in jail, so I know the trips an' ropes, the books an' the crooks."

"We're supposed to treat our prisoners well. The moment we start exerting our authority around like immature observers, then we're the next ones to get the cuffs!"

"But, he ain't talkin'."

Party Favor opened his eyes, still laying on the bed in his dark cell, facing away from the guards just outside the bars.

"The fact that we got one of the most wanted ponies in all of Equestria should make us feel honored that he's in here. Not in the Canterlot Friendship Penitentiary, not in the Maudrain County House, but here. I honestly can't wait for Princess Celestia to come here tomorrow to check up on him."

"That'll teach 'im not to speak peace when it's obv'ous we have obv'ous enemies!"

Turned his head to the left.

Saw a string dangling from one of the bricks.

Smirked.

"Say, what's 'is talent anyway?"

"You didn't connect the dots? He's a balloon pony!"

Pulled the string.

Up he went and crashed through the roof.

"Hey?!" the two guards yelled, flashing their flashlights at the cell.

Which now had a broken ceiling.

Unlocked the door, scrambled inside, and flashed their lights upward.

A unicorn escaping via balloon.

"Looks like I have the last laugh!" he shouted, his voice echoing out.

The guards eyed each other.

"Ya' call everypony, now!"

Pointing hooves were everywhere. So were cries for help.

In the Dirtfield suburbs where the two-story houses were separated by small lots of grass and dirt, ponies looked up, seeing Party Favor dangling, hanging on a thread.

Arrows sprinkled the sky, lit up once by a passing streetlight only to disappear from view before a dark blue sky.

All misses.

"I think I could see my house from up here!" Party quipped in the windy, breezy sky. "Uh, no! Sorry, guys, I don't live here! Wish I could rent out the lawns here, though."

Three ponies, holding tickets and hats, waved their hooves at him.

"Huh?! You're here?!"

"Drop to safety!" Double Diamond hollered, glancing at the approaching mass of guards far out on the street. "We don't have much time!"

Arrows whizzing by them.

"So much for peaceful protesting!" Night Glider yelled as she flew up, grabbed the unicorn, and set him on the ground beside Starlight. "Go, go, go!"

The four ponies ran in the night, fleeing the pursuing guards.

They crashed into the train.

Doors closed.

And it was on the move.

They all rubbed their heads, mouthing expressions of pain as they got back up on their four hooves.

Smelled of lavender.

Teetered their way to the seats.

Slid on to them, too relaxed and casual.

Limp hooves and legs, breathing in big gulps of air.

"That...that was exciting!" Party exclaimed, raising his two forelegs up. "We should do that again!"

"No, we shouldn't!" Starlight roared. "You almost compromised the intergrity of the town, and you endangered the entire pacifist movement we've been pushing for months!"

"OK!" Party conceded, keeping his forelegs up but now in surrender. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have let my guard down, should've kept myself wary."

Starlight slammed her face against the cushioned back of her seat.

An awkward silence as the other three ponies there exchanged glances.

"I...didn't know you'd arranged for a sympathetic conductor," Night Glider said, motioning a hoof toward Diamond. "That was some quick thinking on your part."

"Uh, I didn't do any arrangements."

"Wait, what? They know we don't agree with everything the Princesses say, so who's running the—"

"I am," a voice declared.

The four ponies, including Starlight, looked up and around.

"Good evening," said a purple pony with red hair, speaking in a coarse voice. He stood on the carpet running through the carriage. "I'm..."

Glanced out the window.

"I'm Star Hill, at your service! I run this train—how can I help you?"

Star Hill, Cash Heeled

The sun was rising in its hour of dawn, coloring the sky in pink and blue.

Below, a lush and thick forest where the final chirpings of grasshoppers came to an end as rabbits hopped about and as birds perched themselves on branches and sang their songs, their melodious tunes filling the air with simple and unaided music. The smell of fresh air, the dew on the grass, even the delectable taste of blueberries—a luscious, bite-sized wallop exploding in one's mouth.

Which is what Star Hill experienced as he picked some blueberries from a bush and ate them.

He then walked through the forest, going around trees and not minding the zoo of animals bouncing around, darting to and fro.

After some minutes of plodding on the slightly wet grass, he reached the forest's edge where some trees overlooked a small cliff.

Beyond the cliff, dying badlands.

Desolate, scorching hot, gray. Dead trees, some toppled over. Occasional weeds, infesting their niche spots. Barren mountains, sharp rocks and protrusions. Dry ground; stiff, chapped. Acrid stench.

In the horizon, rising to the sky: a tower. A blemished, hole-ridden, jagged tower. Black specks roamed and flew around it, collectively creating a humming buzz reverberating across the wastes.

Star Hill jumped down the cliff and continued walking.

Walking.

And walking.

For some time.

Up and down irregular features of the ground, then stamped out a budding plant.

The buzz growing louder.

Then, some of the specks stopped their usual course and routed their way toward the pony.

Star Hill stood firm, putting on a resolute face.

The specks formed into coherent shapes.

Shapes of fanged, scarred changelings. Two wore armor and shields; the rest of the group had none.

Landed in front of Star Hill.

"Identify yourself," one of the shielded changelings said, his companions growling at the newcomer.

Star Hill grinned.

Enveloped in a green glow.

No more was the pony. Instead, a purple-eyed changeling.

The other changelings gasped, looked at each other surprised, and saluted him.

"I see that you've improved," the saluted changeling said, shifting his glance past each of them, preserving his coarse, guttural voice. "Faster response time, increased detection range—training's stuck to you. Who knows? You could end up leading patrol squadrons on your own."

One of the changelings chanced a smile.

"Don't get your hopes up!" he shouted, pointing at that happy changeling. "You have to prove yourself to me before you can get a promotion! Got it?!"

The accused changeling shook his head up and down, shuddering scared. "Y-Yes, Pharynx..."

"Now, where was I?"

Escorted by his new entourage, Pharynx flew his way through the guarded entrance where the sentries stood watch and saluted him.

Inside the Changeling Hive, a baffling and disorienting mess of layers or floors made out of what looked like stone but not really—for, at times, the material itself changed shape. Some pathways altered direction, some holes opened and closed, some stairs gained or lost height. Changelings teemed in their home, meandering around in flight as they passed green glowing lights and green changeling eggs.

Buzzes echoed, reverberated.

To meet Pharynx, a tall and different changeling stood near the balcony's edge overhanging an open forum of busy workers.

She was larger than the average changeling. Her mane and her tail were like that of a pony, but were like fragile, bendable glass. Her horn, like that of a unicorn, was not straight—it had multiple turns. A dinky little black crown topped her head, and her iris-gilded eyes were green.

"You've come back on such short notice, Pharynx," Queen Chrysalis said, bowing a little to be level with her subject. "I wasn't expecting you to arrive this early. Is there a problem?"

"No, Queen," he answered. "In fact, I gave the ponies a problem of their own."

Chrysalis grinned, showing her teeth with four fangs. "Brilliant. And, what would that problem be?"

"Ensuring the survival of leading figures in the peace drive present in Equestria," Pharnyx reported. "As long as we keep them alive and well, then there will always be internal strife."

Chrysalis clapped her hooves. "Goodie. All according to plan." Looked off behind her, seeing the sort of "ground floor" of the hive where a mess of changelings marched in place. "The time to strike is not at hoof, however."

"Then, I am ready to take on whatever assignment you wish to grant me, Queen."

She cackled and rubbed his head.

Pharynx was unmoving, staring at her with a stubborn expression.

"As a matter of fact," Chrysalis started, "there is something that I've been mulling over for the last week ever since I've heard the news."

"What news would that be?" Pharynx asked.

Chrysalis touched her chin, now looking past Pharynx and toward the outside. "The Princesses have constructed a home for the Crystal ponies who managed to escape Sombra's grasp before the war. They're sheltering them there, and they're making a statement to all of Equestria. Well—" a low snicker "—would you mind, hm, making a predicament there, if you will?"

Pharynx grinned. "Ah! I see where you're going with this." He rubbed his forehooves, his sinister grin retained.

Chrysalis raised a hoof. "Oh. I almost forgot. Keep looking for your traitor of a brother, Thorax, while you're at it. Make no mistakes—one blunder and the both of you will go down."

"I guarantee it," and saluted his master.

Chrysalis smiled and giggled.

Which turned into an uproarious, evil laugh.

More than a few changelings halted to look at their laughing Queen.

A book closed and placed back on the table's stack under the sunlight past the ceiling's window.

As the monocled Fancy Pants faced the red unicorn with purple hair. "Well, you seem to be the type who goes off on philanthropic pursuits. Dare I say, you do not look like a wealthy pony in the eyes of many of my friends and acquaintances, but, perhaps, you are secretly wealthy."

"I'm a modest pony," the red unicorn said, his accent haughty yet country. "If I earn lots of money, might as well give lots of money. I have no care in the world for trifles and baubles that a stereotypical Canterlot highborn buys and then shows off to everypony he or she meets."

"Yes, yes," Fancy said, fixing his monocle. "The kind of attitude I want to see in our dear old upper class! Too bad they've done too little, too late—now, I and less than twenty others are left. You do know of Prince Blueblood's 'demotion', don't you?"

The unicorn nodded.

Then, a suited butler opened the door to the small room, levitating a tray of tea cups and a teapot on to the table. "Your afternoon tea, sirs."

"Excellent!" Fancy Pants said, floating a little sack of bits to the butler. "This fine gentlepony does deserve his tea for his moral efforts!"

The butler nodded, turned around, walked out of the room, and closed the door.

The red unicorn was looking at the globe situated beside the book stack.

"Cash Heeled," Fancy Pants said, "you are an amicable character. You would more than fit in when we get to the Crystal Pony Complex. Seven o' clock in the evening?"

"Seven o' clock," Cash Heeled repeated.

Fancy Pants stood up and drank some of his tea. "This is Prince of Bales tea!" He faced the seated Cash Heeled. "Wouldn't you like a fine sample?"

He shook his head. "I'm not a tea pony."

"Then, coffee?"

Shook his head again.

"What do you drink besides water?" Fancy inquired. "I must give you something."

"Candy," Cash Heeled answered. "I have a sweet tooth. A very sweet tooth."

Fancy levitated a box of candies from a cabinet and put it down on to the table beside the tea tray. "I've got an assortment to keep you occupied until dinner. After that, we head off to the complex. Sounds right for you?"

Cash Heeled opened the box. His mouth watered at the sight of so many sugary sweets before him. Not looking up: "Sounds right, Fancy Pants."

Crystal Pony Complex

A retinue of rich ponies—since they were garbed in suits and dresses—surrounded Fancy Pants as he trotted down the sidewalk under the streetlights, under the night sky. Passing by trees whose leaves were turning dry and orange, being passed by speeding carriages kicking up dust and making a pony or two cough—then, they finally reached their destination.

The Crystal Pony Complex, located at the corner of a large junction which had a statute of an historical stallion in the middle, was a fine structure for its purpose. While it borrowed from the medieval style of the other buildings there, the complex had an up-to-date design overall: long and flat lines, a single dominant color (in this case, yellow) accented and supported by little flecks of two or three other colors, thinner and taller windows which gave a sleek appearance to the edifice, and plethora of flowers and bushes integrated into its layout. The outcome was a modern and contemporary home that could accommodate more than fifty plus the staff needed to feed and entertain them.

The gathering walked up the stairs and were greeted by smiling security guards wearing the same yellow armor and helmets.

A floral whiff pervaded the whole foyer. At the end of it, a receptionist's desk where several clerks and attendants catered to short lines of curious Equestrians and inquisitive Crystals. On the sides, sofas and easy chairs where some more Crystal ponies nested and talked amongst themselves—there was one holding on to a newspaper as he talked, grumpy yet considerate to his young counterpart across the glass table.

Cash Heeled observed several of them, those ponies with their polygonal, many-sided sparkles in their eyes. Most of them were Earth ponies, yet there was a smattering of pegasi. No unicorns were with them.

Some looked up, to speak in hushed and quiet volumes, studying their wealthy visitors.

Then, they reached the desk where next pony in line just went out.

"How may I help you?" a lanky pegasus asked from behind the desk. On his nametag: "Steer Straight".

"Say," Fancy began, being at the front of the group, "aren't you that ambassador to the griffons?"

"Yes, I still am," he said. "But, who's there to talk to? Griffonstone's been out for months and they still haven't elected or even chosen anyone. Job's been a dead end, so I'm here to make up for lost time."

"Getting along with the ponies at your new occupation, aren't you?" Fancy asked further, smiling.

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied. "It opens up your eyes to a whole new perspective on things. Talking to them—it feels surreal, knowing that they've been alive for a thousand years...well, kind of, but you get the point. They're also the only Crystal ponies we'll be able to talk to for a long time if the war drags on a while."

Fancy frowned a bit. "Well, we hope that it won't be long and that it won't be a while." He swung a hoof across the air. "To Equestrian victory?"

"And Crystal freedom," Steer Straight finished. "By the way, dinner begins at seven-half. Would you like to take your seats in the dining area?"

"That would depend on our individual opinions," Fancy said, eyeing his retinue. Speaking to them: "Now, be pleasant and kind. You can stroll around the complex, engage in lively discussion with the Crystals. But, be at the table at seven-thirty sharp."

His escort nodded to each other, blabbing a few words to each other, and walked to and fro. Some went to the designated "living areas" where the foyer's Crystals were relaxing and unwinding, being received warmly as they joined whatever conversations were there seamlessly. Others ambled out of sight, seeing the rest of the facilities this complex had to offer.

Only Cash Heeled and Fancy Pants stayed at the desk.

"I, for one, will go straight to the dining area for an early appetizer," Fancy said. "I could already feel my stomach rumbling!"

Steer Straight laughed at that. "And, how about you...mister...?"

He was staring at a distracted Cash Heeled who was inspecting, from afar, the guards patrolling the place—two at the balcony, three at the foyer proper, two at each end of each staircase, and one at the second floor's main door.

"May I ask what you are doing?" Steer Straight asked.

"I'm no connoisseur at architecture or on how to shelter innocent ponies who don't like having a tyrant for a leader, but I have to say that security is lousy."

Fancy and Steer turned their head round at him.

"Whatever do you mean?" Steer went on, rising up from his chair. "We didn't hire professional contractors. These are straight from the presitigious E.U.P. Guard!"

Cash Heeled groaned, avoiding his face. "This is a refuge for Crystal ponies who want to get away from the enemy—even though that enemy is their very own king. What happens if a spy or an infiltrator enters this place? Nopony can tell because the guards at the door just stand there and look at him. There's no frisking if he has any conspicious bags, no magical counterspells to disable any offensive spell he might have ready, and there's no proper checkpoints—I could tell since I have a suit with pockets here—" pointing at his black suit "—but nopony bothered to check my pockets. I'm a unicorn yet they didn't even ask if I have any special spells on me. Finally, checkpoints...eh, it's your best bet so far."

"But, you're talking about the guard—"

"And, the guard should patrol, yes?" Cash Heeled interjected. "If you have guards who stand all the time, at least order other guards to walk around every five minutes—do they just patrol when everypony's sleeping? That beats probably half of the thieves and spies out there, but what about those who decide to hide in plain sight, under daylight? Another thing: They don't have weapons. Unless they're wielding invisible spears and arrows, I don't see how these guards are supposed to defend the place if it gets attacked. Can't trust everything to Earth pony strength if you ask me."

"You didn't even give me—"

"Look, buddy," Cash Heeled chimed in, knocking the desk with a strong hoof, giving the receptionist a mean stare. "This is Guard Duty 101. A rookie's supposed to know this the moment training ends. You're not the boss here, but what about you tell whoever controls this complex to write down those little tips from me and put them up on every wall so that those guards have no excuse on slacking at the job?"

Steer Straight quavered, about to hide under the desk.

"Got it?"

"Eep!"

Fancy placed a hoof on his shoulder, facing Steer. "He's a pony with a firm conviction when it comes to protecting the refugees. He does have good points."

Steer nodded, still shaking.

"I must say," Fancy said to Cash, "your sense of security is uncanny for a pony like you. Have you ever held a post in the guard before? You do have it in you to become next in line for Head of Patrol, if not Captain after Prince Shining Armor!"

"I've done some patrolling myself where I come from," Cash answered. "Hard, sweaty work. It paid off in huge dividends, though."

Fancy Pants chuckled a fancy chuckle, adjusting his monocle. "Well, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I must go off at once. I am quite famished!"

The dining area was a fantastic room. It held paintings of the Crystal Empire in its golden days, in its golden age: a sparkling city circled by snow-peaked mountains; houses and stores of pure crystal, as if they themselves were habitable chunks of crystal jutting out of the ground; the grass, greener here, reflected the light of every crystal there, including the Crystal Castle—a blue skyscraper reaching to the sky, windows taller than entire buildings.

The ponies in those paintings were depicted with sheens of crystalline—like they, too, were made of crystals.

A hodgepodge of culinary perfumes and colognes traced throughout the room, emanating from the variety of foods available for all to eat and consume: flower sandwiches, fresh and dressed salads, whole pizzas, chilly ice cream tubs, fried fritters, chocolate mousse cakes, and apple pies. The drinks were not lacking in variety, too: besides water, there was tea, coffee, juice, and energy drinks, each sporting different blends or flavors.

The diners themselves were not only eating. They were also chatting with each other, exchanging stories and ideas with smiles for the most part. There was one Crystal pony who juggled three sandwiches at once, garnering the attention of everyone at the long table—before he slipped and was punished by a sandwich splat on the face.

There was only one empty chair.

The doors swung open.

A few looked to Cash Heeled galloping his way to his chair; everyone else was busy with how to juggle sandwiches in a way that would eliminate such accidents from happening again.

He pulled his chair, sat, and pushed himself closer to the table. Looked at this pair of ponies chatting, looked at that pair of ponies gabbing. Then, he turned his face to the Crystal pony who sat beside him. "Good evening!" he greeted in his usual coarse accent. "I'm Cash Heeled. Already enjoying the food, huh?"

That pony flinched, shrinking back a bit while he wiped his lips clean from food stains. "Uh, y-yes. I'm enjoying it very much."

"What's your name? Didn't catch it first time around—of course, this is the first time." He grabbed several leaves from the one of the salad bowls.

"C-Crystal Hoof," he replied.

Cash Heeled furrowed his brows. "You know? Don't wanna comment on you or anything—I don't want to cause an incident that would ruin our relationship with you Crystals—but you sound awfully a lot like my long-lost brother."

"You have a br-brother?" Crystal Hoof said back, sounding terrified as he mindlessly shoved a lettuce leaf to his mouth and chewed on it.

"Lost touch not too long ago," he said. "I miss him. I really want him back—but, that's personal stuff." Went back to smiling. "So, how are you feeling?"

He gulped down his leaf. "Uh, g-great! I am cared for by lots of caring ponies who want to take care of me and my kind who want to be cared for! Why would I not feel great?"

"There you go," Cash Heeled said, patting him on the back. "Remember: we got you covered, so don't you worry about us deserting you when the going gets tough!"

"Th-thanks!" Crystal Hoof stuttered out. "We really need all the encouragement we could muster!"

And Cash chomped down his salad in a matter of seconds.

"How is it possible?!" Thorax muttered, pacing his half-empty bedroom and eyeing the door. "How did they track me down? How did Pharynx, of all changelings, get this close to me? Does Chrysalis have a clue?"

He wrapped his head in his forehooves.

"I don't have a good back-up plan at all! If I move away, the locals here will start connecting the dots and think I'm a Crystal spy—that's the best-case scenario! Worst-case...they'll discover I'm a changeling, they'll discover another changeling was in Canterlot recently, and they'll think that I'm a double traitor! Betraying Chrysalis and then the Princesses—neither pony nor changeling would ever want to trust me!"

Knock on the door.

"Agh!" He jumped up, covering himself in a flashy glow and disguising himself as Crystal Hoof. "Wh-Who's that?!"

"Could you keep it down?" the librarian said from behind the door. "I'm trying to read here and it's midnight!"

"Um, shouldn't you be sleeping? When did you get here?"

"Just got here. Talked with some of the soldiers about reinforcing security here in Canterlot. There've been widespread fears about an imminent pegasus raid because we found out there are some Crystal camps scattered around Northern Equestria. I was able to talk them out of setting up shop here because who wants to read a book if you feel claustrophobic?"

Crystal Hoof heard her guffaw at her own thought.

"Anyway, stop rambling to yourself about changelings and weird conjectures. You probably had too much coffee—it's making you think you're a changeling! Hah! Listen to my advice: Take a break from your coffee breaks, OK?"

A pause, the Crystal pony's legs shivering and almost giving way.

"OK. Now sleep or be quiet—I'm reading."

He heard hoofsteps falling away.

Crystal Hoof bit his lip. "That was super close!" he whispered.

Walked toward his bed and leapt to it.

And fast asleep.

Causality and Custody

A few days later

Back in the Granule Café, Crystal Hoof sat on his usual spot at the counter, sipping a cup of black coffee as the baristas conversed with the other counter customers. He could still smell the ever-pervading fragrance of the drink, wafting about everywhere inside.

Outside, it was raining hard. The windows were covered in streams of water, muddying the otherwise beautiful street scene in the morning.

On Thorax's right, a middle-aged blue unicorn—for his eyes had bags underneath—was talking with the stallion barista who was whipping up a cold and creamy blend.

"You've seen it in the news," the unicorn began, gesturing about with his hoof over an empty cup. "Confirmation of rumors that some unscrupulous names are intentionally causing conflict—mostly businessponies selling self-defense weapons to us and the agitators: Starlight's on top, obviously, but you have Trotskier, too, on the act. All they need is for one of us to talk bad, make a fight, and then..." picked up his cup of coffee as if to make a point out of it.

"Sneaky," the barista said, completing the drink by putting the straw inside and hoofing it to the pony on the unicorn's right. "Sneaky and dubious, to say the least. Have they found any specific ponies yet?"

"Nothing's public," the unicorn said. "But, they say that they know who it is—they're just witholding the information from us."

"Signs of censorship?" the barista asked. "I get the Princess isn't as bald-faced as the sun she raises, but this is unusual even for her."

"We're talking about the RSRR," he said.

"Makes a lot of sense, then." The barista grabbed an empty cup and placed a filter on top of it. "Any insiders in the know? Somepony with juicy intelligence willing to rat them out with the firms?"

"Not as far as I know." He brushed his hair with a hoof. "All we know and all the firms know is what I just told you and nothing more. We could join up as a detective-assistant pair and figure it out ourselves, but then we'll be sticking our muzzles into forbidden sectors."

The barista let out a laugh. "I'm a prudent pony, Night Light. I know when to fold my cards—when I don't have any cards to begin with."

Night Light raised an eyebrow.

"Hey." He pointed at the customer. "Any news about your daughter?"

Night Light held a hoof up to his face.

Cold sweat.

"Nothing, yet?" the barista spoke.

"Oh, you know how it goes," Night Light said, close to stuttering as he stood up. "It's personal stuff."

"Come on, Night Light," he said, raising a frustrated foreleg. "I'm not dumb. Anypony could tell it's more than just 'personal stuff'."

"I've got my rights to privacy," Night Light said, glancing at the door.

Rushed his way out of the door and into the pouring rain.

In an upper-class district of Canterlot, several unique residences lived with large tracts of grassland which served as their frontyard, backyard, sideyard, and diagonalyard. In fact, at the far end of the district—which was walled up with high white walls—there was a bungalow which would have looked out of place if it were not for its aboveyard. This aboveyard was a long patch of grass held up by several metal rods on the roof. Exotic and rare flowers flourished there, including a caged plant that looked innocent enough...of course, in front of the cage was a sign that said, "Extremely poisonous!"

Some paces before that bungalow was an ornate ivory tower. Its base was purple, its body was white, and its head was yellow. A spiral staircase went round it, leading up to a pair of blue doors at the top.

Past the top entrance was a lavish living room. Polished white floor, clean airy balconies, comfy cozy chairs and sofas, small potted plants, and another staircase.

Up that staircase, to the next floor, there was a library.

A huge library.

Shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books—both here and on yet another floor with its own balconies. Long books, short books. Novellas, epics. Treatises, counterarguments. Fantasy, sci-fi. Histories, commentaries. Studies, refutations. Scrolls, too, were here though in small numbers.

A study table was on the side. On it were flasks and test tubes of dormant potions.

The centerpiece of the library was a massive window spanning a large part of the wall, giving one a breathtaking vista of Canterlot. In front of it, alone, was a grand hourglass.

All of its sand was at the bottom as Princess Celestia observed it.

She turned around to see Night Light, bowing before her.

"Bowing once is already excessive to me," Celestia said, walking to him. "You don't have to do it twice."

"Y-Yes, your Highness," he stammered, raising himself up on his four hooves. "But...what did she say?"

Celestia's horn glowed and a letter floated into view.

The paper's glow changed from yellow to pale blue.

Night Light's horn was glowing as he magically held it closer to his eyes.

He gulped.

"'Dear Princess Celestia. I've done further research into chrono magic. I don't understand why you let me out of the restricted sections in the Canterlot Archives, for it's only in those wings that we can get a timely and usable spell. I understand, though, that the spells are archaic and may not work properly under modern spellcasting systems, so I respect your wishes.

"'Here's what I found out so far: Under normal circumstances, the timeline is flexible yet non-branchable. This means that paradoxes are not only possible, they are invevitable. There's no way to trick out time, as it were. We cannot change causality, which is the very point of what I'm trying to achieve. However, while there are no explicit mentions of this, I've pieced together, from implied truths and extrapolations, that, with either enough raw power or enough magical dexterity—I have no conclusive evidence leaning toward one or the other as of yet—one could modify the very attributes of the timeline itself.

"'This is very dangerous. I knew that when I got into this, the end result wasn't going to be simple. Tampering with reality itself—well, specifically, time, but I'm sure you get the point—is a precarious act. But, if things go too far, I'll gladly be the first and only one to do what must be done to preserve Equestria and what we believe in.

"'Send my regards to my parents. And Shining Armor. If I end up solving the problem, this might be my last word to them.

"'F-From..."

Celestia levitated it away from him.

On her, a solemn expression.

"It is good to know that a part of her academical pursuits is of great use to us," she started, pacing the vast library. "Yes, it is of a last resort's nature. Yes, if she ends up using whatever she creates, there will be untold consequences. Yes, one mistake in the execution could lead to utter disaster beyond total victory by Sombra. Despite that, I believe that, knowing that she is still in good condition...your daughter is fine."

Night Light's eyes darted about. "But, she can't possibly be one hundred-percent fine! No sane mare would even consider casting a spell that would change the past and probably destroy the fundamentals of...everything! Nor would a sane mare go to the future, risk getting killed by whatever lurks out there, and steal whatever endgame weapons—no, not the perfect weapon, she mustn't get that..."

"Night Light, sit down."

Celestia levitated a chair to him and he promptly slumped down on it, irises shrunk and whizzing everywhere.

"I must confess," Celestia continued. "She is not exactly sane."

"I know!" Night Light yelled, stretching his forelegs into the air. "She's insane! Informally, medically, and officially insane!"

"Not medically and officially," Celestia said. "You do know, too, that several of our greatest heroes would not meet our standard definitions of sanity."

"Is destroying the world a sane thing to do, Princess?!" Night Light shouted, getting off of his chair. "That's our Twilight who's going crazy as we speak! Will she even be the same pony if we reunite right now?"

"No," Celestia replied bluntly. "Sit down."

Night Light heaved a groan and sat down.

Under the afternoon light penetrating through the window, Celestia's glistening mane waved about.

"It is hard to understand Twilight now, although this is not the first time I've encountered the likes of her. Her personality in recent times is, indeed, unsettling, although not enough to warrant a trip to the hospital." A pause, sighing. "Isolating herself the way she does...we both know that it can do things to her."

"Then, why don't you bring her out already?!"

Celestia closed her eyes, maintaining her rigid expression. "You know the answer to that: She is talented. Talented enough to block even a Princess's power. Her meticulous poring over the pages of Star Swirl, Clover, Haycartes...while I do not want to endorse anti-intellectualism to any of my students, I do regret opening the restricted sections to her."

A pause. A sorrowful downward curl of her eyes.

"We should be grateful that she is on our side. If nominally. That I still receive letters from her, that she still thinks about you, her family—though rarely...it's better than what I've expected at first."

Looked up.

"After this time of war...after all this suffering...perhaps, that would be enough to make Twilight leave. She did say that she does not want to get hurt, but then..."

Sighed.

"Please, Princess Celestia," Night Light said, thick with a stifled throat—eyes wet. "Don't get our hopes up."

Silence.

Celestia took a step forward.

"As long as she is alive, as long as she is whole...then, there will always be hope. There will always be a chance you'll get your child back. Changed, but not broken. If only she had a friend..."

"I'll give her any friend, Princess!" Night Light told, leaping out of his chair. "If you think that friendship is the way, then, please, give her a friend!"

"I've already tried," Celestia said. "Each time was worse than the last. At this point, that friend must be the perfect one...perhaps, a destined one."

A glimmer in her eyes.

"Though, that is only one of the ways to bring her back," Celestia said. "Pulling her home by force with the help of my sister is an option, albeit a sickening one..."

A flick of her head, facing him.

"Anyway, there is not much I could tell you, Night Light. I am sorry that our talk may not have been as fruitful as you have wanted, but Twilight—faithful student and loving daughter...she's dead set in her ways."

He croaked.

Breathed in.

Closed his eyes.

Bowed down.

"Thank you, your Highness."

Walked down the stairs and out of the tower.

Heard the doors slam shut.

Celestia strolled her way back to the grand hourglass.

She turned it upside down with her magic.

The grains of sand then fell down in a trickle.

Second by second.

"Twilight Sparkle...if you knew how much pain you've caused your loved ones..."

The grains continued to fall, to trickle down.

By nighttime, Night Light was back in the Granule Café.

The yellow lights were on inside, but that coffee smell was still there and still the same.

While the patrons have changed, Crystal Hoof was still there, too.

He sat down beside him, looked at the barista and nodded at him.

The barista nodded back and grabbed a cup and some coffee grounds.

Night Light eyed the Crystal pony to his left. "You've been here for the better part of the day. I haven't gotten your name, really."

Crystal Hoof beamed. "Ooh! I'm Crystal Hoof, a Crystal pony...as you can tell because of the, you know, eyes." He opened his eyes wide, showing off his many-sided reflections there.

"Yeah. I see." Night Light backed away, though still seated. "You're one of the escaped. Good for you."

"Not getting brainwashed, not being forced to commit crimes for the sake of an evil king—yeah, I got it pretty good." Crystal Hoof rubbed his head. "I do get the daily dose of vitriol from those who're scared of an ambush from the inside, but the complex is getting rid of those ideas fast."

"Right," he remarked. "Wish I could go there, though."

"It's a public place," Crystal Hoof said. "Sort of. You can't go to the bedrooms and other secured areas, but the dining rooms are accessible to everypony."

They both heard a clink and Night Light grabbed the cup with the filter, coffee dripping forth.

"So, you're Night Light," Crystal Hoof told. "I mean, I overheard you earlier this morning."

"That's true," he replied with a nod.

"And, you also got a family."

Night Light coughed. "Yes, I have a family. Married to the best mare in the world—took me out on bungee jumping many times during our honeymoon. And rollercoaster rides. And skiing. And jumping off airships and parachuting."

"Wow. You've got a thrill-seeker for a wife?"

"Hard to tell," he added, smirking, glancing at the dripping coffee on the counter. Not even half full. "To strangers, she's a generic bookworm. But, if you've been with her as long as I have, you'd be surprised at her hidden depths."

Crystal Hoof nodded. "What about your daughter? I also overheard that."

"My daughter?" Night Light repeated, pointing to himself. "Funny th-that you ask..."

The entrance opened.

"What?!" Cash Heeled yelled, removing his bowler hat. "It's you, Crystal Hoof!"

Night Light looked at Crystal Hoof odd. "You know this guy?"

"Uh, yeah!" Crystal Hoof replied. Nodded before he bit his tongue.

"Say, your coffee's done?" the arrival inquired, staying at the doors while some other customers gave him strange stares. "Because, I'd like to help you out personally!"

Crystal Hoof gulped. Gulped again. "You're serious?"

"Serious as a millionaire can be!" Cash Heeled said, smiling while he beckoned a hoof toward the dark outside. "But, we must make the rest of our talk secret! Don't wanna get the other Crystals getting wind of this! They'll start thinking that I've got a secret agenda!"

"It's not a secret if you're announcing it in a coffeehouse," Crystal Hoof replied.

Cash Heeled twitched. "Was that a joke?"

Night Light nudged him. "Go on. He seems sincere. Just remember to run away if he tries to steal your wallet."

"Eh-heh!" Crystal Hoof kept up his grin. "Why would he want to steal my wallet? He just said he's a millionaire—ha-ha-ha-ha! Right?"

And locked behind a narrow gate in the alley.

Situated between one brick building and another, this cold and dark alley housed litter, trash bins, cardboard boxes, and crumbling posters of once-famous ponies—celebrities, nobleponies, and the like. It stank and rats crawled over.

Cash Heeled levitated a pile of boxes and blocked the view of the outside.

At the other end of the alley, a dead end.

Crystal Hoof shuddered, feeling his knees buckling again. "Shouldn't we b-be going to your fancy villa or something? You said you were a millionaire!"

"Paparazzi," Cash Heeled said, levitating the key under his hat. "The paparazzi are fickle. Once they see an interesting sight, they'll stop at nothing to get a shot, to scoop up the latest...scoop. Which is why I do what they don't expect me to do: conduct negotiations inside an alley. Sure, that means that I look kind of not rich but I don't like the paparazzi."

"But, where are the papers?" Crystal Hoof went on. "And the quills? What about other witnesses? This was supposed to be a legal process!"

Cash Heeled grunted, his eyebrows sharp at him. "OK, you know what? I'll tell you a story."

Sweat was raining down on Crystal Hoof's forehead.

"Once upon a time, there were two brothers. One day, the younger brother was playing with his dollies when a couple of meanies showed up and teased him about it. Then, the elder brother showed up, got mad, and scared those meanies away. That elder brother loved his brother and wanted to protect him. On the other hoof, he believed in tough love, so...do you know what he said to him?"

Grabbed Hoof's foreleg.

Hoof said nothing. Only whimpers.

Cash Heeled slapped him with his own hoof.

"'Why are you hitting yourself?'"

"Agh!"

The blue glow surrounded Crystal Hoof and revealed Thorax.

Cash Heeled cackled and threw away his hat. "Looks like my gut feeling was right all along. Eh, this is what I get for anaylzing too much."

A green glow surrounded the millionaire and, in his place: Pharynx.

The two changelings eye to eye, Thorax shivering and stepping back, Pharynx menacing and stepping forward.

Hissing.

"Alright, Thorax!" Pharynx snarled. "You're in big trouble! Abandoning the hive is a no-no and you know it!"

"I c-couldn't stand all the hatred that was going on!" Thorax yelled, stepping ever farther back. "The lying, the deceiving—I can't stand it! To live like that...no!" Shook his head, tears streaming. "I'm not coming back with you to your evil Queen, to the evil hive! I choose to stay!"

Pharynx bared a looming grin. "Actually...I was half-right about doing what they don't expect."

"What?"

"Help!"

Pharynx grabbed him, lunged at the dead end's wall, and pushed Thorax away.

Green glow enveloped him and Cash Heeled was there, rubbing his throbbing head as a few bruises was on his coat as well.

Thorax struggled to stand up.

"Who goes there?!" a deep voice hollered from behind the gate.

Gray glows around the levitating boxes.

Magical beam knocked the lock open.

Thorax looked back at the gate.

Guards rushing in. "We've got a changeling on the loose!" the guard in front reported.

Thorax looked here, there, and glowed, turning to Crystal Hoof. "N-No! This is all a misunderstanding! It was him!" and pointed at a hurt millionaire lying, head resting on the wall.

With closed eyes.

The guards gasped together. "Crystal Hoof?! Y-You're...you're a changeling?!"

"No! It's not what it looks like!"

"There's ten of us here who just saw you change form," the front guard said.

Brought out some hoofcuffs.

Bashed him on the head with them.

Hoof shook his head at the pain, closed eyes.

Cuffed, locked hooves.

Opened eyes, saw his chained legs.

Thorax looked at the limp millionaire at the wall.

At the guards who gave him only mean looks.

Back at his chained legs.

Sighed.

Reverted to his changeling self.

"Changeling, you're in big trouble," the guard said as he and others escorted him out of the alley.

Thorax glanced at the millionaire.

Who opened his eyes and grinned at him before going back to his limp position.

"Somepony check up on the victim!" the guard ordered.

Some went to carry the unicorn out of the alley along with the changeling.

And Thorax was on the streetlight-laden sidewalk.

In custody.

A Continuation of Autumn

It was sunset; the sky was an orange pink.

A brown Earth pony entered the small bookstore by the street.

"Ah, a modest establishment!" Quibble said, looking around and beholding the shelves. "This is my first time here, ma'am." His eyes rested on the librarian.

The smiling librarian. "Oh, hi!" She looked at his clothes. "I'll fancy a guess: a fan of Daring Do, no?"

"Kind of obvious, but...yeah." He nodded and smiled back.

"Looking to complete your collection?" she asked, her horn glowing. "I've got copies of the full set plus, both mint condition and second-hoof. Are you looking for anything specific?"

"I'm looking to buy the first three books," he replied, turning his head toward the shelves at the back. "A friend's in need of it."

"'In need'?"

She groaned and rubbed her head.

"Oh, no. You're one of the fanatic fans, aren't you?"

"If I have a good reason to be fanatic, then I accept it!" Quibble retorted, glaring at her. "If he starts with the newest book, he might think that the whole Daring Do set's boring and nonsense! I've gotta protect him from that notion."

"And protect him from you?" the librarian asked, smirking while raising an eyebrow.

Quibble rolled his eyes. "Pretty sour today, aren't you? Are you trying to cope with something?"

"Not really," she said as she levitated some Daring Do books from a nearby shelf. "That's who I am."

Quibble leered at her. "I can tell you're bluffing."

"Then, I must be a really good bluffer."

"You're not outright admitting it."

"I can't admit what I haven't done."

"One way to tell a lie is to merely suggest it, and you're doing just that."

"What if you're wrong?"

"What if you're wrong?"

"We're going to get into circles if we keep on arguing like this."

Floated the books right in front of his face.

"Fantastic, no?" the librarian finally said, smirking again. "Now, give me the bits, say 'Goodbye' to me, and leave this bookstore."

Quibble sweated, grabbing his books. "Uh, OK?"

The librarian squished her face against the window, seeing the dark nighttime landscape pass by her in a flash. The moon stayed in its place, and so were the many stars in the sky.

Across the aisle, on the other side and under the same dazzling lights, was a sleek-maned businesspony and a yellow pegasus guard in unique armor—there was a blue star on the front and an attached blue mini-cape over his torso.

"It's artisan," that businesspony, Filthy Rich, said. "All of them are hoof-crafted, hoof-carved, hoof-made. Nothing mass produced, nothing copied on the assembly line. It's made out of love and care."

The guard, Flash Sentry, laughed. "I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, I'll buy a spear from you made out of love and care...to neutralize my foes."

"I say to myself that this war is becoming drab and stressful. I thought to myself, 'Is there any way to help my fellow Equestrians who put their lives on the line for us petty civilians?'"

"Then, you hit up on the customized weapons idea," Flash guessed.

Filthy straightened his tie. "It's completely safe. Except for the Crystals, that is. That's besides the point, though—I could take your order now. Tell me everything: what kind, what color, when do you want to get it...everything you want!"

Flash took off his helmet, revealing the blue mane underneath. "Are you alright with it? You know that they're cracking down on suits like you who sell weapons to the average pony."

"I don't sell to average ponies," Filthy countered. "I don't sell to just anypony. I make sure that they're not part of any suspicious-lookin' group who could undermine the Princesses and their good work."

"Still, what if they don't tell you? Deceive you?"

"They're abusing my trust, then." Filthy crossed his forelegs.

The librarian eyed their reflections on her window.

"Those scoundrels," he went on, growling a little. "Others justify it by telling themselves that they aren't part of their revolutions. I say that I want no part of them. No radical ideas. Why? I'm a simple pony whose hoof has been forced."

"How?" Flash prodded, tilting his head. "Whatever your specialty was disappeared when war got loose?"

"Not instantly, but it's in low quantity these days." Gazed out the window. "Zap Apple Jam's got less than a hundred jars worth. Lots of apple trees cut down. Instead, they're churning out jarred apple slices in sour syrup. No time for getting zap apples."

Flash breathed out. "That's bad. I don't remember hearing that before, but now I want to try it."

"Twenty bits."

Flash scooched an inch away. "That's worse!"

The mansion was a big one. Although it had the same village style as the other residences there—thatched and hay-roofed plus chimneys—this manor was larger than the rest of them. The stone columns and browning hedges on the expansive front yard were signs of opulence, not to mention the butlers and maids who were now serving as part-time gardenkeepers watering and trimming and mowing.

Filthy Rich trotted on the paved path, going his way to the staired entrance and opened the door.

To be met by the snooty pink face of his wife against the lights inside, her messy purple hair evident and clear.

"Honey!" she yelled. "Have you made any more customers?"

Filthy scratched the back of his head. "There's the regular—"

"I don't care about the guards!" Spoiled Rich roared. "We need to extend our corporate reach!"

"Look, honey," he said, mellowing his tone, "you're acting unreasonable! If I go any further, they'll be watching us!"

"Then, keep it secret!" Spoiled shouted.

"That would be dishonest!"

"You could donate more money to the cause that way, Filthy." She turned her head up. "Instead of waiting for guards to line up at your booths, wasting precious time and money in the process, there's always the everyday citizen! It is their duty to pay up for war taxes."

The butlers and maids stopped whatever they were doing and looked at the arguing couple.

"It's our duty, too!" Filthy replied. "We've been through this before! No selling to the average pony! Before we know it, we may have equipped an entire rebellion against the Princesses! That would be treasonous!"

Spoiled stomped the floor. "Be more careful! Ask them! Interview them! Interrogate them!"

"I'm a pony selling weapons, not some secret agent!"

"You might as well be one if you're so stubborn!"

"Wait, I—"

Slammed doors.

Lights out.

Alone at the stairtop.

And the hose was turned back on, the maid returning to her duty of watering the flowerbeds.

Doing her best to not look at her boss.

Morning in Ponyville.

With the school closed for the day, several foals played around on the surrounding grass, going back to chasing each other or playing catch or almost getting dizzy on the merry-go-round.

Diamond Tiara, wearing her crown, stood by the white fence. A good distance away from the active colts and fillies.

A gray filly walked up to her and stood beside Tiara. "I know that look."

Tiara glanced away. "I'm fine."

Silver Spoon placed a hoof on her shoulder. "You're not. What's wrong? We're best friends, remember?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with you," Tiara said, not facing her.

Silver tugged at her lock for a moment. "But, we could talk it out. Maybe I could help somehow."

"I don't see how you could help." A pause. Hesitation. "Sorry for that, but...I really don't see how."

"If you tell me what's going on, then you'll see how."

Tiara let out a sigh. "You know my Dad's in the business lately."

"You mean the business of dangerous weapons?" Silver asked. "Yeah. Is it getting to you?"

"M-My Mom's pushing him to stop restricting himself so much. She wants to cater the weapons to everypony we meet. If he...if he gets caught doing that...I know where he's going."

"Either in prison or the barracks."

Tiara nodded, lips shivering.

"Have you said anything to them?"

"No. How would I tell them? I don't know the in's and out's of Daddy's strange new job."

"You should try," Silver said, effecting a little smile.

Tiara sniffled.

Then, a rush, a blur past them.

The two saw the figure fading away from their sight, shrinking as the driving pony went farther.

Scootaloo drove on her scooter, helmet on.

She skidded at Sugarcube Corner, its brown sign of bread contrasted against the bright colors of the structure.

The filly walked her way inside and saw the bakery in a normal enough state. Not too crowded, not too roomy. Just enough customers.

She spotted a mare wearing glasses, eating some pie while reading a book beside it.

Scootaloo galloped to her and placed a hoof on the table. "Uh, miss? You look like a bookpony. Do you have lots of books?"

The mare nodded. "Actually, I own a bookstore in Canterlot. I'm...I'm taking a bit of a break."

"Can I come with you?" Scootaloo asked.

The librarian looked left and right. "Are your parents OK with that?"

Scootaloo grinned and nodded fast. "Yeah, I'm sure!"

Over the Course of a Day

"So, why do you want to go to my bookstore again?" the librarian asked Scootaloo.

The two of them walked on a Canterlot street where streetlights and stationary umbrellas proliferated, shielding the pedestrians from the occasional falling leaf, snapped out of its branch by the gust. It was colder; more ponies wore thicker clothing though, most of them desiring to retain a smidge of formality and name, wore the fanciest of thick clothing: sweaters laced with jewelry, jackets studded with diamonds, and hats that extended far beyond the head.

"I want to know everything about beating up my enemies!" Scootaloo replied, cheerful and smiling.

The librarian gulped as they trotted on. "That's...interesting."

"It's more than that! It's awesome!" Scootaloo jumped up to the air, flapping her wings and hovering above the ground for a few seconds. "Don't you feel the rush? The pump? The thrill?!"

"You sound like you've already been there," she noted.

Scootaloo bit her tongue, avoiding her glance. "Got excited by the stories Rumble tells me about his brother! He's a Wonderbolt, and he can do amazing stuff. But, do you want to know who I'm rooting for?"

"I have no idea," the librarian replied, gruffer.

"Rainbow Dash!" Scootaloo screamed, shaking her head. "One of the most coolest, most radical, most awesomest pony who's ever lived!"

The librarian stopped her with a hoof.

Gave her a mean look.

"Trust me, Scootaloo. You don't want to be a Wonderbolt. Not even in the same place where they stay. It'll get to you...they'll get to you."

"Wh-Why?" Scootaloo asked, taking up her surroundings and noticing the street in front of them.

Across, the bookstore.

"The Wonderbolts have the highest survival rates out of all the special units," the librarian said, gazing aside. "This means they survive everything. And everyone."

Another gulp.

"It doesn't take a day to build up a friendship. Not usually. True friendships stand the test of time, forged over the course of the good and the bad, of the happy and the sad. That takes weeks, months, even years. You've heard stories? I've heard stories. Stories of how two best friends who could never be apart from each other...then, one of them got a concussion from the enemy, suffered brain damage, and died within twelve hours. The one who lived on?" Shook her head slowly. "He was a different pony. The smile on his face, that perennial smile...gone. Never talks except to say 'Yes' or 'Affirmative' to his officer. He might as well be...might as well be..."

"That's because they're weak," Scootaloo declared, planting a hoof on the ground. Or, in this case, the sidewalk. "What was he? Probably a fresh recruit."

"And, if you go in to the air force, you'll be a fresh recruit just like him," the librarian replied. "Full of ideals. Full of energy. Full of lies."

"I'm not a liar!" Scootaloo said, taking a few steps back and staring at her from head to hoof.

"No, but you've been lied to."

"The Princesses don't lie!" Scootaloo shouted.

"Not them, either. I'm talking about the soldiers, the guards—the ones who spread 'amazing' and 'unbelievable' stories of victory. Well, what about the ones who didn't live to tell the tale?"

"They died to sacrifice themselves!"

The librarian recoiled. "And you, a filly, think of life as if it's something you can assign a number to? You think that ponies just throw away their lives because, oh, they felt like it? Because they were bored?!"

Scootaloo raised a hoof to her face, covering half of it from her angry expression.

Her angry eyes.

"Scootaloo—" calming down, breathing slower "—you're not a mare yet. You still have time to enjoy the simple times of a filly. Don't preoccupy yourself in...in this." Gestured a hoof at the bookstore. "I know what you want. You want to buy books about how to use weapons, how to defend yourself...no, it's something more." She shook her head again. "It's...agh! Thorax!"

Scootaloo reeled. "What? What's that?"

The librarian placed a hoof on her head. Pained. "Don't remember it. It's just...just a pony—heh, a pony—someone from my past. Used to work for me. Just..."

Pointed away.

"Go. Back to Ponyville you go and don't talk to me."

Scootaloo wiped her own eyes. "W-Wait—"

"Go!"

"Ahh!"

And Scootaloo ran away, galloping down the sidewalk.

That librarian sat on the bed.

Inside the half-furnished room in the bookstore.

Stood up.

Walked over to the only shelf on the wall.

Marks of removed shelves around it.

On that, a framed picture.

She levitated it closer.

Saw who was there.

The librarian and Crystal Hoof, smiling and waving for the camera before the store's entrance.

Floated a hoofwritten note from it.

"'To Well Read. Thank you so much for letting me help you out here! It's way better than working for an evil king! I don't know what to say other than lots of thanks! I really don't know how to make it up to you after this!'"

A choke.

"'From, Crystal Hoof.'"

Well Read looked up, seeing the dingy and dusty ceiling. "I...I don't know, too. At the very least, I helped you escape an evil queen."

Levitated the picture and the note back.

Ding!

Well Read raced to the door, opened it, entered the bookstore proper, and saw the customer there.

That cloaked pony.

The librarian clenched her jaw. In a nasty voice, with narrowed down eyes: "What great timing, miss! Are you the one who framed Thorax?!"

The cloaked pony shook her head.

Though her teeth glittered, betraying a grin.

"I heard the news from others. It's a bad situation, indeed."

"What are you here for, anyway?!" Well Read yelled, walking past the shelves and forced a hoof on to her muzzle. "Are you going to rub this whole tragedy on my face?!"

"I only wanted to return what was yours."

That cloaked pony's horn glowed and a pair of glasses appeared from her shroud.

The glow around the glasses turned yellow.

Well Read received it with her hooves. "Why...why...how?"

"You dropped it." She snorted. "It happens to the best of us, so don't blame yourself too much."

"Thank you, miss—"

And the cloaked pony was already out.

"That should total up to fifty bits, correct?" the cloaked pony asked, tapping impatiently on the counter between the inside and the outside of the cookie shop.

Carriages speeding by, packs of ponies whizzing by. Bells, horns, chatter in downtown Manehattan.

It was afternoon.

The pony behind the counter, Cookie Crumbles, flaoted several boxes of cookies. "Don't forget that eating it all in one sitting is very bad for your health!"

She nodded. "Which is why I'll eat none of them."

Cookie Crumbles rocked her head in confusion, her purple bunned mane not falling apart into bangs. "I don't get it. Why do you want the cookies if you won't eat them? Is it for a friend?"

"You could say that." Smiled.

Outside, it was sunset, almost evening.

In a small castle, situated near a jammed intersection in Canterlot, the cloaked pony was on the carpet of a brightly lit hallway of both candles and electric lights.

She knocked rapidly on the wooden door.

"Coming!" a tired voice from inside yelled.

She put down the box of cookies and the note.

Ran away.

Door opened.

A robed Sunburst rubbed his eyes, tipping his round eyeglasses. "What w-was it?" Looked down, saw the cookies. "Ooh! Hello! Another batch of cookies, eh?" He floated it up, inspecting it and the note. "'Sunburst, here are some cookies. They should keep you up until tomorrow morning. Your project on improved artillery could end up being finished earlier than planned!'"

Sunburst smiled, then glanced to the left.

At the end of the hallway, a fleeing shadow almost escaped his sight.

Nighttime in Ponyville.

Owls hooting from a tree under the soft glow of a few newly-installed streetlights.

That cloaked pony dropped from the tree, causing one of the owls to fly away.

Tip-hoofed from one house to another, hopped over to yet another house, and knocked on the door.

Heard flicks of switches, saw windows brigthen up.

She put on her shades, fixed her tie.

Door opened.

"It's almost eleven," Bon Bon said, scratching her unkempt mane, "so, this better be—no."

Shuddered.

"Brooks?" Sweetie Drops uttered. "No...no...it can't be!" Stole a glimpse behind her.

The cloaked pony levitated a glowing metal tip.

"Lyra!" Bon Bon cried out.

Throat caught.

Banged on the wall.

Grappled, strangled.

Thrown at the door, to the dark outside.

Broken, ripped off.

Stood up.

Tackled.

Hoof on her face.

Lyra galloped to the scene.

Screamed.

The cloaked pony kept Sweetie Drops down with a hoof as she struggled to get out of her grip.

Lyra glowed her horn. Tensed her teeth. "Who are you and what are you doing to my friend?!"

"Agent Brooks," that cloaked pony replied. "Employed under the S.M.I.L.E. That's Secret Monster Intelligence League of Equestria. We keep monsters at bay. That's the sweet short of it."

"But, what does Bon Bon have to do with you?!" Lyra yelled.

"Her name's not Bon Bon. It's Special Agent Sweetie Drops."

Lyra gasped. "This must be a complicated prank!" Stared at Bon Bon, eyes pleading. "Bon Bon, please tell me this is a joke! It's cruel, but it's a joke, right?!"

Bon Bon opened her mouth.

Sighed and closed; in her eyes, a defeat. "What's the use in lying any longer, Lyra?"

"If you had any doubts," the cloaked pony said, horn still glowing, "I've got credentials."

Out of her cloak and suit pockets, an array of identification. ID cards, papers, classified photos.

"After the bugbear she'd captured escaped, we had to 'dissolve' the agency. Only the essential ponies who could run it were kept. Sweetie Drops here had to relocate to a small time village...here. Assumed the name 'Bon Bon'."

Floated the credentials back to her pockets.

And levitated the tip.

"She is needed for wartime activities," that cloaked pony stated. "Her skills at intelligence and espionage are inestimable." A smile. "No matter how good your life was with her, now is the time to relinquish those memories. Can't let a paper trail reveal our existence."

Lyra kneeled down, held Sweetie Drops's head. "Do something, Bon Bon!"

Nodded.

Kicked her hoof.

The cloaked pony staggered to the ground outside.

Dropped the tip.

It rolled a little.

Stopped glowing.

Lyra held up the tip and pointed it at the cloaked pony. "Got you!"

Bon Bon stood up, straight beside her.

The cloaked pony smiled again. "I got an advanced model."

The tip glowed.

Flashed blinding white.

Arrowed Plan

More weeks later

The watch store was cool, both in terms of relevance and in terms of temperature thanks to the multiple air-conditioning units pouring out fake snowflakes.

Without saying anymore, the poor cashier at the glass counter was hounded by a horde of complaining customers airing their concerns that the snowflakes were too "peasant" and "unruly".

The more mature clients kept to themselves and examined the watches underneath the glass boxes. One of those clients was a mare wearing some black shades and a brown shirt.

The watch before her was elegant. Its design was sleek with no gaudy ornaments. It was simply an analogue watch, its second hand ticking every single...second.

Its ticking drowned inside its container.

Heard air rushing in.

The mare looked at the door opening.

There was Lyra, magically carrying a shopping bag; her horn was glowing. Beside her was Moon Dancer, still garbed in that shaggy black sweater; her glasses were still broken, only held up by a bandage of sorts.

The shaded mare turned away and bit her hoof—and silently spit it out. "L-Lyra?"

Tap on her shoulder.

Turned around to see her and Moon Dancer.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss!" Lyra said, looking at her from top to bottom, brushing off some of the fake snowflakes from her legs. "We've been to Pendulum several times over and we still haven't received any word about discounts."

The mare coughed. "Well, don't ask me. I just got here." Looked to the side. "Say, what brings you here?"

"We need precision," Moon Dancer asked. "This is the closest we could get without leaving central Equestria."

"Precision?" the mare asked, scoffing. "This isn't even high-end! Look at the snowflakes!" Gestured to the growing crowd of complainers assaulting the miserable cashier with their harsh words.

"I don't know about that," Moon Dancer said, "but the watches themselves are top-notch. It's nothing to sneeze at. Pendulum timepieces are bought all over Equestria by leading scientists and researchers!"

Lyra patted Moon Dancer. "Now, now. Calm down. This mare isn't a scientist nor a researcher"—that mare grumbled—"but, she has her reasons. OK?"

Moon Dancer moaned before fixing up a smile for the mare. "Well, have a good day!"

She walked away to another set of watches.

Lyra staying behind.

The mare looked at her. "Uh, what are you doing?"

Lyra furrowed her brows. "Ah, sorry. You look really familiar, and your face rings a bell, but your name...it's at the tip of my tongue, you know!"

That mare bit her lip, eyes downcast. "Well, I haven't seen you before. Looks like you got the wrong pony."

Lyra smiled. "Hope I didn't bother you or anything! Gotta go!" She giggled. "It was nice bumping into you."

She walked away.

"Yeah, Lyra," the mare whispered. "It was...nice meeting you, too...and the meetings before that..."

A tear went down her cheek, out of her shades.

"What do you mean they're out?" she heard Lyra say to a trembling salespony.

Gave her a glance.

"Our Sandow Special is out of stock," the lanky salespony said, bowing down in fear beside a display of nothing.

Moon Dancer smacked her own face with her hoof, careful to not break her glasses. "What happened?"

"We got lots of purchases," he replied. "Lots of orders from the guard."

"Hey, what about us?!" Moon Dancer yelled.

Which did not distract the still growing crowd of complainers from continuing to rain down their array of accusations against the sole cashier who was on his last legs.

"I didn't know you were coming!" the salespony said, eyes shivering. "Besides, shouldn't you be, uh, rich or something?"

Moon Dancer whacked him on the head and stormed off.

"Come on, Lyra," she said, leaving Pendulum.

Lyra followed suit as she passed by that mare who had witnessed the scene.

The Sandow marketplace had lots of colors, but one was dominant in the autumn today: Orange. The trees that graced the cobblestone square were shedding their foliage, filling the ground with dead leaves and filling ponies' jobs up with the task of cleaning the place with brooms and dustpans.

Stalls canopied in stripes, polka dots, whatever else was the pattern there. Spontaneous, normal marketplace chatter was everywhere, for the ponies chattering were everywhere, too. Bags were in no short supply for certain vendors had wagons ready for the taking, prepared for the buyer.

Above, the sky was becoming orange, also.

"Don't you get sad over it," Lyra said, still levitating her shopping bag, nudging Moon Dancer along with it. "We're not in the best of straits, but at least we still got each other!"

Moon Dancer nodded.

Dodged an incoming bunch of flying pegasi.

Felt the wind in their flowing manes.

"OK, what's next on the list?" Lyra asked, floating up a small list. "We don't have our watches, and...we don't have everything else." Her ears drooped.

"Apples," Moon Dancer said. "Apple jam and bread."

Wafted scent of toasted bread.

The two walked over to the little bakery stall.

Bundled up on the cart were some breads. Loaves, raw dough, salted slices.

The unicorns looked up to see the face of the vendor. In a low voice:

"Why, hello."

He was a cat on two legs. An Abyssinian, specifically. Taller than the two ponies before him, he sported a black coat and a yellow apron. A faded scar was on his ear; his feline green eyes complemented his brown fur.

"Capper's the name," the Abyssinian said, bowing a little. "Baking's the game."

Lyra jumped. "Finally! Something going right for us, am I right?"

"We haven't been in this town for half an hour," Moon Dancer said, snarking.

"Whatever!" Lyra looked back at the cat baker. "So, we need some food. Energy food! You've got any coffee bread? Or, energy bread?"

Capper placed a finger on his chin. "Well, well...that depends on what exactly you want. Do you want something that gives you a little jolt to the old noggin, or—"

"Up all night!" Lyra shouted.

Several passersby looked at her odd, though they kept walking on.

"O...K..." Capper scratched his black tuft of head hair.

He lifted a box from behind the cart, struggling and straining.

Dropped it, flattening the bread caught underneath.

Lyra and Moon Dancer winced.

"Oh, that's alright," Capper said, reassuring with a wave of his paw. "It happens all the time."

"But," Moon Dancer spoke, "your bread—"

"They're fine! Watch."

He lifted the box and threw it to the ground before them.

The once flattened bread rose back to their original state.

Lyra stared at the bread. "Woah..."

Moon Dancer's horn glowed pink and the box did so, too.

It opened.

Inside, fresh and hot dozens of bread, smelling like a mix of coffee and orange.

The mares coughed and covered their noses, flailing their hooves about, trying to drive the stench away.

"Look," Capper started, "you can't have energy bread without making some losses."

Lyra coughed further and opened her eyes. "I'll...I'll take it!"

Moon Dancer raised a hoof to slap her on the head. Then, retracted it and faced Capper. "Whatever it takes. What's the price?"

"Hmm." Capper juggled a loaf as he thought. "That whole box is up for ten bits."

"Ten bits?!" Moon Dancer repeated, looking inside the box incredously. "There's about fifty pieces here!"

"You're not gonna believe your good ol' pal Capper?" the vendor asked, pouting. "Besides, I'm the one who's setting the prices here, not you—" and pointed a finger at her.

"It's at most half of what other respectable bakers sell!"

Lyra covered her friend's mouth and held her friend's head, keeping her under control. "Whoops! Sorry for that! She's...she likes being an average pony because she likes her statistics! Huh? Huh?"

And punched by her friend.

Capper snickered. "I know a joke when I hear one, and I do understand this pony's plight." Gave her a knowing stare. "Too good to be true?"

Moon Dancer nodded sharp and rough, scowling.

"It's good and true!" Capper said.

Lyra levitated several bits out of her pouch and on to his open paw.

Closed and pocketed.

"You can't be serious," Moon Dancer said to Lyra as they closed the box and grabbed a wagon.

"Oh, I am!" Lyra said. "We're going to make the best out of your research!"

Moon Dancer groaned and rolled her eyes. "You're just like Minuette."

Capper watched them leave with a box of energy bread in tow, blending in the big crowd of hurrying ponies.

"Heh."

Raining outside. The concrete was damp and wet from the downpour. The sky was dark—not a single star nor even the moon could be found so easily past the spreading deluge.

Capper stepped inside the glum warehouse, its big doors almost closed but their gaps being more than wide enough for a troupe of ponies to walk through.

He shook off the water from his drenched fur and clothes.

It was an open air weapons workshop and firing range combined into one. The floor was clean, and the facility had a pungent stench to it.

On one half was the workshop part, or, rather, the factory part, for assembly lines noisily rolled out incomplete contraptions stage by stage, processed by each piece of heavy machinery until, at the end of the conveyor belt, was the finished product—which, for this place, was a crossbow. A bit far off there were unicorn mages and magicians casting spells on quivers of arrows, then promptly labeling them certain descriptors: "Normal", "Explosive", "Combustion", "Freeze", "Poison", "Teleport", and the enigmatic "Experimental".

Every quiver except those of the experimental variety were sent to the other part of the building, the range part. The arrows were transported through a glass wall that broke up the building into the two parts, and testers levitated the arrows beside the new crossbows which were aimed at cardboard cutouts of masked, armored Crystal ponies.

Some were merely hit. Others exploded. Still others bust into flames. Yet more others were covered in ice. And even more disappeared only to reappear somewhere else in the firing range.

"You!"

Capper turned round, seeing a gray Earth pony walk up to him, wearing a striped suit.

"Capper, you're late!" Silver Shill yelled—his name was on the nametag pinned to the suit. "Get to the firing range and assist, now!"

"Hey, don't you go blaming me right away," Capper said, walking backward while spreading his arms about. "It was storming outside, you see?"

"That's no excuse to be sloppy!" Silver shouted.

"Alright, alright!"

Capper went off to the firing range.

It was not as noisy as the workshop. The only crashing sounds there were the occasional firing of the crossbows and the rare explosion of a cardboard cutout—only for it to be quickly replaced by a new one.

"We're understaffed as is," a glasses-wearing pegasus said as he approached the cat, holding a clipboard with his wing and reading it. Without looking, he pointed another wing at an unused crossbow with its cardboard target a pace away. "You go test that out over there. You know the drill: normal, poison, freeze—"

"Combustion, explosive, and teleport," Capper finished, counting them off with his fingers, "in that order and—" held up a paw "—never use the experimental arrows without permission."

"You're catching on," the pegasus said, still not looking at him. With a flick of his wing: "Shoo."

Capper groaned as he walked to the empty part of the range, walking past other testing zones where ponies pulled arrows into the weapon and pulled the lever and zoom the arrow went.

He reached the lonely crossbow and sighed.

Before him, past the weapon, was that cardboard target. It depicted a Crystal pony with glowing green eyes that could not be seen, a bulky and dark helmet with its armor, and a mean glare. The cardboard cutout was propped up by a metal bar.

"Wouldn't that be a sorry pose," Capper quipped, getting an arrow from a quiver with the word "Normal" on it.

Readied the arrow and the crossbow.

Pulled.

Zoom.

Target hit.

Arrow on it.

"Not bad."

Readied another normal arrow.

Pulled.

Zoom.

Target hit.

Did so once more.

"Oh, and one last thing," a voice said.

Capper turned his head to see the glass-wearing pegasus again engrossed in his clipboard.

"You'll be hauling in some crossbow shipments to Canterlot for E.U.P. training," he told, the zoom's of the other crossboards punctuating his words. "We'll be sending them out at three A.M."

"Easy-peasy," Capper said, smiling while he readied another arrow another time without looking. "I'm a nocturnal person."

Pulled.

Bang!

"Wuh!" and the pegasus tripped to the ground, dropping his glasses and his clipboard.

The cutout was smashed and burning.

Capper kept smiling. "Forgot the order." He shrugged his arms. "My mistake."

Right outside dry and not raining Canterlot, a river cut across the path. The river streamed from a nearby waterfall where the water splashed endlessly on the rocks and in the tiny lake. The greenery beside the path was not dense but it was still verdant in a simple manner: small trees, flower fields, and short grass.

Across the river was the closed gate to Canterlot. A dozen guards held their posts; some were at the towers and others were on the guard, patrolling.

Capper and the other ponies beside him stood by the wagon of munitions.

"Fletching Quarrel," Capper said, facing the unicorn in question, "you be the one?"

He nodded, his green mane quavering about.

Fletching Quarrel walked to the edge of the path, the edge of the river.

The rushing river which led to another waterfall down a huge distance.

He lit up his horn and glowed bright.

The guards froze, then looked at the light.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards asked in a stern tone, lighting up his horn in response.

"We're from the Sandown Munitions and Weapons Facility!" Fletching Quarrel shouted. "We've brought over big crossbow cargo!"

Three pegasi guards flew over the river and landed before them.

Imposing. Cold armor, stoic faces shone on by the unicorn's light.

"Approval letter," one of them ordered, beckoning with a hoof.

Fletching Quarrel levitated the letter out of his mane.

The gaurd read it under the glow.

Turned around and signalled the rest of the guards across.

The guards in the tower scrambled away.

A drawn out whine.

The gate lumbered its way to the river, slowly becoming a bridge held by chains.

Past that, another gate which was then opened by a few more guards.

Beyond, a long and empty street.

"Thanks, buddy," Capper said, patting Fletching.

"Don't mention it," Fletching replied.

The crew pulled the cart of crossbows along, over the river and on the bridge and into Canterlot.

Capper eyed the river.

The cart trudged its way through the streets, its ponies and cat seeing close to no one else on the sidewalks besides the random guard walking or flying around.

Crickets chirped from the parks, their noise seeping into the air.

Peaceful streetlights and the odd illuminated window conflicted with the night's bleak darkness. At times, the cart would come into a coherent shape under a blazing streetlight only for it to plunge back into the shadows seconds later.

After several minutes of mazing through, they stopped at a statued intersection.

"What's the hold-up?" Capper said, looking around. "This isn't the Training Academy."

"It isn't," another pony said, this one an Earth pony. He threw a box at him.

Capper grabbed it, teetering. "Woah!"

"That's the free food for the Crystal refugees," the Earth pony said, pointing at the Crystal Pony Complex on his right. "Hurry! It's like they changed the layout of this city or something, and we're running late."

Capper looked to his left as he neared the cart.

There it was, the mixed-style complex protected by numerous guards. The lobby, at least, was still lit and staffed by a receptionist.

"Are you absolutely sure we're giving them only one box's worth of food?" Capper asked, stepping closer to the cart.

"Actually, there's another—"

Bumped into the cart.

Unlocked the back.

And boxes fell.

Ponies and cat scrambling to get it all back, sometimes bumping into each other and falling, dropping the boxes too and even stubbing their hooves—or toes, in Capper's case.

Fletching locked the cart back up, smacked it with a hoof.

The ponies went away.

"Hey!" Capper yelled at the leaving ponies, holding up two boxes. "You're really sure these are the food—"

"Got to be on schedule—bye!"

And they were galloping off.

Capper held his breath, opening the first box.

Inside, food cans and jars plus water bottles.

Opened the second box.

Let out a sigh of relief and closed both of them.

"Food delivery?" one of the guards there asked from his entrance post.

"Yes, sir," Capper said, nodding.

Up the stairs to the glass doors, carrying the boxes.

Capper closed the door.

Looked out the window.

The color pink in the horizon. Almost dawn.

"So, you did the job?" the voice across the room asked.

Capper looked at him.

The room was small but was chock-full of items on the shelves. From tiny pottery and watches all the way to precious and priceless paintings that covered the wall. It smelled of lavender.

"Yes, Cash Heeled," Capper said, locking the door behind him.

The unicorn grinned, brushing his purple mane with a comb, sitting on his chair behind a varnished wooden table. "Only what's necessary to keep Equestria safe, rooting out the fakes from the reals."

"I don't care about your agenda," Capper said, toughing up his tone, walking in hard steps to the millionaire. "The thing I care about is the money. Where is it?"

"Take it easy, pal," Cash Heeled said, levitating a big sack of bits and plopping it on the table.

The table cracked.

"Ow." Cash scratched his head. "Nevermind. I'll just pay for another table."

"You're that rich?" Capper said, slightly smiling and placing a finger on his mouth. "I could get used to doing your dirty work."

"Excellent!" Cash shouted, pushing the sack off of the table and on to the floor.

Cracking the floor, too.

Capper looked down. "You know, I could call—"

"I'll pay for a new floor," Cash interrupted, covering his face with his hoof.

Capper picked up the sack, slung it over his back. "Well, thank ya', buddy."

Cash stood up as he saw Capper leave. "If they ask, say it's a personal thing!"

"Will do."

Opened the door.

Left.

Closed it.

Cash Heeled stood up from his table and walked over to the window.

He could see the beautiful view of this part of Canterlot, which included the historical statue and the Crystal Pony Complex adjacent to it.

Cash gripped the edges of the window.

Stuck his head out.

Back inside.

Looked at the complex.

"Any moment now."

Bang!

Varado

Dawn.

Armored guards restrained the grappling Crystals, dragging them out of the complex as they cried and trashed around, begging.

Journalists snapped pictures of the distraught refugees pulled down the steps.

Behind the entire group, several guards carrying and inspecting a few crossbows while a few more were carrying downed comrades on stretchers.

A crowd had gathered at the complex's entrance, causing gridlock down the line, and even the ponies at the carriages alighted to join in the throng.

Cash Heeled pushed his way through the crowd, through the collective cacophony of voices, and forced himself to the front.

Face to face with a Crystal pony gripped tight by his escort.

"Please!" he screamed, reaching a hoof out to the unicorn.

He turned his head here and there. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"We found out that they brought in a box of crossbows for themselves," his escort guard said. "I told the likes of you that this was gonna happen, but you didn't listen!"

"I was trying to be nice!" Cash shouted.

"You dare go against the guard of Equestria?"

"It would be wrong of me to withold my kindness and generosity to others!" he said, eyeing the Crystal pony with a tender expression. Still addressing the guard: "If you were in their place and I ignored you—even kicked you down!—would you like it?"

"I would not smuggle in weapons meant for the military," the guard said, holding out a hoof against Cash. "Step aside. You don't have any say here. You're dealing with verified criminals."

"Where's the proof?!" Cash yelled.

"Yeah, where's the proof?!" another voice roared from the crowd.

The guard pulled out a letter and showed it to everyone there. "This is a letter written from an unknown source, written to the Crystal ponies there to stash the weapons somewhere until the 'right time', as it's stated here. We all know what that means."

"Let me see it for myself!" Cash shouted as he yanked the letter from him.

Saw it, read it.

"Forgery!" Cash declared, holding the paper up in the air for all to see. "I say that this is a forgery written to bring shame upon the name of Equestria and our friendship!"

"I did not become a guard to let these rascals slip from my hooves!" the guard exclaimed, yanking the letter back.

Punched his prisoner with a hoof.

"You're not gonna let him—"

The millionaire and the guard brawled, throwing punches and kicks against each other.

Until the other guards separated the two from each other.

"Let me at 'im!" Cash cried out, trying to wrestle his way out of their grip.

"Careful with what you say!" the first guard said, pointing at him. "Go too far, you might show your true colors and reveal yourself to be an accomplice—if you're one, that is."

Cash bared his teeth and growled.

Walked away.

The guard beat his prisoner another time in front of the crowd. "You're gonna regret it, shiny eyes."

It was clean in the cold room.

Nothing else but a table and a light and a door.

And two chairs.

The Crystal pony on one side, a mare wearing a tie on the other.

Holding papers and documents.

"If you're innocent, you have the chance to redeem yourself."

The orange mare, a unicorn, had earrings and thick, curly mane. Her muzzle was squarer than most others.

"If you're guilty, then you have no chance."

The Crystal gulped.

He was a red Crystal pony, having light brown hair and red eyes, eyes with those many-sided reflections.

"I'm innocent, I'm telling you!" he said, those eyes hurtling round.

"Words aren't enough," the mare said, floating a pre-inked quill and a notepad. "I need proof."

He twirled his head around. "I came here with nothing! What proof could I give you?"

"A testimony would be fine."

"How will you know if I'm lying?" he went on, voice quivering. "Even if I tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you'd just throw it away because I'm a Crystal pony who woke up near suspicious things!"

"I have my ways," the mare said. "If I tell you how I can tell, that would defeat the purpose of it."

Her horn kept glowing. She was peering at him.

He gulped.

She read the first paper. "Your name's Crystal Varado, yes?"

He nodded, lips trembling.

"Born...well, over a thousand years ago, but you've been transported to the present so I guess age is irrelevant—it wasn't that important for this investigation, anyway."

He laughed nervously.

"You used to work as a wheat farmer back a thousand years."

Nodded.

"Then, in this time, you mastered cooking."

Nodded.

"Your family?"

He flinched.

"Are under Sombra's control, and you're the only one who escaped before the war."

One solemn nod, any trace of a smile disappearing.

"You joined the Crystal pony community here exactly a week after and you've stayed in Rose Quartz's house until the Crystal Pony Complex was finished."

Nodded.

"After that, you've done nothing officially significant. Is that correct?"

Nodded again.

"Where were you this morning?"

"I was...I was sleeping in the first floor bedrooms. My room was 103. I was one of the breakfast cooks for the day—we were in a cycle—so I walked to the kitchen with the other cooks. Then, when we opened the two b-boxes and saw the w-weapons...none of us didn't know what to do. A lot of us wanted to report it immediately to security. Few said that Princess Celestia had talked about training us in the near future for self-defense...they thought the guards would announce our training schedule later today."

Breathed in, breathed out.

"That's when the guards burst in. Night Knight—he panicked. Imagined they were thieves breaking in. So, he got one of the crossbows, fired at them, and..." smacked himself on the head. "None of us knew that we had explosive arrows! Good thing they're not dead, but...that was the tipping point. After that, the rest of them swarmed in, and we didn't want to cause any more trouble. Knight was the first one to hold his hooves up and surrender."

A mournful sigh.

"You know what happened next, miss."

The mare scrawled some lines on the notepad.

He held his breath.

"What you've said here..." the mare began, "it doesn't contradict the other testimonies I've heard."

He smiled and clasped his forehooves. "Does this mean I get to leave now?"

She glared at him. "Not yet. This could mean that you're really innocent and somepony's trying to frame you for his or her own purposes. Or, this could mean that you've colluded amongst yourselves to make sure that your testimonies won't be obviously fake—but, still fake."

"Can you give us the benefit of the doubt?" he asked, retracting his forehooves from the table.

"Everypony is quite furious about it," she said. "More than half of Canterlot's in protest. They're throwing out Hoity Toity again even though he has absolutely no involvement in the complex. If we discover unquestionable evidence that you''re innocent and say that you won't go to jail, they'll still want you in jail."

"You could do something to fix this!" Varado pleaded, eyes moist. "Give us what we deserve! If we're guilty, send us to jail or the frontlines or even back to the Crystal Empire to be treated as a traitor deserves! If we're innocent, then let us live and be free in this beautiful Equestria!"

The mare levitated the notepad and the quill down. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait for judgment just like the rest of your friends."

The door glowed and opened.

Revealing a narrow hallway of Crystal ponies sitting on chairs, hunched up.

The two ponies in the room stood up.

"Everything will be fine," she said, putting the papers and documents into a large bag.

Walked with him to the hallway before locking the door and then going out.

It was dark outside, night having fallen a few hours ago.

The tie-wearing mare walked into an alley lit up by the few lights of the windows up high.

Littered with boxes, garbage, and food dumpsters from which reeked a horrid stink.

Saw a ragged pony sitting by one of those dumpsters.

"Agent Drops," she said, approaching the ragged pony.

"Agent Masala," Sweetie Drops replied, standing up.

"Your turn. I'll head to Manehattan immediately to report." She pulled out a perfume and a comb from her bag. "Here. Use this to freshen up."

Sweetie Drops sprayed herself with the perfume; combed her mane and combed her tail.

"Also, this."

Masala brought out a little box. On it was the generic label, "Makeup Kit".

"I'll stand guard," she said, "make sure that we don't blow our own cover."

Sweetie Drops nodded and grabbed the kit. "Thanks, Saffron. It's about time I show my high-class lingo around here."

Saffron Masala nodded back and removed her tie. "I'll be on my way when you're done. I hope I don't come home too late after reporting. Father is expecting me to be back by eleven."

The anteroom was decent enough for staying in. A lone guitarist strummed his instrument, producing a lonesome tune. His audience was mostly made up of Crystal ponies and not that many were paying him any attention to begin with.

A modest bookshelf stood on the wall. An easel was present, currently occupied by a Crystal artist who was painting a portrait of the bookshelf over there.

The rest of them were talking with each other.

There were three doors in the room. The first two made up the double doors that, according to the plaque above it, led to "The Courtroom". The other door was a single door, the designated entrance to the anteroom.

Which was opened up by a mare wearing a fancy hat and some jewelry.

"Bonsoir, my friends!" she greeted in a haughty accent, waving a hoof at the Crystal ponies there.

Who waved back awkwardly, giving her strange smiles.

They looked at the basket that she was holding, loaded with chocolates, peanut brittles, liquorice, and jelly beans.

Her cutie mark: a liquorice-topped muffin.

"Au fond, you must be famished out of the stress you all are enduring, no?" she said. "En effet, I've brought some sweets to cheer you up en ami!"

The Crystal ponies got up from their chairs and gathered around the candypony who plopped down a bag and a foldable table which she unfolded to its full length.

"I've come here à grands frais to supply you with sweetening nourishment!" the mare declared, spreading out the rest of her confections on the table. "Peace of mind for each and every one!"

Crystal Varado, among the crowd, raised a hoof.

Everyone looked at him.

"You're not charging us, are you?" he asked.

The mare let out a quaint giggle and covered her mouth while she did so. "Qui va la, thinking that I am only out to get money? Incroyable! Yet, my actions will speak for themselves—" and spread her forehooves out, directing everyone's attention to the table and its candies.

The Crystal ponies there voiced their amazement in "Woah!'s" and "Wow!'s". They grabbed as much candy as they could, making sure that they would share amongst themselves.

The only pony who did not go to the table was the lone guitarist who was set on creating some music no matter what, though his mouth watered and his eyes did look at the table.

"Soon, you will realize how even an act described as simpliste could serve a great need," the mare finally announced before she galloped to the other side of the table and spread out even more candy, laughing all the way.

Varado stuffed his mouth full of jelly beans.

Explosion of apple flavors in his mouth.

The talk around him grew livelier, smiles around.

While not noticing the candypony write a few sentences on her notepad.

That candypony walked her way past narrow and infrequent roads, under the flashy streetlights and window lights, back to the alley.

A whiff of that perfume lingered, though faint against the dominating stink.

The same boxes, garbage, and food dumpsters.

Beside the dumpster, a bucket of water.

"Ah," she said, walking toward it. "She may be punctual, but she never forgets her back-up plans. Good for a rookie."

The candypony doused herself with the water.

Her muffin cutie mark disappeared, only for her real cutie mark of three wrapped candies to appear.

"Who knew having a funny accent and sprinkling your speech with showy terms would trick almost everypony?" Sweetie Drops shrugged. "They don't call it a classic for nothing. Now..." she tapped her chin, "time to put on the next disguise." Then, shrugged again. "Or not."

Sighed.

Slumped her shoulders as she sat on the ground, in the alley.

Beside the food dumpster and the bucket of no water.

"Lyra wouldn't recognize me even if I wasn't disguised." Growled. "Why did I sign up for this, anyway? Oh, that's right—I didn't. It was all subtle, secret stalking and watching until they get to you." She held on to her head, gripping it hard. "If only..."

A galloping figure past the alley.

"Huh?"

Drops got up, put her shades on, and ran out of the alley.

Chasing the shadowy figure.

Down the street, avoiding the streetlights.

Only a little more than an outline.

"Stop right there!" Drops yelled.

The figure turned his head.

Galloped further forward.

Leaped across the road.

Dashed under trees, round one more, swung across the road.

"You look guilty!" Drops shouted, catching up.

Running faster.

Tripped.

Fell down.

Hooves cuffed.

"What?!" Cash Heeled shouted. "I was just running away from you! I was scared!"

"Scared of what, excatly?" Drops said, helping him stand up under a streetlight's glow by the junction. A pretty park was across the street, and a few tall apartment-style houses led up to it. "Scared of getting arrested?"

"You don't know who you're dealing with, ma'am!" he lashed out.

"You're Cash Heeled," she said. "And, acting very extravagant during your time in the complex...that equals very suspicious in my book."

A dark window lit up on one of the houses, a silhoeutte galloping down some stairs.

"So what?" Cash said, pointing at her—or tried to before he tripped and fell down again.

Drops helped him up again. "I haven't heard of you. None of us have heard you before you made your big splash weeks ago. Your forged records in the Canterlot Archives made us doubt your credibility, but after talking with some of the Crystals themselves after your little spectacle this morning—" checked her watch "—yesterday morning, it all but confirmed everything."

She held up a metal tip.

"Wh-What is that?"

"Removes all disguise spells." She smirked. "Having a Crystal spy work against his own? Clever."

Pressed the tip.

It glowed at him.

He screamed as a green glow enveloped him.

Then, the glow was gone.

Cash Heeled was gone.

In his place: Pharynx.

Drops gasped, putting the tip into her mane. Took a step back. "It's worse than I thought. It's a changeling!"

Pharynx hissed out at her, lunged a hoof at her.

Caught mid-air.

Grappled.

Slapped him on the head.

Sent flying at the door of the house, breaking it.

Door opened.

A.K. Yearling gasped at the sight of it, adjusting her glasses as she leaned closer to the new creature before her.

Sweetie Drops ran up the stairs to the entrance, closed and locked the door, and kicked the unconscious changeling a bit farther down the illuminated wooden hallway.

She looked at the robed and cowled writer. "Oh. It's nice meeting you, Miss Yearling."

Yearling tapped her hoof. "I would like the perfect explanation for this one, whoever you are. I'm busy with a few things myself."

Drops placed a bag of bits on the shelf near the door, went through the whole hallway and closed the rest of the doors there.

Yearling stood there, watching her while holding a face of disgust and confusion.

Drops returned to her. "Long story short: A changeling has been impersonating a super rich pony and was using the influence and wealth he could get to undermine Equestria, to cause lots of trouble to make it ready for a decisive strike by the Changeling Hive. Attacking Equestria while it's at war would further drain not only our resources but also our morale. That is smart on Chrysalis's part, and that's why it's great that I've got him pinned down." Motioned to the unconscious changeling.

Yearling pursed her lips. "Why should I believe you? About this whole changeling thing?"

Drops pulled out her badge and ID. "S.M.I.L.E. business."

Yearling shook her head, fearful. "I know what this means...you're going to wipe my memory of this whole thing, aren't you?"

Drops nodded, glancing at the unmoving changeling body between them. She threw a small bat at a nearby cabinet top. "The bits are for the repairpony I'll be sending up to fix your door. You'll tell him that somepony tried to rob your house—that will be the only thing you'll remember out of this."

Yearling pondered, looking up. "If it's for the safety of Equestria, then I'm in."

Drops raised an eyebrow, giving her an odd look. "Strange. I was expecting a maverick author like you to defy authorities. Obedient ponies like you are hard to come by these days."

She pulled a metal tip out of her mane.

Pressed it.

Glowed.

Yearling galloped under the morning sun, galloping to the bookstore.

Smelled the musty smell of books inside.

"Oh, hello," Well Read greeted at the counter, her smile glittering with her glasses. "How may I help—"

She slammed a book on the counter and snorted. "Do you have a history of who bought this book?"

"Um...not really. Isn't 'Rivers and Streams' a niche book, anyway?"

Yearling groaned. "I don't care if it's niche! The fact is, it's here and I need to know where are the rest of the copies floating around Equestria!"

Well Read removed her glasses and faced the writer with a serious look. "I don't know. But, here's what I can tell you: It's printed about less than a thousand copies in its first and only printing so far, so a list would be easy to create."

"Do you have such a list?" Yearling prodded.

"Why are you asking me?" she asked back, cowering. "You should be asking the librarians in those massive national libraries!"

"I did," Yearling replied, her voice reduced to quiet. "The only copies they had and have now are historical copies, bound up in the Archives for historical purposes."

"Well, I said it was a niche book," the librarian replied. "Are you looking for someone who you knew had the book?"

"A list of possible candidates, yes," Yearling said. Sighed. "Do you remember anyone who's bought a copy?"

The librarian looked up, scratching her mane with her hoof and adjusting her glasses with magic. "There was this one mysterious pony. Always wearing a cloak around her. I know she's a mare and she's a unicorn." Pause, facing Yearling. "Does her description match?"

"Close. Any other takers?"

"Hmm." Another look up. "A stallion. Kind of short. Very short, but his hat made up for it."

The Cremelloton countryside was pristine with its mixture of rolling flatlands and hilly landscapes. Pegasi above were arranging the clouds, following orders from both their pegasus supervisors and their Earth pony coordinators who were down on the ground. Dirt paths cut the countryside into parts, and the casual carriage galloped by.

With the pegasi flying, birds chirped in formation.

One of the farms there had a house surrounded by a tall wooden wall. In fact, the house itself could not be seen unless one were to fly above it and get an overhead view.

Behind the wall, a lot of ponies—most of them a hue of blue—were building contraptions: ramparts, catapults, trebuchets, boats, wagons, mini houses. The din of construction filled the air and caused A.K. Yearling to plug one of her ears with her wing as she stood before a kind of short—very short—stallion with a tall hat.

They both stood at the house's entrance.

"Ya' see," he continued in a loud rural drawl above the din, rubbing his thick beard, "I bought the book 'cause I wanted us McColts to learn 'bout irrigation. There were tips about settin' the system up, but it's all about some kind o' time traveling theory an' what not!"

"What did you do with it?" she asked by shouting, before stepping aside as several Earth ponies carried a log out of the house and into the outside.

"I sent it to a kind pegasus," he said, looked a little away. "She did her best here 'fore she was no longer needed."

"What did she do?" Yearling inquired, raising her voice.

A thoughtful gaze to the wall, seeing his family and relatives build and build. "Was a sheep shearer, and did a mighty good job at it. Then, she tried to make us 'cept our differences, compromise, and move on. Told us we were livin' together on the same property, so, 'cordin to her, the McColts an' the Hooffields should make up."

Grimaced.

"They know what they did." Grumbled.

Yearling avoided his grimace.

"I told her we're only cooperatin' 'cause our homes in Smokey Moun'ains were taken over. It was uneasy all the way here, an' that's that for the two o' us." Stopped, looking at the side and seeing more of his family and relatives building. "After I explained everythin', she argued. No choice but to send her back." Chuckled. "Actu'lly, we McColts and the Hoofields also agreed on another thing."

She blinked. "What would that be?"

"Crossin' the Celestial Sea to the Dragon Lands."

Yearling balked and gulped. "You'll what?"

"Ya' heard me loud an' clear," he said. "We're goin' to the Dragon Lands if the situation gets dire. If Canterlot falls, we're movin' in with the dragons."

"You're...you're crazy!"

"But, I'll survive an' you probably won't, considerin' you don't have the wings to fly over the ocean."

Yearling glanced away, hiding a smirk. "By the way, what's that shearer's name?"

"One word." A pause. "Fluttershy."

The writer looked on.

"This is her house," a blue-maned pegasus said as she and Yearling walked on the cloudy sidewalk beside the cloudy street to a cloudy house with its cloudy lawn.

Yearling took a good look of it. "You're sure this is the place?"

"I should know. I've known her for some time before she had to go out and do her animal job."

"Alright, Sunshower," Yearling said, walking up the cloud path still decorated with little columns.

Knocked on the door.

Door quickly opened.

"Hi!" Zephyr said, covered in bandages and bruises, waving a hoof. Grinning.

His grin disappeared right then.

"Oh. I thought you were Rainbow Dash wearing a very cheap disguise."

Yearling smacked his head on to the door frame.

"Ow!" Zephyr said, rubbing his bandage-afflicted face. "That's where Rainbow hit me fifty-seven times when we finally did meet!" Looked up; a smile. "The memories..."

Yearling groaned.

Sunshower giggled on the sidewalk. "That's Zephyr for you."

Yearling grabbed him by the neck.

"Woah, woah, woah!"

"Tell me where Fluttershy is," Yearling said. "Just that. Nothing more, OK?"

Zephyr nodded.

Yearling let him go and he fell to the cloudy floor.

"Ow! Again!"

He hobbled, getting up.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm not healthy at the moment?"

Yearling rolled her eyes.

"OK! She's in Ponyville, working for some apple farmpony or someone else."

"Ponyville?! I-I started my journey for the owner in Canterlot!"

She started off, walking away from him.

"Bye-bye!" Zephyr said, waving at her.

Sunshower looked at him. "Nice try."

She opened her wings and flew, accompanying the walking Yearling.

"'Farmpony', eh?"

Yearling gawked at what was before her now.

Sweet Apple Acres.

There were acres, there were apples, but the smell radiating out of the open jars on the table was anything but sweet.

She coughed, walking past the arched metal entrance with a wooden sign hanging under with its apple symbol carved out.

The barnhouse was under renovation, scaffolded by several construction ponies removing wood piece by piece and replacing them with brick and mortar. On the roof, a smokestack was being formed by more construction ponies laying bricks and mortar, too.

Over in the scenery, the trees' leaves were orange, some already half empty.

On the side, beside the table of open jars, were various ponies shearing sheep with their manual blades and electric hoofpieces. Snips and snaps interspersed all over as the shearers continued to remove the wool from the sheep whose unshorn friends alternated looks between their shorn fellows and the shearers themselves.

Perhaps dreading it all.

Yearling walked up to the group of shearers and their sheep.

No one noticed her, not even giving her a fleeting glimpse.

"What can I do for ya'?"

Yearling turned around. "I'm looking for a pegasus named Fluttershy."

"Fluttershy?" Applejack repeated. She was wearing her hairnet on both her mane and her tail. "Let me see."

She pulled out a list from her small saddle bag.

"Here. I don't have time to mem'rize who's who. Don't ya' be doing anythin' fishy."

Applejack walked back into the barnhouse through the big open doors where several crates and boxes could be seen along with parts of conveyor belts.

Yearling scanned the list.

Pocketed the list.

Walked over to the first pegasus in the group.

She was yellow and her face was dirty with dirt. Her pink mane was scruffy and her tail was shortened and also scruffy. While she hovered over the ground, she was shearing a sheep.

There was a little line of sheep before that one, waiting their turn.

Yearling walked to her, fixing the hat on her own head and her glasses, too.

Fluttershy remained busy with the sheep who was almost completely shorn.

"May I have a word with you, Fluttershy?"

"Eep!"

Dropped her blade.

Grabbed it.

Shivering, trembling.

Slowly turned to face her. "Wh-What is it? Oh, did I h-hurt—" turned to face the sheep "—did I hurt you?"

The sheep shook her head.

Fluttershy faced Yearling again. "I-I'm sorry, but n-not now. Is it urgent?"

"I could wait until your shift is done. Sunset?"

"Th-That would be f-fine."

Fluttershy returned to shearing the sheep, rejoining her shearing co-workers.

Yearling walking away, though keeping her eye on that pegasus, that Fluttershy.

Trouble's Onset

Yet again, nighttime.

Half Baked Apple walked and pulled his wagon under the town's entrance gate which had the village's name emblazoned on it in big letters: "Hazarde! Enjoy your stay!"

Hazarde was a fanciful little community lit up by the many little lights that lay either past the windows or on the streetlights. Much of it had a suburban look to it, the houses varied in color and design. At the center stood two clock towers, each displaying the same time on their illuminated faces.

Ponies walked about on the sidewalks and crossed the streets, talking to each other and smiling under the lights, under the dark sky.

There was a party going on by one of the houses. There were balloons tied to the fence, tables on the grass, and a large cake being wheeled out by the parents to their twin colts. Party blowers filled their spot of air, streamers and confetti were thrown around, and the other celebrators gathered around the cake as the mother levitated a knife and cut the cake into mangeable bites while the father levitated those bites on to paper plates.

Everyone there wore colorful party hats.

Meanwhile, walking around the party but still on the house's property, an old stallion pulled out some barbed wire from the backyard and carefully curled it about the fence.

"Mommy," one of the twins asked, pointing at the stallion and his wire, "what's Grandpa doing?"

The mother looked and gasped.

The father looked, too.

He marched straight up to the old stallion, dropping a plate of cake which splat on to the ground.

A filly in line cried.

He tapped the unaware stallion on the shoulder. "Dad, this isn't the time to be silly! Why aren't you staying with your grandchildren?"

"Bah!" he said, slapping the hoof off of his shoulder.

He threw his party hat at his son.

"I didn't raise you up to be a complacent softy, Quick Frosting! If you're going to celebrate the eight years of your foals, at least make sure they're safe!"

"Dad," Quick Frosting countered, motioning his hoof about as he picked up the party hat and placed it on his father's head, "I don't want to have this conversation again, but the Crystal ponies are way out there!" Pointed at the horizon. "Leave it to Mayor Risk Control to do his job of protecting this town. He has a good record of keeping things safe."

"What's a mayor without an uppity population?" the old stallion argued. "He's only one pony, and we are one thousand strong without him! It's simple logic saying that a thousand ponies can dig a trench faster than one!"

He kicked the dirt and shoved some of it to his son's face.

The festive sounds of cheers and music stopped at that.

Everyone was looking at Quick Frosting's dirty face.

"There! One pony couldn't stop me from attacking you!" The old stallion held up a section of his barbed wire and waved it around, catching the attention of even the passersby. "My point stands and I've proven it!"

Faced the rest of the onlookers at the party, including his twin grandcolts.

"You better celebrate in peace and that's because of my initiative to save you all from death!" He glanced aside, muttering incoherent sounds. "Ah!"

Took a step toward the twins.

"Happy eighth birthday to you!"

They replied with nothing.

The old stallion went on fortifying the fence with his barbed wire.

Quick Frosting wiped the dirt off of his face. Spat some of it out of his mouth.

Turned around and brisked his way back to the party, wearing a smile. "Alright, kids! Sorry for the little interruption, but I'm back in action and we can get this rolling!"

The parents went back to slicing the cake for the foals to eat.

"You know," the mother spoke under her breath, "keep this up and you'll do swell when we get to their ninth birthday." She rolled her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe the ol' snapper would start aiming arrows at our friends just because they're walking on our side of the street."

"Steeplechase," he said, putting a firm hoof on his wife's shoulder, "don't be so harsh on him. You know what he's facing."

"What is he facing?" Steeplechase said, flicking her head and her mane. "If we were living at a barracks, then maybe I can understand his paranoid behavior. But, he's stocking up barbed wire in our house! Last night, he ordered shovels and you didn't stop him—ahem, you tried but you were too afraid to make him angry."

"He's my Dad," Quick Frosting said. "What do you want me to do with him? Kick him out?"

"It's a possibility, honey," Steeplechase replied, her tone bitter.

The both of them levitating the knife and plate and slices as they squabbled.

"He's becoming a danger to the entire community," Steeplechase continued, "not to mention us. The only thing that's kept us from total shame is that he's barely listened to in the public meetings."

"That's because they scoff him for his 'overprotective tendencies'!" Quick Frosting said, flailing his forehooves about.

"That's what you said when he proposed moving the entire town to the sky! Or, underground." She rolled her eyes again. "Face the truth, honey: He's not helping at all and you better send him to a retirement village."

"But, he's already retired!"

Steeplechase smacked herself on the face. "You're thirty years old and you still don't get what a retirement village is?!"

"Like I said the twentieth time, our lineage is known for never sending our elders away."

Steeplechase pushed him, grabbed a flower from a nearby bush, and levitated it in front of him.

"Do you see this flower?" she asked.

"Uh, yes?"

"It's a dandelion. Watch."

She blew on it.

A lot of its seeds flew out, floating away with the breeze.

"That's how crazy your father is!" she said. "He's already lost much of his mind. It's only a matter of time before he's declared insane!"

"He's not insane!" Quick Frosting insisted, taking a step back. "What if he's right?"

"Stop your lying," she replied, shaking her head. "You know he's just crazy, and it's all coincidences."

He took another step back, fading out from the light of the doorstep. "I don't know about you, but I don't have a good feeling about any of this at all. As much as I want him to act normal, he has that uncanny sense—"

"That's a myth!" she broke in, eyes strained and ears drooped. "He's just right at the wrong times!"

"You said the same thing when Flaky Cheese thought the Mare in the Moon was a real pony, and look where that got the four of us into!"

"He was younger then! What can you expect somepony like him to believe when we tell him those bedtime stories?"

"It was your fault for buying the Mare in the Moon stories—"

"You, sir!" the old stallion cried out at Half Baked Apple on the road, throwing his party hat at the wagoned pony. "You seem like a reasonable person! Wait...is that barbed wire you're selling?"

Steeplechase growled and gritted her teeth, pushing a hoof against the wall. "You must stop him, Frosting."

He sighed and slumped his shoulders. "OK, honey. I'll try. But—" raised a hoof and leaned his head at her "—don't say I didn't warn you."

"About what?"

"About...wait, what was I...?"

The parents then looked at the party.

Everyone, including their twin sons, were watching them. The filly who had cried even brought some popcorn and munched on it. The cake was not even a quarter finished.

The parents put on smiles.

"You know," Steeplechase began, speaking through her grin as the both of them continued their cake slicing, "let's talk about this at a later date."

"Yeah," he said through his grin.

Screams from the streets.

"Look up!" one of the pedestrians yelled, pointing at the sky. "They're coming!"

Everyone looked up.

Green glows in the night sky.

Closer, louder.

The parents looked at the foals in attendance.

They looked back at the parents.

"Party's postponed, everypony!" Frosting yelled. "To the bunkers!"

And everyone ran out of the frontyard, barreling to the streets as they all ran.

Leaving their balloons, streamers, party blowers, tables, and cake there.

Frosting grabbed one of his colts and floated him as he ran.

Steeplechase did the same with their other colt.

"Faster, everyone!"

Approaching the two clock towers.

Houses smashed. From the holes, flying Crystal pegasi with their armor and glowing eyes.

"Out, out, out! Out of the way!"

Shoved a pony to the side, throwing him down.

To the plaza where the clock towers stood.

A pegasus wearing a bowtie flew down to where they were.

"Mayor Risk Control!"

Ponies rushing to the plaza from all sides.

Furor, clamor, budging, shouts, screams, whimpers, cries, hooves pointed up.

To the sky, to the Crystal pegasi moving in.

The pegasus mayor held up a wing. "I need all of you to stay calm and—"

"Open the doors already!" a mare yelped.

The pegasus gulped, removed two keys from his mane, and flew.

To the base of one clock tower. Unlocked the door.

To the base of the other. Unlocked that door.

The doors opened at the same time.

"Move in now!" the mayor cried out, ushering a stream of hurrying ponies into the other clock tower. "I'll stay behind! Leave it to us townsfolk defenders!"

A beam hit the clock tower.

Its massive hands fell to the ground, shattering much of the plaza.

"In, inside!"

Frosting held his son tight as they trotted into the tower.

Down a narrow and illuminated stairway.

Illuminated orange. Everything and everyone inside had that orange tint.

Ponies in front, ponies behind.

Steeplechase and their other colt there close by.

Loud, echoing hoofsteps.

Dry and hot inside.

Murmurs from the others.

The family kept silent.

At the staircase's bottom.

Left to a long hallway.

Running, galloping.

Right turn.

More running, galloping.

Slowed down to a trot, others passing them by—sprinting.

Then, a crowd at large metal double doors.

A mare wearing a hard hat banged her hoof on the door and rang a bell.

Everyone became silent.

The hallway to the door had not much. There were pipes going along on the wall, but other than that, there was nothing else.

"Listen up!" the mare shouted, her face unemotional though her voice passionate. "We want everypony to behave in an orderly manner! I don't need you to be up in straight lines. Just be orderly! Anyone who disobeys the rules will be faced with mandatory guard duty outside. Got it?"

Most of them nodded.

"I'm sure a lot of you know me already, but for the visitors and tourists who don't: My name is Curb Rail. You're going to see me too often for your own comfort because we're not getting out of here until somepony comes inside and gives us the go signal. Before that happens—"

Pulled a lever by the door

"—enjoy your stay, eat and drink but not too much, and follow my orders. There's some weapons to train yourselves with in case the worst happens and the shiny eyes break through the doors."

The large double doors swung open, droning with their rusty screeches.

Some ponies plugged their ears with their hooves or their wings.

As the doors slowly parted, those outside could see what these doors hid.

A simple system of beds, kitchens, shelves, and open spaces. Functional, a lack of anything fancy. What was there was the necessities and little more.

The beds were merely frames, mattresses, and pillows. The kitchens consisted of second-hoof, decaying stoves and microwaves with frying pans and spatulas, among other kitchenware, dangling from one rusting metal bar. The shelves were overloaded with largely nondescript cans of food, their only identifier being a meager label underneath that had one word: "Carrots", "Oranges", "Lettuce", "Onions".

The open spaces were open spaces.

Tiled floor, painted walls, orange lights.

That tint of orange.

"Don't worry," Curb Rail said, reassuring. "This is only temporary. When it's all over, you can move back to your homes. Or, let's face it, what's left of them." Beamed with a grin. "But, you can relocate! Relocating to another home is better than having no home, right?"

Grumbles and rude murmurs rising from the crowd as they trudged into the vast room.

Hoofsteps, voices mixed and lost, becoming an anarchy of noise.

Hot, humid. They sweated.

At the sleeping part of the room, hardly anypony was sleeping quietly amidst the disquiet of hoofsteps, words, and metal clangs.

Out of the seventy or so ponies occupying that space, there was only one snoring soundly on his makeshift bed. The rest were engaged with other activities. Two ponies played a game of chess on one of the beds, the players sitting on opposite sides of it with the chessboard on the mattress. A pegasus stallion dropped his flute and those around him rushed to pick it up, inspect it, and declare it...something.

"I say it's completely fine! I see no scratches!"

"How do you know? You don't have 20/20 vision!"

"I interrupt this entire meeting and—"

"This is my flute! Give it back!"

Near the wall and, thus, the end of the room's sleeping part, a few ponies had assembled to witness a collector's collection of old newspapers.

"And, this one..." the glasses-donned collector continued, spreading open a crumbling yet intact newspaper for all to see, "this one is from the famous Rainboom Race. When I found it last Hearth's Warming, I had to fight my way to get it on my hooves no matter what." A pause, a smile. "It's such a valuable piece of journalist history."

"Yeah, says who?" one of his audience argued, half-standing up.

"When's dinner?" a mare asked.

The stallion groaned, folded the newspaper, and put it back on the stack where the rest of his collection rested.

Near the kitchens where sizzles and crackles and fizzles could be heard too much and too near, Quick Frosting and Steeplechase sat on one bed, on its single mattress, with their two foals. Steeplechase patted one of them as he sat there, staring off to the distance.

"Daddy?" Flaky Cheese, the freckled one, spoke up, looking at his father's face. "When will they stop?"

He sighed. "I don't know." Looked away. "They usually last for hours."

"We've been here for three hours!" Flaky complained. "Aren't they happy with their evilness?"

"Their evil is unlike any we've seen before," Frosting told, still looking away. "I won't be surprised if they leave this place an unrecognizable mess."

Silence on their bed.

Noise everywhere else.

A stallion walked up to their bed and unhooked himself from his wagon.

"Why, howdy!" Half Baked Apple said, putting his hat away and making a little bow. "I'm Half Baked Apple at yer' service! Survival extra-ordinaire, as they say in some parts but not i' ot'ers. I should know since I've been to ot'er parts o' Equestria an' some got me out an' turned me 'way, but I'd like to have it honest an' plain like a salt'd chip!"

Displayed a toothy grin.

The family exchanged odd, surprised looks with each other.

Steeplechase gave him a dour stare. "I think we've had enough of—"

"Hold on," Frosting said, levitating a saddle bag on the foot of the bed.

He brought a sack of bits up, turned it upside down, and shook a few bits out of it.

"What's your, um, best-seller?" Frosting asked.

"Well!" Half Baked Apple shouted, chucking his head into the wagon and then pulling out a piece of barbed wire. "I've got a fine spec'men o' barbed wire an' its friends an' cousins an' other related wires both by ancestry and by descendents!"

"How does that even work—"

Bells ringing.

Banging.

"Attention, everypony!" Curb Rail shouted, though unseen in the middle of a huddled crowd at the open spaces. "They've managed to get to the bunkers!"

Panic in screams, gallops, flights, stampedes.

Dropping everything.

"Save yourselves!" Half Baked Apple yelled, stringing barbed wire with his teeth.

Microwaves fallen over and pans, too.

"Everypony!" Curb Rail yelled. "Remain Calm!"

Drowned in the sea of panic.

Ponies rushing, moving, almost everywhere.

Many banging at the closed metal doors.

Banging from the other side.

Stomps, set hoofsteps and marches from the other side.

"Emergency exit!" Curb shouted, lunging at one of the levers at the wall and yanked it down.

A portion of the wall slid open, exposing a dark and dirty tunnel.

Held up a flashlight. "I'll lead the way! Come on!"

Haphazard stream of ponies toward the tunnel.

Screams, shouts, yells, cries, whimpers.

Echoing, bouncing from wall to wall.

Bang!

Doors burst open, plunging several to flight and to unconsciousness.

Glowing green eyes.

Masked and armored Crystal ponies charged in, the pegasi taking the comatose ponies and pulling them away.

Last few left awake scrambling to the secret passageway.

In.

Curb pulled the lever up.

Passageway sealed.

Curb Rail put on a fighting stance and growled. "If you want to get to them, you have to get through me first!"

Punched down, knocked out.

Hard hat thrown off to the floor.

A Crystal pulled the lever back down.

Passageway opened.

Several swarmed inside.

Most of the pegasi flew out, carrying Curb Rail and the other unconscious ponies out the room, past the broken metal doors, up the staircase, to the outside.

Still nighttime, though the fires from many houses replaced the ordinary lights in brightening the streets.

Down below, more Crystal soldiers rounded up ponies in shackles and chains. Others invaded more houses, more buildings, and took out yet more surrendering ponies.

Far out, on the distant meadows outside Hazarde, several colorful dots and specks slowly fading into the horizon.

As a squad of Crystal pegasi flew in their direction.

Beam.

One shot down.

The pegasus fell.

Rest of the squad turned tail.

As unicorns on flying pegasus-held platforms fired their beams at the Crystal soldiers.

"You might want to recheck that, mister!" one of the Equestrian unicorns taunted.

More Crystal pegasi turned tail, including the ones with knocked out ponies in tow.

They signalled to each other, making hoof movements at each other, pointing to this and that position.

"You!"

One of them looked at the unconscious pony he was holding.

Wasn't unconscious, after all.

Saw that many-sided glint on her eyes.

"Take this!"

Punched his face.

Loosened his grip.

She fell.

Falling.

Wind rushing.

Ground closer.

Closer.

Nearer.

Hearing nothing but wind.

Then—

Arctic Lily

Opened her eyes.

Slowly.

Light with its white ceiling.

Cold.

Sharp, medicinal stench.

Coughed.

Throbbing head.

Rubbed it.

Clothed in a white robe, on a white bed.

"Not...again..."

Shut her eyes.

"So, Arctic Lily," the white-suited doctor across the table said, holding up his papers closer to his eyes, "your recovery has been quite normal. You're the Crystal equivalent of an Earth pony, so it's no surprise that you've survived with only a few minor injuries."

She sat there, watching every little movement of his hooves with the paper.

A doctor's cramped room stuffed with more papers and a few diplomas hanging on the wall.

"You've said that this is not the first time you've been through this. Is that correct?"

Arctic Lily nodded. "That is correct."

"Then, you don't need to hear a repeat of the typical advice we give to ponies like you."

"I know."

The doctor nodded. "It's not your fault that you keep moving to places targeted by your kind. I'm no strategist, but I do know there's one thing they're getting out of this."

"Fear," she spoke.

He nodded again. "We're letting you go. Just remember to take care of yourself out there. Not everypony's this nice to you."

"I know."

She stood up.

The blue Crystal mare was alone on the path.

Ahead, it continued straight on for miles and miles.

On her right, a range of snow-peaked mountains and its surrounding hills, touching the blue sky. Fields of browning grass strewn about, unmarred and unharmed by a soldier or his weapon.

On her left, a quiet and idle farm. Half of the fields were ready with their potato leaves sticking out. The rest were just brown dirt.

The trees that graced the path were dying, their leaves falling one by one.

Wind blew by her.

Lily's mane flowing.

Walked on.

Miles after, the same dirt path.

Sat on the lonely railroad and its crossing with the path.

Beside her, shrubs of honeysuckle.

Around her, nothing much but fields of more grass and solitary cottages and manors too far away for one to discern the details. Past that, more mountains.

Late afternoon, the sun coming towards the horizon.

She grabbed some honeysuckles from the shrubs.

Ate them.

Their sweet taste coursing down her throat.

A smile flickered on her face.

Rumbling tracks.

Leaped out of the railroad.

Turned around.

Not that far away, an approaching train shrilling with a whistle.

She waved a hoof at it. "Over here! I need a pick-up!"

Train hasting on, closer and closer.

"Can you hear me?!"

Tracks shook, whistle louder.

Deafening.

Whooshed by her.

Intense breeze, flapping her mane about.

Closed her eyes.

Then, at the other side, the train speeding away.

She groaned and kicked the ground.

Grabbed most of the honeysuckles left and dressed up her gray blue mane with them, tying the berries with locks of hair.

"When you have no bag," she commented to herself.

Crossed the railroad.

Kept walking.

Night.

Under the chirps of crickets and other insects, she sat by the trunk of a tree.

To her right, the path extended for yet more, disappearing behind a rising hill lightly forested with a copse of trees. To her left, a surging river and a little bridge.

Colder. Freezing.

She shivered, hugged herself at yet another gust.

Looked up.

The night sky with its stars and its moon.

"Princess Luna?"

Looked down on the grass she lay on.

Lied down.

Closed her eyes.

"I wanted to bring the most cherished thing ever in my life," the stallion before her said across the table, both of them sitting by the bridge of a bustling city, ponies galloping by on the sidewalks and ignoring them.

Pulled out a bell and rang it.

"Why?" she asked.

"To remember me," he said. "It has a distinct sound. Kind of hollow compared to the other bells. But, if you hear it, even if you're surrounded by bell-ringing crowds, then you'll know that somewhere, out there, someone remembers me. Hopefully, that would be you and my family and others who know me."

She looked around. "Why? But, I—"

"It's a bell that will rule all the bells in the world!" he yelled, standing up on the table and raising the bell high up in the air. "It's whimsical, but it's the bell that will ring throughout this land and bring upon centuries and millenia of innovation and excellence!"

Lily threw herself out of her chair, stepping back and watching the stallion in dread. "What are you doing? Are you mad?!"

Ponies galloping by, jostling about and pushing her away.

"They'll know me!" he shouted. "They'll know me! They'll say that I'm out but, no, I'll be more than out! Everything's out if it doesn't obey by the beckon of the bell!"

His eyes glowed green.

"No!" Lily screamed.

Pushed out.

Floated away.

Covered in a blue glow.

Scenes whizzing by her as she zoomed away.

"What?! What's happening?"

Plopped down on a sunny grass field.

Struggled, stood up.

Saw dark blue hooves.

Gasped.

Looked at the figure's face.

Her ethereal mane.

"Have no fear," Princess Luna spoke, putting a hoof on her shoulder.

"Princess Luna?!"

Cowered and kneeled down before her.

"Please...please don't banish me! I don't deserve anything from you and your sister, but give me mercy! I plead mercy!"

Luna patted her on the shoulder. "I do not seek to banish you."

Opened her eyes, tears forming.

"I desire to comfort ponies in their dreams," she said, her hair still flowing about. "That goes beyond our own subjects, for you dream, too."

"But...I-I'm always the enemy!" Lily said, shrinking in fear. "No matter where I go, I can tell they're not really trusting me! They always have that mistrust in their eyes! Just when they look at my eyes, they know I'm a Crystal pony and think that I'm a spy or an infiltrator or some other secret espionage kind of pony!"

Shook her head, tears running out.

"No! I'm not! I just want to live a happy life, a life where I could go and be happy! We used to be happy, but then...then...the king...then we escaped...then, e-everything..."

Luna held her closer. "I know, Arctic Lily. I know."

Lily burst into tears, hugging her as the sobs echoed out on the countryside.

Letting it all out.

To fall to a whimper. A weak and limp whimper.

"Remember that not everyone views you with such cynicism and doubt. Do you recall Double Pass, the doctor who checked up on you? And, before that, there was that family of unicorns? Quick Frosting and Steeplechase? Do you not remember them and their wholehearted trust in your word, believing that you are not like many others who, sadly, did not escape from their tyrant?"

She looked up again, her face doused with dried tears.

"I know you do, Lily."

Silence in that field.

"All you must do is remember. While there will be those who see only evil in your eyes, there will also be those who know that you are an honest mare, that you do not want to cause any harm...that you just want to survive and live. That is what you want, right?"

Lily nodded, not speaking a word.

"Good. I wish I could stay, but I must go, for many more are in dire need of somepony to help them, to guide them in their dreams."

Luna flew up.

The whole field slid down.

Lily screamed, falling—

Woke up.

Cold sweat.

Breathing fast.

Dawn. Pink and blue sky.

Felt the warmth of the sun.

Tree and river still by her.

Arctic Lily touched her mane.

Felt the honeysuckles still tied up there.

Around her, the same picturesque landscape of huge mountains, browning grass, and sparse structures.

"OK, gotta move to the next town," she said. "Get myself comfortable and don't act too suspicious like always."

Then, frowned.

"What is the next town?"

Slapped herself on the face.

"Why didn't I bring a map? Agh, nevermind."

She walked back to the path and journeyed on.

Willow Bales

Farther on the path, there stood a secluded diner partially surrounded by wheat fields. A few yellow carriages remained on the little asphalt space before it, "Exclusively reserved for taxis and cabs" so said the sign posted on the window.

On the other side of the path, more wheat fields.

Inside the diner, it was cold, too, because of the air-conditioning. The customers there were mostly tired and frayed, much of that obvious because of their messy manes and haggard faces. The waiters behind the counter seved up stacks of waffles and pancakes smothered with syrup and butter among toppings and other extras such as berries, whipped cream, and even potato chips. The sweet fragrance of it all wafted throughout the whole diner, resulting in a single smell inviting those already inside to dine some more.

Arctic Lily swung around on her swivel chair at the counter, avoiding the checkered floor as she drank her milkshake.

"Uh, is there anything else you want, miss?" one of the waiters asked. "Do you need some meds or something?"

She stopped facing him and her plate of pancake crumbs. "No. I think I'll be fine."

He motioned his head toward one of the other customers there. "But, Willow Bales is a ways away from here. If you wanna get going, you better get yourself on a taxi."

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm OK with walking my way there."

The mare a few seats away from her turned around to look at the Crystal pony. "I insist. I've had slow days lately because of my regulars taking up the cause and the spear. I would be relieved if you would let me pull you over to Willow Bales."

The waiter looked at Lily, tapping the counter with his hoof. "Gotta decide, miss."

Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.

Sweat down her face.

"I...I'm still not sure about this!" Arctic Lily stuttered as she sat inside the rocking carriage.

The other mare, pulling the vehicle along in a gallop, gave stole in a glance. "You better be sure about this! Look how much distance we've already covered!"

Lily, shuddering, poked her head out of the carriage and looked back.

Though it was a little blurry and though her head bobbed with the bumpy carriage, she could still see much. The walls of wheat that prevented anyone from peering in any further were present here, but the little diner was nowhere to be found. Above, the cloudy blue sky was as usual with its sun emanating that calm and gentle warmth which could be felt from so far away.

"It's a flyover town, but isn't that where you wanna be?!" the driver yelled, her voice rising above the gallop and the wind.

"Yeah!" Lily shouted back, her voice matching the driver's in volume.

"Really?!"

"I think so!"

She galloped on, breaking a few stalks and grains along the way.

"Hold on tight, and we'll be there in a jiffy!"

Screeched to a noisy halt.

Lily hopped out of the carriage and carefully put down some bits. "Here, Hackney Bus. I really thank you for what you did for me. I...I didn't know what to e-expect from you and—"

"Don't overstay your gratitudes, and you're welcome!"

Hackney Bus dashed off.

Leaving Arctic Lily alone in this new place.

Willow Bales was a small urban village. The sun glared down on its inhabitants (or, at least, the inhabitants actually outside and not under a roof or two). There was not a single structure or building there that was taller than two floors, giving Willow Bales a rather flat ambience made even flatter by the fact that the roofs there were never too slanted: most of them were flat, and if they were slanted, then only by small degrees.

Where she was, almost barren motels mingled with half-populated taxi stations which mingled with full diners and other eateries. The intersection before her was considered the main one—there was a sign placed on one of the streetlights proclaiming it to be "The Center of Attention in Willow Bales!" Indeed, two tourists stood side by side as they took pictures of the little intersection frequented by almost none on the roads themselves.

It was also quiet. Eerily quiet. Quiet enough that one did not need to strain ears to listen to the beautiful songs of birds nor the routine flaps of pegasus wings overhead.

Toward both sides, she could see a mix of paved roads and dirt roads. The more primary paths, the wider ones, were asphalted and paved. The less trodden paths, the narrower ones, were left as they were, a lot of them cutting across peaceful suburbs where there was no such thing as a fence or some other kind of barrier to separate one's property from another's. Over there, several ponies, young and old, played catch, crossing over from one backyard to another as the game continued.

Tall and thin trees ruled the vegetation of this town, furnishing the town in fresh splendor though the season pulled down many of its broken up leaves to the grassy sidewalk

Arctic Lily stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded with her eyes shuffling so.

The Crystal mare closed the door behind her, following a purple Earth pony mare, distinguished by her tied blue cloth around her neck, into the house.

A buffet of smells attacked her all at once.

Of diverse herbs, of fragrant leaves, of aromatic fruits.

"I hope you don't mind the smell," that mare said, leading Lily along past several couches and some tea tables where some valuable tea sets resided, some shining with precious metals. "They don't call me 'Jasmine Leaf' for nothing! That's because my name is Jasmine Leaf, but it fits."

On the shelves and the open cabinets that were on the timber red and yellow walls, various forms of tea in their various flavors were on display. Tea bags were aplenty, but so, too, were the bags of loose tea, the cans of preserved tea, the bags of powdered tea, and the blocks of compressed tea. Their flavors could be seen on the labels underneath, revealing flavors such as "Breakfast Tea", "Aracha", "Congou", "Shoumei", and "Jasmine".

"Have a seat," Jasmine Leaf said, motioning toward one of the chairs at a raised table on which was a teapot and some teacups.

Lily sat down on the seat.

Saw steam flowing out of the teapot.

She looked around the house.

It was a house squeezed with lots of tea-related items. Aside from the actual tea and their containers, there was a door whose room was designated as a "Tea Tasting Room"; near the speciazlied kitchen was a section identified as the "Biscuits and Cakes Area" where a smorgasbord of different biscuits and cakes were visible on their different closed glass trays; behind glass doors were small rooms with the single purpose of holding one-of-a-kind tea sets with their names and their value in bits—one of the sets, a seemingly simple tea set of white and black known as "The Third Afternoon", had "100,000,000 bits" as its value.

All the while, Lily breathed in the ever changing concoction of smells.

Jasmine Leaf sat down on the chair beside her.

Sighed.

"I didn't tell you before, but I've noticed you're a Crystal pony."

The smile on Lily's face disappeared.

"That's OK," she said, giving Lily a smile of her own. "When I moved here, some of the locals ridiculed me for being the 'wacky tea pony'. Well, now they've moved out to battle and I'm still here safe."

The tea pony winced.

"A bit shameful to say that, yes, but not all of us think war is so great...don't you agree, Arctic Lily?"

The Crystal mare nodded.

"You're probably worn out from your travels," Jasmine said, reaching to grab the teapot at the center. "Why don't you relax with some of my own Jasmine tea?"

Lily giggled. "A pony named 'Jasmine Leaf' making Jasmine tea? That's something I've never heard or seen before, miss."

"Be glad that you'll see it now, Lily," Jasmine said before pouring tea into her teacup. "Loosen up and let's talk about other things, shall we? We have a long time to go before dinner. I'll even show you around town."

Over a Cup of Tea

Weeks later

For one thing, the trees were even more barren.

In the final hour of the day with the sun's sharp orange light cutting through the sky, streetsweepers cleaned the streets of leaves and leaves and more leaves, bunching them up into large piles dotted across the sidewalks in front of houses and the occasional shop. A carriage on a looping route pulled several hooked and empty wagons, stopping by each pile for the unicorn driver to levitate the leafy mass into the first wagon available before galloping to the next one.

One by one, ponies turned on their lights inside their homes, turning their community into a bright one as they prepared for the incoming night.

The next one to turn on her lights did so and the windows in her bungalow showed it so. Then, she walked out of the door and on to the frontyard.

A large piece of paper was nailed to one of the few tables laid out on the dying grass, shouting in written form: "Garage Sale! Prices are negotiable!"

On the tables and the boxes resting beside them was a potpourri of items and objects: Used shirts and hats creased and folded, old comic books in plastic, empty glass jars polished to a shine, broken clocks with their mechanisms on display, pads of paper and their respective quills and inkwells, brand new window curtains scrubbed clean, half-empty cans of stinky paint, and picked flowers in ordinary vases.

These did not include the rest that were hiding in lumps and jumbles on the tables and in the boxes.

Two mares perused the things on sale, exchanging some words before moving to the next one on the list.

"Sorry for leaving you out there cold," said the pegasus holding the garage sale, leaping to another table there. "Mind if you catch me up on what you found?"

Jasmine Leaf rubbed her chin as she held up a shirt.

It had a picture of Rainbow Dash's scarred face on it, looking dim and gloomy.

"I don't know about this one," Jasmine said, hoofing it to her.

Yard Tag grabbed it with her green wing. "Oh, my cousin gave this to me. He's currently training in the Wonderbolts. I also got shirts of the other big Wonderbolts if you like."

Jasmine shook her head. "No, thank you. Merely curious."

She turned to the Crystal mare at her side who was staring at the garage sale sign on the table.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Yard Tag asked, eyeing her with suspicion. "The sign's not for sale."

Jasmine glared at the pegasus.

"Oops!" she whispered, grinning at the tea pony. "Sorry!"

Arctic Lily touched the sign. "But, you don't have a garage. Do you own a carriage of your own?"

Yard Tag cleared her throat and approached her. "It's called a 'garage sale' because we used to sell our excess stuff in garages. Nowadays, the name stuck and it stands for whenever we wanna sell things from our homes."

Lily shyed away, covering a part of her face with a hoof. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just...it's my first time seeing a garage sale." She went back to poring over the clothes there.

The pegasus opened her mouth and widened her eyes at that, looking at Jasmine for an answer.

She shrugged. "Who could blame her? It's not her fault she hasn't seen one yet."

Yard Tag slowly nodded, scratching her head while putting on a shamed face. "Come on, I didn't know! Do you expect me to know every single thing she doesn't know?"

"Not so loud!" Jasmine snarled, following that up with a shush. "We're supposed to be making her feel comfortable here, not alienated."

"But, a garage sale—"

"Give her time, Yard Tag. Give her time."

Yard Tag stood there, thinking. "Whatever you say, Jasmine."

The tea pony walked back to Lily who was now wearing a fancy top hat and looking at herself on the mirror provided on the table.

"I could pass for a noble," she commented, tipping the hat to the side.

Yard Tag wore a smile and flew to her. "Do you like that hat? I think it looks nice on you."

Arctic Lily gave her a smile back. "Yeah. I think so, too."

Then, everything became darker.

Those mares looked up at the sky.

The sun descended beneath the distant hills, the yellow and orange sky becoming bluer and bluer.

Darker until it was a dark purple blue.

Stars twinkled in and the moon rose up, glowing.

They stood there, looking at the sky.

Admiring it.

"It's half off," Yard Tag quipped, nudging Lily. "You should take it."

Arctic Lily slouched on the chair, stirring the spoon around in her cup full of hot tea.

She and Jasmine Leaf sat at another table in her house, this one surrounded by teacups on desks, little blurbs of histories nearby under the yellow electric lights hanging above.

The both of them smelled that dynamic aroma permeated across the whole room, perhaps the entire house.

Jasmine sipped her tea, cupping it with her forehooves. "Apologies if my question doesn't sound appropriate, but I think you've been here long enough for me to ask."

Lily sipped her tea.

Gulped it down rough.

"What could it be?"

Jasmine placed the cup down on its saucer. "What's it like? Knowing you're so old, that you don't really belong anywhere in this time?"

Lily smirked for a second. "Not hard. It's not like I had to live out those centuries myself to get here. It's...it's not so different."

A pause, a sigh, another sip.

"My Mom...she liked talking about the future. She imagined ponies one day constructing buildings that would soar high as far as a peagsus could possibly go, vehicles and modes of transportation that would not require the strength and the endurance of Earth ponies...then, she would talk about the rest of the future. Ponies spreading out, making their own cities and cultures and lives wherever they went. She went on, speaking of huge cities here and there where hundreds of thousands if not millions of ponies could live together and work and have fun without moving ten miles."

A slight laugh.

"Who knew she would end up being right? They might say it's common sense because, of course, we would try to build taller buildings. But, common sense or not...it's surreal to see it in your lifetime." Another pause. "It's also weird to be talking to...well, anyone who's not a Crystal because you—" pointed at Jasmine across, cupping her tea again and about to drink "—weren't born when I was around. I might be your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother." Glanced away. "No. I need more 'great's'."

"'Ancestor'?" Jasmine suggested, then drank.

Lily laughed again. "Thanks."

Jasmine pushed the teapot a little closer to the Crystal mare.

Lily's smile went away, replaced by a frown.

"Is there something wrong?" Jasmine asked, putting down her cup.

Lily looked straight at her eyes. "Do you mind if I ask you something, too?"

Jasmine clasped her forehooves above her hot tea. "Why not?"

Lily sighed again. "I don't know why you want to help me. I don't want to assume you have a secret motive behind it, but I know of other ponies who professed to be looking for my good...and then, some way or other, they threw away my trust and shoved me out of their towns. Most of you Equestrians are nice and really are genuinely good, but the bad ponies...I couldn't tell because they smile a lot like you."

Jasmine shook her head and shut her eyes. "Take my word for it. I don't gain anything out of lying to you. If I do, I wouldn't be a good friend—I would lose you as a friend. What would others say of me if they found out? I would be ousted out of this town, if not literally, then socially. Nopony would want to be my friend for a long time."

Lily took a quick sip of her tea. "Are you sure?"

Jasmine half-closed her eyes and gave her a serious look. "I'm sure. I promise. Stay as long as you want. Maybe I could petition the mayor to build a little home for you if you really like Willow Bales."

Lily downed the whole cup of tea in seconds.

Put it down on the saucer with a loud clink.

"You don't have to do that," Lily said. "That's too much."

"Nothing is too much if you have the good of others in mind," Jasmine said, giving her an encouraging smile.

Lily pouted, pouring more tea into her cup. "I wouldn't say that if I were you."

"Huh?"

Lily chuckled a subtle chuckle. "I'm the only Crystal pony in this town. While your village of Willow Bales is fine for me, I'm afraid I must move out of here sooner or later. Say, when winter rolls in."

Jasmine lowered an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Like I said, I'm the only Crystal here. No matter how friendly everyone here is to me, it...doesn't feel the same. Being the only pony in the family not brainwashed, I already got a sticky situation on my plate. The next best thing would have to trot to a group of other Crystals to turn to. At least we'd have a common cause to fight for."

"Don't you see our cause as common with yours, too?"

Lily shook her head solemenly, closing her eyes. "You are fighting for a homeland that is already free. We are fighting for a homeland that isn't so."

Jasmine groaned. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we're fighting for both homelands. We're in this together, whether we're Equestrian or Crystal."

Winced again. Extended a hoof over the table.

"Well, it's sad you'll leave soon, but...what about we show some unity while we're still here?"

Lily opened her mouth, shivering.

Raised her unsteady foreleg.

Grasped.

Shook hooves.

Sniffed.

"Thank you, miss." Shut her eyes. "It would be hard for you to be disguising yourself all this time if you are this sincere, Jasmine."

"That's because I'm not wearing a disguise at all," Jasmine replied.

The two let go of each other's grip.

"I'm just a pony who wants to help."

Lily then slouched at the chair, looking at her cup of tea.

Noticing that smell again, and the yellow lights, too.

The Crystal pony sat on the sidewalk, the dawn of the next day taking over the whole sky as the sun rose, turning it pink and blue again and lighting up the whole town and everything else in its shine.

Feeling that gentle warmth once more.

Heard wing flaps above.

Arctic Lily looked up.

Several pegasi flying united in formation, holding buttons.

Pressed.

Bundles of newspapers fell from their saddle bags, each falling at about the same speed to their respective targets.

One of which was Jasmine Leaf's front yard.

It fell right on Lily's hooves.

"Eek!"

She jumped away from the sudden newspaper.

A few seconds of silence between her and the newspaper.

She trotted to it and picked it up, untying the ribbon that wrapped it up.

Unfolded it.

On the front page of the "Willow Bales Daily", what garnished today's edition was a picture of armored Equestrian soldiers marching their way to the front in the middle of grass fields. The headline, in bold letters, was: "Crystal War Slows Down Due to Mud!"

Lily grumbled. "I hate it when the word 'Crystal' gets used like that."

She leered at one of the other ponies there who was also reading his newspaper. He looked up from his daily, saw the Crystal pony across the street, and hastened to cover his face with the news again.

"Ugh. That's not helping."

Her eyes went back to her daily.

"Let's see what else is going on other than war, war, war."

Her hoof tore through the words and other front page news.

It landed on a small article by the corner.

Its headline was: "Ponyville's Running of the Leaves Scheduled for Next Monday; Princess Cadance to Attend".

Arctic Lily knitted her brows. "Interesting..."

Seasonal Transition

In the cool night and under the gleaming moon and its stars, mighty waves crashed at the rough and jagged cliffs. Their watery peals soaked the air with their perpetual collision, their white frothy tips glimmering for moments only to disappear and weave themselves back into the calmer portions of the sea.

Half a minute's trot away from these cliffs and the raging ocean was a little village lit up by both electric lights and kerosene torches. One could hear the general chitchat of the population still awake in that settlement. Some lookout towers bordered the town, guards at the top shining spotlights here and there, then tracing a slow path through the rock-replete grass surrounding that village.

The scent of grass and the open water.

On a tiny piece of land just jutting out of the cliffs was a yellow house. There was nothing fancy to it. Its walls were plain yellow, the door was a simple single door, and there were no additional floors.

It was a rather unassuming house.

Princess Cadance looked long at it, standing a bit far away from the house. She adjusted her crown a little to the left.

"Your Highness," one of her escort guards said in a surly manner, pointing to the moon, "we have to make this appointment quick. A Crystal ambush could happen any moment now."

Cadance nodded, her long pink and yellow mane swaying about. "Yes, but a pony is in dire need of help. I will do my best to be quick, Dolomite Shelter."

He exchanged gruff looks with the rest of his fellow guards who were around her.

Cadance stepped out.

She walked to the door.

The guards trotted to the four corners of the house.

Cadance sighed.

Then, reached the door.

Knocked on it.

Hoofsteps tumbling and fumbling.

Door opened.

A yellow Earth pony with straight green hair.

She gasped and covered her mouth. Took steps back at the sight of the Princess.

"Y-Your...Your Highness."

She bowed down before her, closed her eyes.

Felt a hoof on her head.

Looked up to her face.

"You don't need to do that, Pear Puree," Cadance said.

She nodded and then saluted her with a firm hoof.

Cadance looked puzzled. "OK, then...? Let's get to it."

In the humble kitchen-and-dining room, ceiling lights illuminated the array of pear foods on the counters: Pears, pear jam, pear chutney, pear curd, pear spread, pear marmalade, pear pie, pear cake, pear butter, and pear puree. The sweet fragrance from these drifted about the house.

Pear Puree herself watched over a pot of boiling pear puree, yellow in color as bubbles lifted to the top.

Princess Cadance stood beside her, watching the pot over, too.

"So, you both couldn't stay with your ailing father in Appleloosa?"

"It was impos'ble to be there for such a lon' time. Braeburn an' Silverstar tried to make the whole town f'rgive us, but the feud's just deep an' deep enough. Only reason why Grand Pear's kept there's because the hosp'tals 'round the area are too far away without puttin' him in jeap'rdy."

"That makes sense," Cadance said. "But, how come you ended up moving here in the Grittish Isles?"

Puree looked pensive, staring off to the side. "Spread was caught up in the town's local draft."

Cadance lowered her head. "I should've known."

"It's alright."

Leaving the mixture in the pot to bubble.

"He's assigned to the Manehattan front, right at the Matcha Passage everypony's riled up 'bout not losin'. They've got ports, castles, forts, ev'rything. I'm just afraid that, since it's so obvious it's a big base, the armies'll target them, then they'll target my love, an' then all's lost for us."

Wiped her dry eyes, grabbed a stirrer, and whisked the puree about.

"This is the closest I could afford to get. Everypony else got to the nea'er places guarded 'nough, an' even if I could get there, I wouldn't wanna risk dyin' 'cause I was too close. Wouldn't it be tragic if he'd come home only to hear news o' my bein' dead?"

"Yes," Cadance replied, her voice somber, "it would be tragic."

She took her stirrer away and put it on an empty plate nearby.

"But, you must've received some letters from him," Cadance said.

"Last le'er I got from him was a month ago, long after the big push. Wrote 'bout how he desp'rately wan'ed to write more but can't 'cause of the constant attackin' and defendin' an' fightin'. Always gotta be alert. Always strikin' at the worst o' times."

"After that, he went silent?" Cadance asked.

"Not too much," she said.

The two leaned their heads over the pot to see the puree boil and bubble.

They swayed back.

"A friend o' his at the front was able to send me notes. Never did wanna sign with his real name—just called 'imself 'The Trumpet's Flower'. Prob'ly important, 'cause what if a spy reads one o' his notes to me? That'd be bad for us."

"And, when was the last time this 'Trumpet's Flower' sent a note to you about your love?"

"Last week," she said. "Told me that Spread's not lookin' so good. Got hit by a stray cannonball, recuperatin' at the med'cal camp."

Cadance opened her mouth, a smile forming. "Did he say anything about sending Curd Spread on leave?"

She gasped again, turned around, rushed to grab a chair, and placed it right behind the Princess. "Please, your Highness, you really need to sit down after tellin' me that!"

"Uh, why?" she asked as she sat down.

She ran around the table, over to the fridge, opened it, grabbed a note from inside, and galloped to her and bowed down again.

Stood up and hoofed the letter to her.

"Here, Princess Cadance—the exact an' very note! Read it for all it's worth, an' see why you brought back the hope in my eyes!"

Cadance held it closer to her own eyes.

Read it.

Eyes widened in surprise, in comprehension.

She hoofed it back to the Pear pony.

"Not a single mention of him having to stay behind," Cadance said. She scratched her chin. "That means..."

"He might be comin' home!" Pear Puree yelled and put on her hat from the counter. "Ev'rypony's goin' to see him an' us together, and it'd be better for the both o' us, too, 'cause we'd be...together, even for a short while—I know it's all short, but I'm gettin' frantic these days without 'im. To see the love of yer' life go up and 'bout and leave 'cause it's his time to serve...an' that two or so months after the weddin'...it's heartbreaking, Princess!"

Tears forming in her eyes, welling up.

"We wer' just havin' a grand time. Thought the war'd be over soon, an' ev'rypony would go out and celebrate with parties, marches, bands, an' more celebratin' to do. We once thought of dancin' on the streets when we hear news of the end. But, that didn't come, an' he went out an'..."

Groaned.

"I'm just repeatin' myself, aren't I?"

Cadance placed a kind hoof on her shoulder. "You don't have to think about that. What I'm here for is to make sure you're alright. I don't want to see you sad, and...I'm happy I could find a way to cheer you up."

Puree's tears falling down.

A smile on her face.

No words.

Only a hug.

Cadance hugged back.

The two closed their eyes.

Cadance opened her eyes.

At the window, she saw Dolomite looking at them. He pointed at the sky and then at his raised foreleg.

The Princess sighed and let go.

As Cadance flew over the glimmering Celestial Sea by pegasus chariot, she could see the sea that surrounded her, no land in sight yet. Some roaming clouds were going around, but that was it for the nighttime sky.

The chariot glowed under the moonlight, four pegasi guards flapping their wings, pulling her fast through the air.

"I'm sorry to cut it short," Dolomite shouted above the whirl of the wind, "but we can't risk any more time with you out in the open. You know Crystal scouts could spot you if they fly overhead."

"And, what do you want me to do?" Cadance shot back, eyes narrowed at the offending guard. "Stay inside an ivory tower and do nothing to help my subjects?"

"We do want you to help us, but don't be too bold! If they get you, that would be a blow for all of Equestria!"

"At least I did the right thing before going down! Better I put myself on the line for them than to be selfish."

"If you die early—"

"Keep going!"

He rolled his eyes as he and his fellows kept going over the sea, in the sky.

The Princess looked at the clock on her table.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

She stood in her bedroom, that lavish and luxurious bedroom with the couple's portrait on the wall.

Clock ticking alone.

She rubbed her eyes again, tired. "Is it time already?"

Floated it up to her level.

Still three o' clock.

"Hope I'm not...late."

She yawned, stretching her forehooves out and smacked her lips.

The double doors opened, showing a panting guard leaning on the wall. "Your Highness! You are required for an—"

"Appointment with Princess Celestia and Mayor Mare," she finished, giving the guard a rude look.

The guard stood. "If you don't hurry up—"

"I'll be late," she finished again.

He shook his head. "How do you—"

"Know what you're about to say?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The stallion bowed down. "Yes, your—"

"Highness."

She giggled.

"It's experience, sir."

At the table on the raised platform sat Princess Cadance and Mayor Mare—who adjusted her glasses a little. On three of the four sides, there was a chair.

The third chair was vacant. Empty.

In a grand hallway lined with tall windows whose curtains were drawn, closed, with each one having a stationed guard staring straight with their stoic faces.

Mayor Mare arranged and re-arranged her papers before her. She checked the watch on her left foreleg.

Three-twenty in the afternoon.

"Princess Celestia can't possibly be this late," the mayor said, exhibiting her stress in her voice. "She's never been this late before when it came to our meetings."

"It's only been thirty seconds," Cadance said, glancing at the empty chair. "I'm sure slight changes in the weather would do that to any pegasus chariot."

"But, still, she's always been a stickler for schedule," Mayor Mare went on, holding one side of her head, "what with all of her conferences, conventions, contests..."

"It's nothing to worry about," she said. "Being late by two minutes wouldn't hurt her day so badly."

Slam!

The double doors at the near end opened.

Princess and mayor turned their heads round to see what was happening there.

"Oh, I am very sorry for my being late," Celestia said as she flapped her wings and flew to the table, her guards closing the door.

One of them berated the other through angry whispers, pointing at his fellow soldier and then at the doors.

Princess Celestia took up her empty seat.

One mayor and two Princesses at the table.

"So, I presume that we will talk about Ponyville's upcoming Running of the Leaves," Celestia began, facing her.

Mayor Mare nodded. "Why, of course! It's always been a local tradition and having it this year would certainly knit us closer together as a community during this burdensome time of war."

Celestia nodded back.

Mayor Mare opened her mouth, perplexed. "If you agree, Princess, then why did you call for a meeting?"

Cadance gave Celestia a strange look.

Celestia looked at the both of them—first Cadance and then at Mayor Mare.

"There is nothing wrong with the celebration itself," Celestia said. "It's the Ponyville way of transitioning from fall to winter, and I don't want to meddle in that."

The mayor gulped.

"However..."

"I knew it," she muttered.

Cadance turned her head toward the mayor.

Silence.

Guards staring straight at their posts by the windows.

Mayor Mare and Cadance looked at Celestia, her mane still flowing about.

"We've received multiple reports of increased Crystal attacks and invasions on towns all over Equestria and not just near the front," Celestia said. "I immediately realized why the Empire is advancing with this plan at this time: Everypony is transitioning from fall to winter, too. Sombra knows that these activities would distract much of the population away from being on guard against threats, so he is ramping up his offensives as of late. Already, we've suffered many losses because of some soldiers stopping to continue on a tradition in the only way they knew how, even if that meant making themselves vulnerable."

The mayor shoved her papers to the side, adjusting her glasses with speed. "Then, does that mean I must cancel the Running of the Leaves?"

Celestia shook her head.

The mayor sighed, relieved. "But, what do you propose?"

Silence for a few more seconds.

Celestia looked at Cadance and at Mayor Mare.

"The Running of the Leaves may continue, but in a different manner. To be specific, it must be carried out covertly."

Mayor Mare tilted her head a little. "What do you mean by that, Princess?"

"Spread the word around quickly and discreetly as early as you can. Tell them that everypony in Ponyville will not celebrate at the same time. There will be small groups of ponies, two to five, who will go to a patch of forest or a copse somewhere; one spot and one day for each team. Conduct a small race there until the leaves are gone. After that, repeat the process for a month, going through all of Ponyville's pospulation; the town would slowly enter winter this way."

The mayor wrote several sentences on her paper, holding a quill and then gently placing it in an inkwell. "That is fair and all, Princess, but—if I may—why is Princess Cadance here?"

Celestia nodded towards Cadance. "You remember that she had already planned to attend, but she will now have the added responsibility of coordinating with you and the rest of Ponyville before the actual event. She will not be present throughout, but she will be there at the first race, the last race, and at least three races in between."

Cadance smiled at the mayor. "You have my word for it."

The mayor scratched her head and adjusted her glasses for the third time, her hooves shakier than before. "If that must be so, then so be it. It is to ensure the safety and security of the populace, after all."

Celestia smiled, too. "We are glad that you share that sentiment with us."

A frown flashed on Cadance's face.

As the pegasus chariot flew over quiet plains and fields, holding both Princess Cadance and Mayor Mare, it passed by a flying figure scurrying the other way.

Gabby, wearing her mailbag, flew on.

"Come on, Gilda!" she yelled, wind rushing by her face.

Whizzing over Canterlot.

Farther, farther over a ground so far away.

"Don't be so dumb, Gilda!"

Kept flying.

Colder

A snowstorm raging through. Snow hurtling, racing by, smashing the ground. Deafening rackets, wind blowing. Snow flew, only to come back to the ground faster.

Foggy. Hard to see much.

Finally, Gabby flew into the barracks.

Barreled through the doors.

Crashed to the floor.

"Hey, we've got an intruder!" a rough voice yelled.

"Get 'em!"

"No, no!" Gabby said, standing up and pulling out a badge. "I'm a m-mailgriffon! I got some mail for some ponies!"

The two guards approached her. One of them yanked the badge out of her claws while the other aimed his spear at her.

"Don't you move," the spear-holding guard warned, eyes dead on her.

The first guard turned the badge about under the glaring ceiling lights.

Hoofed it back to her.

"Legitimate," he said. "Sorry for the mishap, Miss Gabby."

"But, you better follow us," the spear guard said, putting his spear into his armor's holster.

Gabby nodded and closed the door behind her.

Little masses of snow had piled up at the doorsteps.

Gabby followed the two guards as they walked through the wooden brown hallway. Paintings, portraits, medals, and trophies graced the walls. A faint smell of fresh timber filled the corridor, and words and sentences were thrown about in the siderooms.

Amidst the howl of the snowstorm, she could hear traces of conversations. By the mess hall, she caught a glimpse of a few soldiers talking.

"...and then, I planned to be home before winter," one of them said. "Look where we're now. I can't be with my family, and I promised them so many times I'd be home by the big party." He groaned. "This Hearth's Warming is gonna end up being the worst one ever."

"They're planning a party here," another said, her tone more mellow. "Everything's not that bad."

"It's not the same, and you know it, Evening Shade."

Gabby turned her head to the left and caught a glimpse of another conversation by a narrower hall past an open door.

"We're doing our best to send supplies to them," one argued, "but it's very difficult to get it to them."

"I'm not going to let our soldiers starve to death while they stay in the bunkers!" the other shouted.

"But, sir—"

"Which is why I assigned two Wonderbolts to do the job, so you better stop your blathering! They can't send supplies up here either and we're running a shortage, but that's not stopping us from helping these sad, hungry ponies out there!"

Gabby followed the two guards up a flight of stairs, passing by more and more soldiers garbed in their samey armor, the odd specialist popping up from time to time in their distinctive colors and dress.

At the third floor, they stopped and walked into another hallway.

This one was filled with even more soldiers and warriors chitchatting with each other in sullen voices, many of their eyes half-open in exhaustion or in depression. Or both. Their words said as much, for, as a Rock Trooper put it in that hallway as Gabby passed by him, "I wish I could get some sleep back at Raneigh. Good ol' Raneigh."

It was back to gibberish surrounding her. Words going around, some comments on the mailgriffon's presence.

Past the crowds of soldiers, the guards turned to one of the doors near the end of the hallway.

The other guard opened the door.

"This is your living quarters while you're here," he said. "It's not much, but it's more than enough."

Gabby stepped inside, the two guards watching her.

It was a tiny room. The bed was beside the fridge which was beside the table which had a chair at it.

That was all.

"Griffon-sized, even," the spear guard said, smiling. "Unpack your stuff, do your mail business, and you can rest up here for the night."

The other guard gawked at him. "Are you giving her a death sentence?"

He raised a hoof in defense. "We have an alert system in place. If things go bad, this nice griffon will be up and at 'em before you could say, 'That is a horrible idea!'"

"But, that is a horrible idea!"

He sighed. "It is, but it's better than sending her back out into the open...right?" He faced her. "Right?"

Gabby looked blank, shook her head out of the confusion, and then nodded. "Right! You're totally right! I totally and absolutely agree with you!"

Hugged him, avoiding his spear.

"Hey!" the unhugged guard said grabbing the griffon by the shoulder. "No hugs here!"

Gabby let go, keeping her smile.

The spear guard coughed, rubbing his aching neck. "Wow! That's a strong mailgriffon right there! She should be in the reserves right about—"

Boom!

Floor shook, lights flickered, soldiers filing out—running.

"—now?!"

"Gilda!" Gabby cried out.

Opened her wings.

"Lady!" the spear guard shouted. "You can't go out like—"

And Gabby flew, flying over warriors' heads who looked up.

Down the stairs, dodging more heads.

Ground floor, still flying.

Saw a griffon about to leave through the doors and opened her wings.

"Gilda!"

That griffon looked back. "Gabby? What are you doing—"

"Get a move on!" a pony hollered as he led the stampede of fighters out of the doors.

Gilda flapped her wings and hovered over the soldiers.

"Wait, Gilda?" one of the passing fighters blurted out before disappearing outside.

Leaving the two griffons alone above in the hallway as the rest inside the barracks scrambled here and there, exchanging words and documents in a hurry.

The snowstorm's howl grew, the chilly wind intensified.

More snow piled up at the open doors.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Gabby!" Gilda yelled. "You shouldn't have followed me here!"

"I should!" Gabby replied, shouting back. "When you said you were going to look for Rainbow Dash, I thought you would get to your senses, that it'd be crazy to go to her when she's in the middle of a fight!"

"I did get to my senses!" Gilda said. "It's you who's crazy! Talking about Griffonstone like it's still a thing—'cause it isn't!"

"You still have the griffon communities scattered around Equestria! You could've moved there!"

"And then what?! Just hang around and make new hoards of gold? I'm tired of that! I'd rather fight for a kingdom that could get over that!"

Gabby shook her head. "I know that's an excuse, Gilda! Please, Gilda, turn back and stay here before they get here—"

"If they get here, you mean!"

"Stop right there!" a voice yelled.

Gabby turned around, seeing the two guards descend the stairs.

"Get back here!" the spear guard shouted. "Stay here in safety—"

"Toodles, Gabby!" Gilda shouted, waving at her with a mocking wave.

She flew out into the storm.

Gabby narrowed her eyes and clenched her claws. "Oh, no, you're not getting off of my watch!"

The mailgriffon flew out of the room, escaping the cries of the guards.

Felt the harsh wind, stinging her wings, her feathers.

High up, seeing silhouettes fighting, brawling in the air, falling down in little green glows.

"Pegasus raid!" a voice bellowed.

Looked up.

Gabby dodged.

A pegasus falling, spiralling down and out of her sight in the fog.

Turned her head about.

Moved, flew.

Covered her face with her claw, letting the snow build up on her foreleg.

Squinted her eyes.

"Where are you, Gilda?! This is a very dangerous place to be! You know, you could get hurt, injured, or even die here! You don't like dying, right, Gilda?!"

Only screams and roars, pegasi fighting and pegasi falling.

"Gilda?! This isn't funny! I hope you're joking! Maybe that's your lookalike! Hah! Lookalike?! No, no...that can't be right! Gilda!"

Grabbed by the wing.

Falling down.

Punched in the face.

"Agh! Who's that?!"

Looked at the Crystal helmet before her with its glowing green eyes.

"Eek!"

Slapped him.

Grabbed her mailbag.

Mailbag punched out.

"No!"

Pushed against him.

Failing, falling.

In the fog.

"That's precious mail! You know what that calls for?!"

Punched him on the helmet.

"Ow! That's one hard head!"

Held her throbbing claw to her face.

"Gilda, help!"

A figure lunged at him.

Spiralling left.

He lost grip.

Gabby straightened herself, rubbing her dizzy head. "Wh-What happened?!"

Before her, Gilda battling the Crystal pegasus in the raging snowstorm.

Gabby gasped.

Gilda grappled him and punched him with her head.

He kicked her in the chest.

Fought back with a punch to the helmet.

Punched back on the head.

Kicked at the helmet.

Kicked back on her head and threw her down.

Flapped his wings, creating a growing wind.

Mini-tornado.

Gilda looked upon it. Choked at the sight.

He sent the tornado straight at her.

"Gilda, no!"

"Gilda?!" a voice cried out.

A rainbow streak caught Gilda.

Disappeared.

Gabby gasped again. "Rainbow Dash?!"

"The one and only!" Rainbow shouted, hovering beside the flying griffon and flapping both natural and mechanical wings, holding a slighted Gilda with a strong foreleg. "I'll get you to the barracks, and you stay there! Take care of Gilda while we take care of these annoying Crystals!"

Gabby saluted.

In the fog, in the growing and howling snowstorm.

Rainbow threw Gilda's body at her and flew out.

Dashed out in the thick fog.

Encountered a flock of Crystal pegasi, creating a larger snow tornado.

"Not today!" she let out before flying right at them.

Hit them all, knocking their heads and sending them falling passed out, sinking into the fog below.

Her neck grabbed, constrained.

Smacked him with a wing.

Punches to the face, uppercut.

Threw down, lobbing him to the ground.

Looked around.

Crystals charging from all sides.

She zoomed up.

They zoomed up, following her.

She turned around.

Bowled them through, knocking most of them out.

Speeding, speeding.

Wind rushing.

A cone forming before her outstretched hooves.

Faster.

Wind whizzing, her surroundings a blur.

Mouth flapping, teeth showing.

Put on her helmet.

Even faster, seeing almost nothing but gray.

A weird sonic blast from the sky.

Gabby looked up to it, a paw through the doors and inside the barracks.

Despite the fog, there it was: an expanding rainbow circle across the sky, its colors vibrant and visible past the dark weather.

The landscape in that rainbow hue, that rainbow glow from the sky.

Gabby hovered over the doorsteps, covering her mouth as her enlarged eyes took it all in. Her voice raspy: "A sonic rainboom..."

Staring at the fading circle, yet ever bigger through the sky.

Now, a part of it was right above her.

"Miss, is that Garbi?" a voice asked.

Gabby screamed and turned around to see the nurse pony in the hallway. "No! This is Gilda! G-Gilda—y-yes, Gilda!"

"But," holding up a clipboard and flipped a few pages, "her name's listed her as—"

"It's Gilda!"

Threw the griffon's body at her.

The nurse caught her though staggered back.

"I don't know what happened to her, but you've gotta help—"

"Follow me, miss!" the nurse yelled, carrying Gilda on her back while she galloped.

Gabby following her.

Another explosion.

The ground shook, lights flickering.

It was bluer.

Outside, past the windows, it was calm. Snow was falling, but it was light. Several ponies outside scooped up excess snow and brought it over to the barracks.

But, it was bluer, as if a blue tint descended upon everything there.

The sky was clearer, the fog having lifted. They could see more of what was around them: snowy mountain ranges, chilly frozen rivers, sturdy dead trees, and miles of snow.

Gilda coughed, eyes half open.

Laying on her white bed, covered in a green blanket.

Gabby and Rainbow Dash seated on her side.

Past them, the rest of the patient row where several wounded warriors were recuperating, some hooked up to IV bags. Most of them were sleeping.

So, it was quiet.

Rainbow and Gabby watched Gilda.

Gilda watched them.

Seconds.

Half a minute.

Then, a minute.

Quiet, silence, each other.

"I...I was planning to see you," Rainbow began, loosening her shoulders. "Didn't expect to see you like this."

Gilda coughed, covered her mouth with a fisted claw. "Y-Yeah...that...and, right before I die, too."

"But, Gilda, it wasn't their fault!" Gabby said, raising her voice and making claw gestures around her. "They told us the doctors here weren't trained to handle griffons a-and they didn't bring enough—"

Rainbow shushed her, glaring at the talkative Gabby.

Who covered her mouth in reply, eyes shifting at the sleeping patients.

Still sleeping.

Quiet. Silence.

"I can't...believe it," Gilda croaked, her voice gravelly.

Coughed.

"I should've...stayed in C-Cloudsdale. A-At least I'd be here..."

Lifted a talon, pointed at Rainbow.

"And...you'd be there."

Rainbow's ears perked up. She rubbed her injured one.

The griffon turned her talon at Gabby.

"You'd be there, t-too."

Gabby grinned.

Rainbow glared at her again.

Gabby took down her grin.

As the two watched Gilda.

Seconds.

Another half minute.

Gilda let out a soft chuckle.

Followed by a coughing fit.

Seconds.

Half minute of coughing.

Clutched her chest.

Gabby gasped.

Rainbow leaned closer to her.

"I could f-feel it. I-It's coming, and I...I don't have any l-last words...? Could've g-gone down fighting, something...h-honorable, b-brave and—"

Rainbow placed a hoof on her head.

"Don't, Gilda."

Gilda opened her mouth to say something.

Raised a claw, held her feathered head.

A heavy sigh.

Closed her eyes.

Gabby gasped again. "No, Gilda, please!"

Half opened her eyes.

On her somber face, a pensive look. Downcast.

"M-Mom...D-Dad...Grampa Gruff..."

Gabby covered her eyes with her claws. "I can't watch!"

Patients still sleeping on their beds.

Rainbow hovered an inch closer.

"G-Greta...Galena...G-Gerstal...Giselle..."

Hoof on her head.

"Gabby..."

Dropped her claws from her eyes. "Wh-What is it, G-Gilda?"

She coughed. "Y-You...get all my b-belongings. They're in my a-apartment back in Cl-Cloudsda...Cl-Clou..."

Gabby nodded once, a claw ready at her own eyes.

Gilda slowly turned her head at Rainbow.

"And...and you, Dash..."

Looking at her marred face. Her damaged eye. Her injured ear. Her dishevelled mane.

Her fake wing.

"R-Remember a...a song?"

Rainbow kept her stoic face.

Then, lightened up.

"Junior Speedsters are our lives..."

Gilda smiled. "Sky-bound soars and daring dives..."

Gabby looked at the both of them.

Tears welling, clenching her claw.

As the two of them sang together:

"Junior Speedsters, it's our quest,

To someday be the very best!"

Quiet.

Silence.

Her eyes blinked.

"Th-Thank you...Dash..."

Eyes closed.

Legs fell limp.

Beak motionless.

Gabby choked up, tears going down her cheeks.

But quietly.

In the room, the rest of the patients were sound asleep, one even snoring.

Everything became darker.

Outside, the sun was going down, bringing in a blue sunset.

Darker.

Nighttime.

A dark blue seeping through everything, with white glints on the snowy ground under the moonlight, under the stars.

In the dim room, Rainbow hovered to the light switch.

Lights on.

Could see all of them again: the patients, the window, the floor, the medical equipment, the mailgriffon Gabby.

A dead Gilda on her deathbed.

Hovered back to her.

Placed a hoof on her head.

Pulled it a little closer.

Gabby sniffed, her whimpers growing louder.

Rainbow closed her eyes.

A tear down her cheek.

Hovered away, faced Gabby.

"I'll tell the nurse she's dead, Gabby. I have to be on night patrol, so I don't have time to be here and mourn...even if I wanted to. Just..."

Shook her head.

Flew out of the room.

Leaving Gabby alone.

She burst into tears, breaking down, bawling on the floor before Gilda.

Banging on the floor with her fists.

Cracking the floor.

Stood up.

Only to howl, to wail.

Yearning for Home Fires

Weeks later

Winter.

Everything blanketed in a sleet of snow, from the ground to the small houses lining the road for a while. The few ponies who were outside wore earmuffs, scarves, hats, and sweaters. One pony sitting on a comfy chair outside sipped his hot cocoa.

But, the carriage galloped onward, leaving the tiny town as quickly as it entered.

Into the snowy countryside where nothing but snow and dead plants remained under a gray sky.

Bitingly cold.

Cold enough that one of the passengers, a red Earth pony, shivered while clattering his teeth. "I-I d-don't know h-how you f-folk s-survive th-this!"

The burly white unicorn remained silent, looking out to the open snow.

"C-Come o-on, H-Hondo Flanks!" the first passenger said, hugging himself with his forehooves. "A-At least b-back there, w-we had f-fireplaces e-everywhere!"

Remained silent.

A bump.

The carriage rocked and the two passengers bumped their heads on the ceiling.

"Ow!"

Hondo Flanks remained silent.

"C-Can you make this quick?" the Earth pony asked as the two, carrying heavy and packed saddle bags, ascended a narrow staircase lit up by several lights. "I-I need to g-get my back to my family and some w-warmth! So far N-North and i-it's g-giving m-me c-c-cold—"

Hondo reached the end of the stairs and turned to the left.

Saw a sparse row of doors before him.

Walked up to one of them.

Knocked on it.

Waited.

Hoofsteps from inside.

Door knob glowed, turning.

Opening.

"Dad?"

Hondo nodded.

"Daddy!"

Hondo and Sweetie Belle hugged each other, Hondo lifting his daughter up and then hugging her again, embracing her.

The red pony took a few steps back, looking around him with nervous eyes. "I-I th-think I'll just stay d-downstairs f-for you, OK?"

He ran downstairs, his hooffalls loud and clear.

"I missed you," Hondo said, ruffling her mane. "What about you tell me everything tonight when your Mom and your sister get here?"

Sweetie's smile faded.

Hondo looked at her surprised. "What's wrong?"

Sweetie gulped. "About Rarity..."

She walked back into the room.

Hondo followed.

It was a nice room. The whole floor was carpeted, the walls were painted white, and the paintings were few but good enough—it smelled of roses. Little windows led to the freezing outside, the icy urban environment of snowy Manehattan. A dining table and some chairs on the left, three beds on the right.

Sweetie walked her way to the table.

Grabbed the note on it and hoofed it to her father.

"Rarity's staying overnight in the mill," Sweetie said.

Hondo knitted his eyebrows. "That's unfortunate, but she'll be back tomorrow morning. I'm sure."

Sweetie shook her head and tapped the note with her hoof. "It says over here that Rarity's staying for a week."

"A full seven-day week?!" Hondo shouted in shock. "We'd be past Hearth's Warming by the time she comes home! I even brought some souvenirs from camp for her and...wait." He pointed to the ceiling, a smile creeping up on his face. "What about we don't bring Rarity to the Hearth's Warming party, but we bring the Hearth's Warming party to Rarity?"

Sweetie shook her head and brought out another note from her mane. "I got this one after the first note. It says the mill won't be accepting any visitors during the week."

Hondo shook his head again. "That doesn't make sense. They're overproducing when a lot of us are on holiday leave. What's the big push for clothes for?"

"Stock?" Sweetie suggested, tilting her head.

He sighed.

Slumped himself on a chair at the table, dropping his bags to the floor with loud thuds.

Sweetie hopped on to the chair beside him.

"But, you're one of the soldiers who use their clothes," Sweetie said. "Maybe you could...you could try convincing the boss there to get Rarity. I really don't want her to miss out."

"I don't, too," Hondo spoke, looking up to the ceiling.

Silence in that cold room.

"I'll try my best," he said, slinging his bags back to his torso and went out of the chair.

"Wait, you're leaving already?"

"Better early than late," he quipped, heading to the door.

Sweetie jumped out of the chair, went around, and stopped right before him.

They looked at each other with dull eyes.

Sweetie drooped her head. "Yeah...you'll be back, anyway. You're far away from those evil Crystals."

Hondo nodded, a frown glistening on his face. "Yes. I'll be safe and here again before you know it. I'll even bring Apple Cinnamon here inside—the buddy I told you about in my letters. That ought to cheer you up even more."

"I'll see."

Silence.

Hondo opened the door.

Back into the hallway.

Sweetie waved at him.

Hondo waved at her.

He trotted downstairs.

Sweetie closed the door.

Walked to the table.

Brought out a piece of paper, a quill, and an inkwell from one of the drawers nearby.

Placed them on the table.

Glanced at the windows.

Their white winter lights shining through.

Sweetie turned to the paper before her.

And wrote.

"'Dear Apple Bloom...'"

Then, it was nighttime.

Sweetie looked out the window.

Dark purple clear sky. The moon was glowing and so were the stars.

The lights of Manehattan radiated out, illuminating the snow-laced streets in their tremendous glare. On those streets and roads, several carriages ran about, stopping at each narrow house to drop off soldiers on leave. Few of those reunions were happy ones, with hugs and kisses and laughs and pats on the head while hearty greetings splashed all over.

Many of those reunions, however, were of a bitter note.

From one carriage, additional passengers alighted to carry a paralyzed soldier to his family's forelegs—and, not that, too, for the stretcher-bearers went up the stairs, opened the door, and trotted inside with the family following them, crying and weeping.

At the foot of another house, a healthy and whole soldier stepped down to the sidewalk, a merry smile of delight on his face as he journeyed up the stairs only to encounter a letter on the door. He read it, tore it out of the door, stomped down the stairs, yelled at the carriage pony, and off he was, being transported to somewhere else.

The house beside him had a more eventful state of affairs. A seasoned fighter and warrior, holding a model spear decorated with ribbons and medals, got out of the carriage as he was met and embraced by all of his family and his relatives.

Only to fall down.

Gasps and screams prevailed as his legs shook, his mouth locked, and his eyes went crazy and darted here and there. One of his cousins galloped away, calling for an ambulance by shouting at each carriage that might have looked like it.

That toughened soldier lay there on the sidewalk, under the orange streetlight.

Staring upward with an open mouth, but saying nothing but mere syllables—what sounded like nonsense.

Surrounded by his family panicking, screaming—a fearless few rushed to his aid, checking for his pulse and for his blood pressure and applying medical measures to him.

Yet, his shaken state did not go away.

The ringing bell of an incoming ambulance carriage resounded, other vehicles giving way.

A knock on the door.

Sweetie turned around, galloped, and opened it.

Outside, there was Hondo with his bags and also that pink Cookie Crumbles, a gray pegasus mailpony, and that red Earth pony.

"Sorry for being late," Hondo apologized, scratching his mane, "but I had to pick up your Mom and accompany Apple Cinnamon." He gestured to the red pony who waved at Sweetie. "Finally, I don't know why but this Derpy here—" pointed at the mailpony who kept smiling "—was standing outside the apartment."

Sweetie nodded.

Then hugged her Mom and Dad.

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Derpy blurted out. "Do you have mail for me to send?"

"Don't ruin the m-moment!" Apple Cinnamon lashed out. "Th-This is a family thing!"

"Oh. Sorry!" Derpy grinned awkwardly and hovered a few steps away.

The mailmare flapped her wings in freezing conditions, yet she braved the snowy weather even against near pitch darkness of the night and, finally, reached Cloudsdale.

At this time of year, Cloudsdale was trimmed with festive lights and green wreaths. Piles of gifts had popped up left and right and, inside houses, the traditional Hearth's Warming pine tree—whether real or fake was up for heated discussion—was present alongside mistletoes, hats, and jingling bells. From the dainty suburbs to the noisy industrial area where the weather factory resided, pegasi shook or bumped hooves in that holiday cheer, although there were not that many pegasi roaming around outside.

Well, except for one specific part of Cloudsdale.

At a town square where a statue of a goggled pegasus was stuck forever in a flying position, a great throng of ponies huddled around, waiting. Among the winged ponies, there were also Earth ponies and unicorns with pegasus escorts, glancing at them from time to time—one of them checked his watch at rather short intervals.

Trumpeteers and other brass ponies, clothed in fancy and gaudy ceremonial uniforms, stood ready with their trumpets, trombones, and tubas.

All eyes watching the dark sky.

All ears toward the clear sky.

As Derpy inserted some mail into a corner's post box, she looked up as well.

Then, several pegasi overhead, carrying Cloudsdale flags.

The crowd erupted into cheer. Throwing balloons and streamers and confetti into the air, they littered the square with their decorations on which the flag-bearers landed.

Not far from them, four Wonderbolts came into view in the sky.

The crowd exploded into wild whoops and stomps as they landed.

Swarmed them with words.

Questions.

Shouts.

Adorations.

Flashes.

Requests for autographs.

Spitfire removed her goggles and held up a wing.

Everyone stopped.

The square descended into silence.

Crickets chirped from inside a pony's collection jar.

"Thank you for the welcome," Spitfire said in a loud voice, putting on a smile while the rest of the Cloudsdale Wonderbolts stood beside her. "But, we are very tired from our tenure in the war. Give us a good night's rest and let's continue the celebrations tomorrow morning. OK?"

The Wonderbolts spread their wings and flew away, leaving their supporting crowd behind on the ground.

Or on the clouds, as the case may be.

Derpy hovered over the quiet streets, indulging in a mint-flavored candy cane while she flew.

She paused at a little bungalow roofed with a puffy cloud. Its yard was sprinkled with bushes of native "cloud berries"—berries that thrived in cloud bushes. Tiny compared to a strawberry or a blueberry, they were colorful, coming in a variety of different hues.

On the otherwise unassuming door, there was the Wonderbolts logo. A lightning bolt with two wings.

Derpy went to it and placed one small package into the house's mailbox.

The door opened.

Derpy looked at the resident.

"Oh, it's you, Derpy," a light blue pegasus said, brushing her windswept white mane. She waved at the mailpony. "Hope to see you again everyday."

Derpy nodded. "Of course, Fleetfoot!"

She was off, flying past more houses, streetlights, and vibrant holiday lights.

Stopped in front of another house, this one of greater status. It had two stories, had a little patch of fake grass on the cloud lawn, and had multi-floor windows.

She could also hear crying from the inside.

Derpy unzipped a part of her bag and took out an envelope.

Addressed "To Wonderbolt Second Commander Soarin".

She looked back at the house.

Through the curtained windows, crying.

She placed the envelope inside his mailbox and flew out.

After a good part of the minute passed by, she reached the Rainbow Dash house.

Derpy pulled out a small bag of letters and put it inside the mailbox.

The door swung open.

"I'm tired of getting cheered on for everything I do!" Rainbow roared at her parents holding Rainbow Dash flags as they stood in the hallway

She hovered outside, facing her Mom and Dad.

Pointing at them.

"Not everything I did 'for the cause' was good! You know what I did? You wanna know what I did?"

Bow and Windy, hugging each other, nodded. "O-Of course, h-honey!" Windy said, her voice and smile breaking. "Why, w-wasn't it—"

"I killed nine."

The parents closed their mouths.

"Hundred."

They gasped, looked at each other with terrified expressions. Eyes wide, already red.

"Yeah." Rainbow crossed her forelegs. "Your daughter's killed over nine hundred Crystal ponies—and, no, Mom and Dad, they are ponies. I will say that word. They're just like us!"

"But, Dashie," Bow spoke, twirling his hoof around, "it can't possibly be that bad! They're not themselves—"

"I don't care!"

Derpy stepped back, zipping her bag.

"Why can't I at least send them to jail? Or, maybe give them a sleeping potion that will put them in a coma until this all ends? Or, well, anything else other than outright murdering them?!"

Silence.

Bow and Windy shivering.

"I know Sombra's an evil pony. I know we have to stop him. But, I don't want to get rewarded for stooping down to his level! I didn't just kill, you know! I rained down poison gas on them, too! I let them suffer—and, it wasn't my choice! I was told by the general that they're the latest thing and that they'll end the war in a matter of days! That was months ago and we are no closer to peace at all!"

The parents whimpering, wiping their eyes.

"Yeah! Cry and cry all you want, but it's...it's not just weird! No, it's evil to see my parents...to see you...you gave me tender love and care, you treated others like they're the best creatures in the world—you even gave Gilda no odd looks when I introduced you to her while she was alive! Fluttershy—she's a pegasus, too, but you didn't let her shyness stop you from being nice! You even let those fashion hacks into the house without question!"

Silence.

Whimpering.

"But, when it's a Crystal pony...you tell me to go punch them in the face! To kick them! To immobilize them, to neutralize them, to kill them because they're a menace to us!"

She pointed at her mechanical wing.

"Is this what being so good at killing's supposed to do to you?! Is it?!"

Then, she flew away.

Passing by Derpy.

Glared at her.

Derpy shuddered and hid her face behind her mailbag.

Rainbow hovered off.

Left the two parents crying at the hallway.

Derpy felt it in her eyes, too.

Closed them.

Fixed her bag.

Opened her wings and flew out.

The hands on the Ponyville Tower clock moved.

It was eight o' clock sharp in the evening, in that cold night.

Derpy flew past the tower and trotted her way on the snow-cleared paths. There was not that many ponies outside here, too; a lot of them were inside their houses, warming themselves up. Some were stretching their hooves at the family hearth, fire lapping out of the burning logs. There were the usual Hearth's Warming decorations: wreaths, mistletoes, bells, ribbons, pine trees, candy canes, holiday lights, and snow.

At one of the houses, Derpy landed, inserted a package in the mailbox, and flew away singing a carol.

The mailbox stood there for a while.

A good while.

Hours passed and the last of those outside had gone in their cottages, though many buildings still had their lights on and one could peer into their windows and see a mild party going on with large feasts being served on the table.

Then, a figure hobbled his way to the mailbox's house and knocked.

Fast hoofsteps from inside.

Door lurched open.

Rumble looked up and down and gasped. "Thunderlane! Is that you?! Wow! Mom and Dad are off in Canterlot to ask about you—they're going to be in for one big surprise when they come home and—"

Thunderlane collapsed to the ground.

"Thunderlane!"

Rumble rushed to his unconscious brother whose legs were shivering.

"Where's a doctor when you need one?! Help!"

Warming Up

Thunderlane staring at the ceiling.

Blinked.

Staring at the ceiling again.

Blinked again.

Lying down on his bed.

Sweating.

A door opened.

A gasp.

"It's more serious than I thought!"

Fluttershy walked to him, putting down her saddle bag.

"You need more than sunshine and a bed, Thunderlane."

His face did not move. Only a blink.

She waved a hoof in front of him. "You're...you're not dead, right?" She gasped again and covered her mouth. "What if he's really dead?"

Closed her eyes and shivered.

"Eek!"

Then, breathed in.

Placed a glass of cold water on the bedside table.

"There. If...if you n-need me or want to g-go to the hospital again, then I'll be...here..."

Thunderlane blinked, still staring at the ceiling.

"Please say something...I mean, if you want to. Perhaps you're super stressed out, or you're trying to sleep. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Kept staring at the ceiling.

Fluttershy hovered down the stairs and entered the living room.

Couches and sofas prevailed. A burning hearth warmed the cold house as Rumble sat on the rug before it, heating his hooves up, while the scent of burning wood floated through the air. Alongside the ordinary things a living room could have—windows with their curtains, flowers in their vases, short shelves of books, and heavy barbells in firm cabinets—there was a collection of Wonderbolt memorabilia: portraits, trophies, medals, photographs, and letters on display for the visitor to admire.

Fluttershy trotted to Rumble, looking nervously to her left and right.

Rumble noticed, turning his head. "How's my brother? I-Is he getting better?"

Fluttershy shook his head. "Not that I can tell. I've heard about this before, but this is my first time seeing a pony with it my whole life, and it's...scary."

Rumble sighed.

The fire crackled on.

"Thanks for trying, Fluttershy."

She shook her head. "No, I won't accept that for an answer."

Rumble stood up. "What?"

"Somepony has to watch over him. What if he starts breathing funny? Who would be there to rush for a doctor?"

"I'll stay up there if I have to!"

"That won't be enough," Fluttershy said.

Then, cowered back and covered her face.

"I-If you don't mind...that is."

Rumble walked past Fluttershy. "Alright. I'm coming with you."

She heard his hoofsteps up the stairs.

Fluttershy looked out the windows.

A wintery landscape laden with snow. The holiday decorations were still there; in fact, some ponies were installing more, hanging up rainbow-colored lanterns which spruced up the town in a jovial glow.

"Almost there!"

And several pegasi hung the wired lanterns across the street, hooking them up to several wreathed balconies.

"We're good!" Strawberry Sunrise shouted to her pegasi partners, flapping her wings above the snowy ground. She looked at a small group of other ponies. "Thanks for making these lanterns! I think they'll be the last ones!"

The crowd then dispersed, going their separate ways in the snow and under the gray morning sky.

Two of those ponies walked side by side, passing by cottages and trees, now approaching a bridge.

"You were good with those lights, Big Mac," Cheerilee said.

That stallion kept quiet, signature yoke around his neck, eyes straight on.

They stepped on to the bridge.

Cheerilee looked to the left.

Saw the frozen river and a lone pony ice-skating on it.

An aproned Mr. Cake wiped the messy counter with a wet rag. "I'm sorry for the trouble," he spurted out, wiping his bowtie clean of cake frosting, "but, you see, we're in a big hurry!"

Mrs. Cake trudged past him, pushing a wagon filled with boxed cakes and pies. "Sweet mini-bites for everyone. The soldiers, the workers, the assemblers, the sewers, the buttoners, the weaponers—"

She sloughed on.

"Not to mention we had to recycle much of the roof dressing and decoration." He motioned toward boxes of fake cream, fake candies, and fake chocolate chips. "You see?" Raised a sharp eyebrow. "Did I say that already?"

Cheerilee nodded.

Big Mac did so, too. "Eeyup."

Mr. Cake brought out a little basket from inside the counter and put it on the surface. "What about some apologies for keeping you waiting? Garlic bread's a good appetizer these days."

"As in all days," Cheerilee blabbed as she grabbed the basket.

The two went to an empty table and sat down there.

Put the garlic bread basket down.

Sugarcube Corner was not filled up with customers. Instead, it was mostly filled up with empty tables.

Over there, at the corner, was a sulking purple Earth pony with an angled chin. His slick white hair made him look like a celebrity, and his glittery bowtie contributed to that. However, keeping to the corner, he only stirred his milkshake around with a spoon.

Over here, closer to the entrance door, were two more stallions: one suited and mustached, the other wearing only a striped bowtie. The both of them adjusted their clothes—the latter one, not so much since his only piece of clothing was that bowtie.

"So, Toe-Tapper," the first one began, speaking fast, "you're bringing your musical troupe to the front the day before Hearth's Warming!" He pulled out his notepad and ballpen. "Isn't that particularly dangerous? Surely, you've considered the risks and the costs of performing there where cannonballs can hit you and bury you deep before you know it!"

"We know," Toe-Tapper said, watching the reporter before him raising his hoof, ballpen poised. "But, we can't help it. On one hoof, there's a lot of popular ponies already having their own trips to the barracks, the billets, the camps, wherever they are. Countess Coloratura started it, then Sapphire Shores and Songbird Serenade followed. Now, everyone who could sing, strum a guitar, and have a heart is taking the stint."

The reporter furiously scribbled on the notepad.

"And, we could say the same for us. The Ponynotes are going to cheer up our poor pals who took up what I think is a greater risk: fighting for our beloved Equestria. You work for the news."

The reporter looked up.

"You've seen enough soldiers who went crazy, mad, or just plain depressed after all they've done. Not a lot, but enough. I've listened to my share of them—that's what I know."

He glanced toward the couple at the table with their garlic bread basket.

Half empty garlic bread basket.

Cheerilee gulped down a piece of the toast. Facing Big Mac: "I talked with Carrot Cake yesterday, and he said something about baking lots of this after Wrap Up. The fighting will get hot again, and it will be back to the same old work."

Big Mac leaned his head to the side. "Hm?"

"You may be wondering about what's boring with my work." She pointed to herself. "I'll still teach colts and fillies—young and growing minds in need of caring. But, if I were to be honest with myself, I'm not prepared to handle them if some big failure would...well..."

He raised and shook his head, closed his eyes.

A frown on his face.

"They're young," she said. "Without a father...or a mother...or both..."

Big Mac nodded, closed his eyes again.

Cheerilee took another stick of garlic bread.

Ate it.

While Cheerilee and Big McIntosh trotted away from Sugarcube Corner—which still looked pink and beautiful but now had lost much of its gingerbread style and its top floor was replaced with a huge replica of bread—they passed by Mayor Mare and a unicorn talking with her.

"You don't know how much it'll cost or...or how much time we have to spend on it!" the other mare argued. "What are we going to test it on? Who's going to approve it? Will it see the light of day?"

"I assure you that it will see the light of day, Blossom Delight," Mayor Mare replied nonchalantly, not turning her head to see Blossom's face.

"But, the Everfree Forest—"

"I'll send a request to Princess Celestia herself," the mayor said. "Don't worry about that. Worry about the defense system we must establish around Ponyville and, possibly, nearby towns as well."

"You should be talking with the top heads over in Canterlot, not me! What do I know about combat potions and spells? I'm a gardener!"

"From this day forth," the mayor said, "you'll be more than a gardener. You'll be a scientist, researching and experimenting on new ways to make sure nopony has to die anymore."

"But, the herbs you're asking for are in the Everfree—"

"I already said I'll request the Princess for guards. What you can do until then is wait and think about your plan with the other flower ponies. Roseluck already has some exotic plants and berries, so you won't have to stay in the Everfree for long."

"But, it's the—"

Mayor Mare groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you, Blossom? You'll not be going there unless you have guards—I won't authorize it unless you have guards. Understand?"

Blossom Delight nodded.

"You're dismissed," the mayor said. "I'll be on my way to the Golden Oak Library. I have to see to the preparations for the big Hearth's Warming blowout on the day itself."

The unicorn turned around, leaving the mayor there on the dirt path sided with snow.

Inside the Golden Oak Library, dozens of temporary beds strewn about on the wooden floor, ponies either asleep or just resting. A good number of them were reading the given books from the shelves, poring over pages of treaties about dragons or of a novel about time travel or something else entirely. Several others were moving around, hanging up lights and wreaths and more holiday decorations, grooming the library for that joyful eve.

Bags of food, water, wood, paper, quills, inkwells, flashlights—all laid out on a long table by the stairs.

From the second floor onwards came the sound of livelier talk. Laughter, squeals, and whispers of another thing, another topic or two.

Mayor Mare brought a box down, accompanied by three ponies who also held boxes either on their backs or with their magic.

A lot of ponies ran to the boxes, opened them, and took out what's in the containers.

More holiday decorations along with canned food and jugs of water.

As they examined what was inside, others opting to get to work immediately and add the supplies to their bags, one pony looked at her.

An Earth pony. A stallion.

Surrounded by noise waking up more ponies to the morning and to the boxed presents.

"Th-Thank you..."

Mayor Mare smiled. "You're welcome, Pullhorse Porter. From...Vanhoover, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Your family's in Chillwater, so why are you here?"

Porter smirked. "Relieving the stress, mayor. I mean...what's worse than leaving home forever?"

Turned it back into a sullen pout.

Pullhorse Porter sat on the top of a snowy hill, overlooking much of Ponyville with all its houses, stores, rivers, trees—it all looked so little from this height.

A winter wonderland. A white landscape.

Canterlot in the distance.

He let out a chilly sigh, his breath a frost for a moment before it fell in the freezing wind.

"Do you want to know what I did?" the mare beside him asked.

He kept silent.

The mare gave him a curious expression. "You must have a head of hot air if you don't want to listen to me."

Porter shook his head. "I'm...I'm usually not in the mood for it."

"Usually?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "What? I'm bored."

"What I used to do wasn't boring," she said, pulling at her black mane.

No reply.

She gazed off towards Ponyville. "My official rank doesn't matter. They're going to have ensign newbies take it up when the war machine gets kicking and going by spring."

A pause.

"Yes, I'm an officer. Not 'was'. I still am an officer. Leave, break—whatever you wanna call it, I'm in it."

Another pause.

The chilly wind stopped.

"Being an officer was kind of boring. You didn't have to shout, but you had to. It was tradition because it worked. You did it because your superiors did it. They did it because it worked for them. That goes for a lot of things as well.

"My job was to make sure things go perfectly...which is impossible, so I get to as perfect as I could be. Make sure everyone falls in line. I even get to have a say in the strategy when the generals and brigadiers talk about it in their fancy HQ's wearing their monocles and moving little pieces on the map as if it's just nothing.

"Of course, everyone knows that those pieces represent lives. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. The good guys are the ones who always calculate the risks, not throwing themselves and countless others on every opportunity. Always moving forward—that's not a good idea.

"But, moving forward and making heroic charges at the enemy...that's what makes a story. That's what inspires tons of towns, brings in the drive for more recruits—I'm telling you, there will be more recruits despite the truth trickling in by less-than-official sources. By that point, it won't be about making a name for yourself and getting lots of honor and fame—well, officially speaking. I'm sure the Princesses already caught up with what's going on at the poster centers; propaganda's propaganda, no matter which way you slice it, and the Princesses...they're talking with the poster makers as we speak, warning them to not lie anymore."

She sighed.

"It's not sunshine and rainbows in high command, too. I haven't seen it, but I've felt it. Higher up's squabbling over a piece of the planning pie. Who gets the credit and who doesn't? All the while, I sit at my desk, dealing with papers and other bureaucratic stuff that keeps the operation going strong."

A pause.

Porter now turned his head toward Ponyville, gazing upon it as well.

"Papers aren't ponies. Everyone knows that. A foal knows that. He knows that the flat white piece of writing material isn't a pony. But, papers...they do something to us. Names on a paper. I know they're more than that, so I'm not going to throw them to the trash can. However, it's not the same for the generals who only think about what could win the war.

"Because...what's the use of winning this war if we're going to lose the peace?"

Porter turned his head toward her.

She turned her head toward him.

"Think about it. Taking all their territory isn't enough. What if we kill off too many of our precious ponies? Family, friends, co-workers...all gone in the span of...what? One year? Nah, too short. Two years? Hopefully, but too optimistic." She shook her head, throwing an imaginary object down the hill with her hoof. "Three to four years? Still too bright. Eight years? Maybe."

She smiled.

"Even one year would be devastating to all of Equestria. They'll get so mad about the loss of life—but, wait, what about the fact that we protected everyone from an evil empire under the tight grip of King Sombra?"

He did not reply.

"How many ponies would be left in 'everyone', I ask? Too few, and Equestria will be back to its former self in a millenium. A thousand years. About the same time Sombra took to come back. Then, we'll have a war, end it, and a thousand years. Then, another war, end it, another thousand years."

She shook her head again, standing up.

"It's very hard for me to not get jaded after what I've seen," she said.

Porter stood up.

A chilly wind came in, flapping their manes in its breeze.

Porter sat by a frozen river on a path leading out of Ponyville. The town itself was hardly many paces behind him.

It was near sunset, though, instead of an orange sky, it was simply bluer.

Bluer and darker.

He sat, eating from a bowl of hot soup on a little table he had set out before him. He hugged himself, shivering in the cold as he put on another thick cap.

Then, a pony cloaked in white walked up to him.

Porter turned around. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" Stood up, leaned his head toward her. "If you want to harm me, I got the strongest kick in town, so you better watch out."

The cloaked pony giggled and pointed somewhere. "I just wanted to borrow that book of yours."

He looked at his side.

A fresh book.

"You mean my 'Espionage and Why You Should Spy Out Sometimes' copy? Why? Are you a spy?"

She leaned her head to the side. "What a silly question. A non-spy would say 'No', and a spy would say 'No'. So, no."

"Right," he said. "But, to make it sure..."

He narrowed his eyebrows.

"Do you have an identification card?"

"Here," she said, pulling out such a card from her cloak.

Porter looked at it, turned it around and inspected it. Then, took a good look at the cloaked pony. "Could you please remove your cowl?"

"No. I'm afraid there might be a Crystal spy out there, spying on me."

Glanced to the left and the right, tightening her grip on the cloak.

"I can't show my face. All you need to know is that I'm a mere civilian, although I have plans to join the army—considering, but I'm undecided."

Porter nodded and hoofed the book to her.

Another gust of chilly wind.

Flapping his mane and her cloak.

She pressed a hoof to her head, holding it in place.

"How long will you borrow it for?" he asked, raising his voice above the small gale.

"By spring! I'm a bit of a slow reader, so give me time!"

And the cloaked pony ran out, away from the frozen river.

"You what?!" Mayor Mare shouted.

The two stood in the illuminated central foyer of town hall, surrounded by cabinet files.

It was nighttime. The windows showed it: that dark sky with its moon and its stars.

"You're saying Brooks was a Crystal spy?!" Porter yelled, pointing at the door. "And, I gave a book about spying to her?!"

"I'm afraid so!" the mayor screamed back, her glasses tilted to the side. Looking here and there, sweating. "We don't have a pony named only 'Brooks' from here or anywhere else in the area!"

She galloped out of town hall.

Could be heard crying out, "This is a disaster!"

Lockdown

"But, whatever do you mean?!" Filthy Rich said, flustered while watching several guard ponies search the cabinets, the shelves, the rooms, the paintings, the vases, and even the secret doors. "This is the third time you've sent a party of soldiers here!"

Mayor Mare firmed up her expression, fixing her glasses and looking out to the mansion's grand antechamber of gold, silver, and marble on the stairs, the walls, the columns, and the carpeted floor.

Which was also being searched by more guards.

"It's ruthless but necessary," she said. "That spy could be anywhere in Ponyville at anytime. If anything, she would give up sooner or later when she realizes we're not giving up."

"But, how long will this go?" Filthy replied, stretching a hoof out. Frustrated. "I'm a busy pony with a busy job and—"

She nodded. "I understand your predicament, Mr. Rich. However, as much as I don't want to do it, I must make sure the spy doesn't go away without a fight."

"I'm not covering up for any spies!" Filthy yelled, stomping a hoof before her. "I'm telling you the truth! If I am, then I don't know!"

"You seem sensitive for somepony who claims he has no spies," a passing guard blabbed before disappearing round a hallway.

Filthy grumbled, growling at the soldier now gone.

The fumbling search continued around him and the mayor.

"I know you don't want to hold any spies or agents here," she said. "You've been such a big help to Ponyville and Equestria, I don't think it would make sense for you to suddenly turn your back on us."

"Then, why do you keep searching our house?!" he shouted. "I'm certain these esteemed ponies don't have the time to search the rest of the houses thrice, so why us?!"

"It's a great place for a spy to hide in," the mayor said.

Filthy opened his mouth.

Then, closed it, rubbing his head in pain.

"OK. OK. I'll let you search this one up. But, you better make this one quick or—"

"Sir!" a voice called out from behind him. "You're under arrest!"

Levitating hoofcuffs locked on his hooves.

Both Filthy and Mayor Mare gasped at the sight.

More guards went up the stairs to face the rich stallion.

"What?! H-How could this be?!" Struggled to get out of his chains.

Tripped and fell face first on the red carpet.

The mayor glared at the stallion who had cuffed him. "I demand a good explanation from you! Filthy Rich has been a cooperative and supportive pony from day one!"

That armored guard pulled out a brown, aging letter. "Found this one tucked away in a random book. Incriminating evidence, mayor."

Hoofed it to her while helping Filthy stand up.

Mayor Mare adjusted her glasses and read it out loud.

"'To Filthy Rich,

"'Thank you for letting me buy your assortment of weapons. With your help, we could overthrow the corrupt aristocracy and, ultimately, the inconsiderate diarchy that rules over Equestria, seeking to bring all Crystal ponies into unreasonable submission. They only fight us because we've blundered ourselves. I'll be buying from you again, but until then, be on the lookout and don't act too odd.

"'Under codename: Z-L-J-B-Q-Q-X-F-I'."

"Which, decoded, is 'Comet Tail'," the guard said.

The mayor furrowed her brows. "And, who's that, exactly?"

"He lives in Starlight Glimmer's radical town." Levitated the letter back. "Reports say he's more radical than Starlight herself. Comet's been spotted at the scenes of multiple big crimes, one of which is the panic he caused by waving a bomb in a Canterlot shoe store—his target was undoubtedly Sassy Saddles."

"Ah, because she's adamant about producing uniforms for the cause," the mayor noted.

The guard nodded, glaring at Mr. Rich. "Which is why I see no reason to let this crook go scot-free."

He gasped. "No! Look! I've been framed! I've never seen that letter before!"

"Why is it in one of your books, sir?" he asked.

The door beside them opened, revealing the face of a tired Diamond Tiara.

"Huh? Wh-What's going on?" Tiara shook her head, knocking out the weariness in her.

Saw her father's cuffed hooves.

Gasped.

"What?! Dad?!"

Galloped to him and hugged him.

"What's happening? Why did they arrest you?!"

"Step aside," the letter-levitating guard ordered, pointing at the open door. "Get back to your room. This is official Equestrian business."

"But, that's my Dad you're putting in custody!" she shouted. "My Dad would never do something criminal! He may like money a lot—"

"Uh, Tiara—" Filthy gulped "—that's not helping—"

"—but, he won't stoop down to lawlessness. He never rose to wealth consulting with shady names, so why would he do it now?"

"We have evidence," the guard said, hoofing the letter to her.

The rest of the guards beside him watched Tiara read the letter.

She snorted, dropped the letter, and pushed it aside. "It's clearly a fake."

Everyone around her—the soldiers, her father, and the mayor—looked shocked at this.

"Are you telling me you're smarter than the E.U.P. Guard?!"

"Tiara, that was very nice of you, but I don't think that's enough to help me!"

"We want to believe you and your Dad, but could you at least tell us why you think it's fake?"

Tiara smirked. "Easy."

Everyone there murmured to each other.

She picked it up.

"First, may I ask where did you get this?"

The guard nodded. "Hidden inside a book."

"A book, you say?"

"Yes, a book. What do you think?"

Tiara's smile grew larger. "Well, if my Dad was really an accomplice to this criminal, then he would do his best to hide the evidence. You know that we have more than a couple of safes lying around here—and, if we don't, we always have the money to buy a dozen of them. It wouldn't be logical, then, for him to just slip it inside a book, would it?"

Mr. Rich looked at his irritated escorts, struggling to smile. "Cheerilee is a good teacher, as you can...uh, tell."

"But, that's not all," Tiara said. She rotated the letter with her hoof and closed her eyes, looking smug. "The paper is quite old, but the ink still glitters in the light."

She placed it under a burning lamp.

Indeed, the ink still glittered.

"So, somepony decided to write the letter very recently—certainly not last week, not even yesterday."

The guard who had given the paper laughed. "Come on, everypony! Are you going to believe the testimony of the suspect's daughter?"

Mayor Mare grabbed his neck. "Don't you bring family to this!"

"Relations are relations, mayor," he said, patting her on the head while pushing her away. "Getting your parents out of trouble is what foals often do."

"Oh." Tiara glowered at the guard.

He shuddered a bit.

"One more thing."

She cleared her throat.

Pulled out a photo from her mane. It showed a yellow unicorn with purple hair; his cutie mark was a shooting star.

She let the photo drop to the floor.

And the letter, too.

"What's your cutie mark?" she asked.

Mayor Mare covered her mouth, hiding a sly smile.

"Wait a minute!" Filthy cried out, attempting to hold up a hoof...then, pulling it down before tripping again. "Are you saying that the pony who arrested me is the one who's framing me?!"

A hoof on the guard's helmet.

He slapped it away. "What's that for?!"

"Gotta make sure, Yellow Fence."

Hooves trying to remove his helmet.

"Get your grubby grips out of my—"

His armor glowed then levitated away from his body.

Everyone else gasped at him.

Looked at the picture.

Back at him.

"It wasn't much of a stretch," Tiara said, smirking once more. "When I saw the letter, I...I knew it wasn't right. Yellow Fence was very eager to get Dad in custody, which made him suspicious. I admit, it's very smart to talk bad about yourself, Yellow Fence...or, should I say, Comet Tail?"

The yellow unicorn with the purple hair and a cutie mark shaped like a shooting star—he was hoofcuffed by his new escort, constrained by the same cuffs that were on Mr. Rich's hooves a short while ago.

Closed his eyes and his mouth, quietly obeying as they walked him down the stairs and out of the mansion and into the early snowy morning.

The other guards followed suit, leaving the mansion.

It took a minute and a half for all of them to leave.

After that, a few seconds of silence.

The three of them standing on the balcony, looking toward the huge double doors on the ground floor.

Mayor Mare turned to face Diamond Tiara. "May I ask...how exactly did you get to that conclusion?"

Filthy Rich looked to his daughter for that answer as well.

Tiara smiled again. "If I'm supposed to follow in my Daddy's hoofsteps as a successful businesspony, then I'm supposed to know how to deal with rivals who would employ...less legal means of competing."

The mayor gulped and exchanged a worried glance with Filthy. "That explains as much." She turned her head back towards the door. "Well, I have to make an emergency announcement to all of Ponyville now."

He nodded.

Father and daughter watched the mayor trotting down the stairs.

They could hear her breathing fast.

Someone opened the window curtains.

Saw the mayor trotting, looking about while surrounded by eight armored guards equipped with spears and bows—quivers at the ready.

Closed those curtains.

Looked at the clock on the wall.

Four o' clock in the afternoon.

"It gets more unsettling the longer it gets," the cream-colored stallion spoke, his frazzled mane matching his dirty jacket. He paced the wooden floor, going around purple couches and the tea table in front of the burning fireplace with that smoky smell.

The blue mare on one of those couches stood up and walked to him, stopping him in his path.

"What are you doing, dear? Don't get in the—"

"I can't stand having you walk around the house for three hours straight!" she said, earrings glimmering in the faint sunlight that could pass through the windows.

"What else could I do?" he asked. "You'd have to be crazy standing outside without a good reason!"

"You have all the reasons in the world! We're running low on apples and we can't get food if we don't go out to the marketplace."

"It's all deserted!"

"How do you know?!"

"Why would anyone stay outside? They could be dragged to jail for suspected smuggling!"

"Suspected smuggling?" She took a step back, examining her husband. "The guard knows better that! It's even stated in the manual!"

"The manual was written during peace time," he replied, finally trotting his way to a couch and sitting there.

She trotted to the couch and sat down beside him.

In front of the burning fire, hearing the crackling fire from the burning logs.

A better look of the place: a lamp on the corner, some paintings on the wall, another window which gave a nice view of the backyard—in the winter, the sandbox was a snowbox and the swing now hung from a leafless tree. Bookshelves beside the fireplace, potted plants left and right, and behind the couches was the kitchen.

"Good thing Scootaloo was able to get here before lockdown," he said.

"I don't think it's a good thing," she replied, turning her head upwards, toward the ceiling.

"Alright, Petunia," Scootaloo said, rubbing her forehooves as the two of them sat on wooden stools in the bedroom of history books, old paintings, and precious relics.

Also, a bed in the room.

Petunia scratched her blue ear. "Uh, what's alright?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" Scootaloo asked, rocking her stool around. "Name one offensive spell a unicorn can use after he's mastered the Uni-beam!"

"What? We're having lessons on that boring old military subject again?"

Scootaloo stretched her mane. "What's so boring about cool fights and pow's and bang's?"

"I don't like being skilled at hurting ponies."

"Like what Rainbow Dash always says in the stories—" Scootaloo took in a deep breath "—'You know it hurts, but at least you're the one who does the hurting!'"

"That doesn't sound like a good idea to me," Petunia said while shaking her head.

"Blinding beams!"

Petunia looked confused. "What?"

"That's one of the offensive spells a unicorn can learn after the basic Uni-beam! It's actually a slightly more advanced spell, but if the pony is looking straight at the beam when he gets hit—boom!"

She smashed her two hooves together.

"Blinded! Yeah, temporary blindness, but it lasts for an hour, which is more than enough to immobilize an entire attack all at once!"

"But—"

"You're wondering why we haven't won the war yet. That's because the evil Crystal armies learned how to deflect those attacks early on! They have counterspells, training, specialized armor and shields—you name it! But, it still works in a pinch or in a tight spot."

Petunia looked out the window, seeing the white sky. "How long does this lockdown thing last again?"

"Until the day after Hearth's Warming."

Petunia groaned on her little chair.

When the Bells Ring

A day later

Canning crushed apples was monotonous work.

Applejack wiped the sweat off of her forehead, making awfully sure that the beads of sweat did not drop to the conveyor belt before her.

Though the cans were as sealed and as closed as they could mechanically be by the simple can fixer contraption just a few meters back, it was apparently alright to make doubly sure, which was why Applejack whacked a big hammer on each one that rolled by on the moving line.

The loud and rattling noises of that machine wrecked havoc in what was otherwise a serene barn.

As serene a barn with a long conveyor belt, a noisy machine, a horde of canned apples, and a bell about to be rung could be.

Then, she looked at the clock on the red wooden wall before her.

It ticked six-fifty in the evening.

She pulled the rope dangling from the bell.

It rang, thundering across the whole of the barn.

The conveyor belt stopped and so did the cans.

The machine deactivated, its multiple gray arms creaking to a halt.

Applejack sighed and took off the mask that covered her mouth and nose.

She walked a few steps towards the big barn doors leading to the outside.

The blue sky then darkened, the sun setting behind the horizon to give way to the night.

Applejack trotted to the marketplace, still wearing her two hairnets.

It was a quiet place, almost deserted under the canopy of snow, lit up only by the lights of the adjacent buildings. A few courageous vendors held their ground and continued to sell their wares despite the guards standing on both sides of their stalls and wagons. The ponies who had come to buy and purchase were inspected upon nearing one of those mini-businesses, their bags searched and their pockets, too, if they were wearing clothes with pockets—and, that's if they wore clothes to begin with.

"What a lonely Hearth's Warmin' Eve this is," she muttered, scanning the place with turns of her head. "It's lonelier than a raccoon on a speckled boat! The lights are up an' the trees are here—the mayor's even slackened up the lockdown—but, everypony's just huddled up in their homes."

She looked at one of the windows, and there were several ponies huddling up in their homes, sitting at their tables as they ate a sumptuous dinner of burgers, pies, and fries.

A knock on the door.

Rumble opened it.

"This is the box o' random items she asked for," Applejack said deadpan outside, extending the box down to the colt.

"You mean Fluttershy?" Rumble said, receiving the box and putting it down on the floor. "Doesn't she work for you with the sheep shearing thing?"

"Do you expect me to remember the names of everyone who ain't from Ponyville?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, she's Fluttershy, but she said she's goin' to have some time as a medic when all gets live ag'in. 'sides, she's only workin' part-time, anyway—at least, for now."

"Thank you, Apple—"

But, the farmpony was already heading away from the house, trotting further into the dark snowy night.

Rumble looked through the narrow gap given by the slightly open door.

Inside Thunderlane's bedroom, he could see Fluttershy administering to his brother a spoonful of medicine.

Thunderlane, lying on the bed and still staring at the ceiling, responded with shivers.

"Don't be scared!" Fluttershy said in an upbeat tone, adding to it an uppity smile. "Trust me. It will all be better when you drink this."

He shivered again, his unfeeling face as stoic as it ever was.

"It's all-natural, I promise! I talked with the pharmacist and tested it myself! I've had my experience with helping out sick animals, so I know what I'm talking about. I think."

The door opened fully, Rumble coming into view while holding a box with his mouth.

Fluttershy held a hoof to her chest, her lips somewhat trembling as she hovered over the floor. She put down the spoon of medicine on the bedside desk. "Oh, it's just you, Rumble. Did Applejack bring everything?"

"Checked it all downstairs," he said, then looked at his brother on his bed. "Is he getting any better?"

"N-Not really," she said, landing on the floor. "It's...sad to see such a pony live like this. It's difficult to believe he's not suffering paralysis or anything like it, but that's what the doctor said and...I don't know a-anything else other than to help him cope."

"It's alright, Fluttershy," Rumble said. "You were there at his side, and that's what counts. Our parents are galloping around, trying their best to look for the best doctors out there, but I'm afraid they're busy with these kinds of ponies, too."

Fluttershy nodded. "I'm also a-afraid."

The two sat down on the floor beside the bed, beside the motionless Thunderlane.

They looked around the room.

If Thunderlane's bedroom could be distinguished from the others for one thing, it was this: yet another collection of Wonderbolt memorabilia. There were framed photos on the shelves, displaying him and his whole family cheering for him when he became a Wonderbolt trainee, then when he became a full-time Wonderbolt himself. There he was in Wonderbolt-related events and locales; he could be seen in the derbies, in the barracks, in the hang-outs, in the cafeterias, in the shows, all with some of his Wonderbolt buddies there.

Besides that, there were several trophies and medals concealed behind glass containers; they sparkled under the ceiling lights. With that, there were posters and portraits depicting famous Wonderbolts such as Spitfire, Soarin, Rainbow Dash, Fleetfoot, Fire Streak, and some more.

Fluttershy brought the box closer to her and rummaged through the many objects found there.

Rumble watched her do just that, keeping his brother in his peripheral vision.

"So, we've got some blankets," Fluttershy said, putting the folded blankets neatly on the bed, right beside Thunderlane. "Then, we've got a nice sweater." She brought it out and spread it out with her hooves. "Well, if I could find a way to actually put this on him...I still c-couldn't find a way to make him stand up." Got some medicine both in syrup and in pill forms and placed them on the bedside desk beside the spoon. "Let's see, what else could be there?"

She went on rummaging.

"Rumble," she said, bringing out a bottle of energy drink from the box, "how did it feel to have your brother become a Wonderbolt? I'm sure it must've felt really g-great."

"Yeah, it was really great!" Rumble said, nodding his head rapidly. "I also want to become a Wonderbolt, too, and be just like him! I'm still too young to actually get in, and after that, you still have to wait for a spot to open up, but when I do get in...just imagine it! Two brothers flying through the sky with the best of the best!"

Thunderlane shivered.

Rumble looked at him, his legs shaky. "What's going on?"

"I hope it's nothing too serious," Fluttershy said. "Thunderlane, are you OK?"

He blinked two times, eyes still gazing upon the ceiling with its lights on.

"He's not OK." She turned to her brother. "Keep watch over the box while I bring in the medicine. He hasn't tasted any at all!"

Rumble looked at the open door. "Uh, nopony's going to come in."

"What if there are robbers?!"

Rumble then hurried to lock the door and dashed back to the box.

Fluttershy, holding the spoon with her hoof, breathed a sigh of relief. "Now that we're completely safe, we'll make Thunderlane a little better."

She faced the stallion on the bed and inched closer. "Come on, Thunderlane! You've got to drink your medicine. All big ponies drink their medicine."

Rumble stifled a chuckle.

"This is not funny!" Fluttershy lashed out.

Then, covered her mouth and shook her head.

"Um, I'm very sorry f-for doing that t-to you, Rumble!" She rubbed his head. "Oh, are you a-alright? Did I hurt your feelings?"

Rumble blinked. "I'm fine. You were a bit loud, but that was—"

Fluttershy gasped. "Loud? Oh, no! What if you took my words the wrong way? What if you're crying on the inside and you're not—oh, I'm just digging myself into a deeper hole with what I just said." She hid half of her face behind her pink, flowing bangs.

"You don't have to be so hard on yourself," Rumble said. "Do you want to know what my brother did whenever he felt like he did something wrong? Well, it was all in the past, so he couldn't do anything about fixing it. So, he never dwelt on it. He got up and moved on, trying to be better. That's what he did whenever he practiced so he could be accepted as a Wonderbolt trainee. Now that he's a full-on Wonderbolt, and even doing those awesome battles—on the headlines sometimes, too! He gets to be a part of something so cool and—"

"No!"

They looked at Thunderlane who sat up on his bed.

His face. That passionate face with fire in his eyes; a burning anger in his seething mouth.

"Thunderlane!" Rumble said, flying to him and hugging him around the neck.

Fluttershy stepped back, then flew all the way to the other side of the bedroom. "Uh, R-Rumble? Th-This i-isn't the b-best time to—"

And Rumble yanked out of his embrace with a strong wing.

"No!" Thunderlane shouted, floating above his bed. "No, no, and a million times no! You don't want to be part of the Wonderbolts—not during this time!"

"B-But, Thunder—"

"I've done many things necessary to keep Equestria safe and sound! I did what I have to do, I had to do what I did, but what I did wasn't always the best! Didn't my letters teach you anything? Didn't you learn anything from them?"

"You a-always talked about your fights and—"

"You were missing the point!" He raised his forehooves up in despair, hovering above his brother. "I didn't write about fights to show you they're cool, 'cause they're not! I only wrote about them to tell you I did something useful, that I wasn't standing around doing paperwork—but I wish I was just doing paperwork!"

Rumble gasped. "How could you say something like that?! Becoming a Wonderbolt was your dream!"

"When I dreamed, there was no war! The Wonderbolts were this nifty big group of pegasi who did acrobatics and performances! I wanted to do it for fun, for showing my flying skill to the whole world! I didn't sign up to be a professional killer!"

"But, didn't you—"

"I know what they tell me! I have to kill to make sure I'm not the one being killed! To protect Equestria, harmony, friendship, all things good, and everything and everyone else I love and hold dear! I know they're wearing those mind control thingies on their heads, so it's not really their fault—it's mind control magic, Sombra is powerful, I get it. But, there's more to it than the helmets, the masks, those glowing eyes that scare a lot of the new ones—there's personalities under them if we could just remove the mind control, but I don't know!"

He took in a deep breath.

"The tougher guys tried to console me, but I could see past their lies! They weren't monsters, I know beyond doubt that they weren't monsters and they aren't monsters now! What do they think? What do they think?! They have their own brains, they have their own thoughts on...on...what is it?!"

Rumble took a step back, wobbling and almost tripping down.

Seeing his brother gesture about, turn his head left and right, flapping his wings faster.

"I see the rest of my team get to their homes and what do they get? Cheers! The crowd goes wild at ponies who cry about the friends they've lost, about the deeds they've done! They don't cry in public—we all got to keep up a good face, keeping the morale up, but it's a burden to keep it up! I've smiled when I was depressed because the moment I frown, that's the moment the crowd starts putting two and two together and get four! You hear me?! Four!"

Rumble backed to the wall, seeing a shuddering Fluttershy to his left.

Thunderlane flew to them, his whole body shivering as his mad face stayed.

"I've made too many friends in the front, Rumble! I've had parties with them. Talked with them. Shared thoughts with them—my feelings and their feelings! We had dreams, too. We wanted to meet again when it's over, maybe take a walk in the park and just relax, or eat out at some fast food joint. We could've done so much more, but I should've remember what I was asking for when I went on—they died and my speed wasn't enough to save them! All those memories, and I keep them for what?! I'll never see them again! And, what if Rainbow Dash loses more than a wing this time? Or Spitfire?! I haven't gotten to the stories of the citizens we've saved!"

He cackled.

"Burning their homes, enslaving their family and friends, destroying all of their towns so that it's nothing but rubble, nothing but dirt and debris and nothing else but the ground! They've lost everything and what do we do?! Recruit some of them and send the rest elsewhere!"

Fluttershy whimpered, a tear coming down her cheek.

Rumble stared at his brother, looming over even as he shivered.

"Believe me, brother! You don't want to fight there! Could you take the pain? Are you willing to lose most of your friends? Could you bear the sight of ponies driven from their homes? Could you kill without some regret, some remorse—tell me, Rumble! Tell me before they close in on me again!"

With that, he fell to the floor.

Shivering.

Eyes open, staring straight.

Unconscious.

The bells rang.

Applejack could hear it from far away, standing in her dark bedroom.

Through the window, she could see the source of the great sound: Ponyville as it was lit up with many different colors.

The door opened. "Applejack?"

She turned around, seeing her sister in the hallway. "Yes, Apple Bloom?"

"It's tomorrow already! It's Hearth's Warmin'!"

Applejack looked down on the floor's planks. "Then, it is."

Apple Bloom tilted her head. "Don't you wanna open yer' presents?"

"At a time like this?"

Silence between the two of them.

Applejack gave a long, deep sigh. "Honestly, I don't know."

Entering the Black Market

The bleak badlands.

Hot, dry, and barren for the most part. There was not much else to describe except that it was more dry ground with infesting weeds, dying trees, and old rocks for miles and miles.

It never seemed to end.

On the face of a steep brown cliff, though, was an exception to the rule of lifeless gloom. There, more airships and other flying vehicles stayed on the wooden platforms strutting out of the rugged sharp sides—various balloons in dark colors alongside cycle-powered airplanes attended to by whoever was there.

And, indeed, "whoever" was more than just ponies. In fact, ponies were the minority in this shady, seedy location. A pegasus wiped an airship clean with one rag, and then he would give it to a changeling who watched over the vehicle's griffon owners accompanied by dragon clients and assistants holding crude briefcases chained to their arms.

Past the docking stations and platforms—with no railings or some other kind of protection to prevent unwary visitors from falling—one would encounter a criminal society hidden within the cliff.

This was Sortmores.

Once a visitor passed by the diverse guards—assuming he did not fall off the no-railing platform—he would find himself in a city with almost no contact with sunlight, not to mention it reeked of weeks-old garbage. The sources of light there were murky lanterns and candles plus some flashlights for the more well-to-do lawbreakers thriving there.

Jutting out of the rough and rocky walls were dirty buildings and stalls, their materials rotting or decaying, always replaced with a bunch of new wood or cheap metal. Out on the streets which were nothing more than barely paved roads, a medley of creatures roamed about, each of them intent on some serious business by the focused looks on their eyes—no loud chatter since hushed whispers here were the norm; noisy talking was reserved for the inside, and even then, it was sporadic. For some, thick and heavy clothes was the dress, their faces covered by their garb against the dismal shadows cast by the dim lights around.

Out of a four-floor wooden structure, two buffaloes threw a coated deer into the open, closing the doors before him. The deer scurried away, avoiding the fierce looks heaped upon him by passersby, though he bumped into a cat hiking the path.

"Watch where you're going!" Capper yelled, shaking a fist at the fleeing deer.

The crew of pirates beside him looked around, walking vigilant with hands ready at their holstered swords.

Several breezies flew past them, carrying little swords of their own.

Capper did not pay attention to this, for he looked on, following Celaeno as they shifted under an array of faint lights from a myriad of suspicious places not helped by their closed windows and their muscular guards.

The parrot pirates and the lone cat opened the door to one of those places.

They were greeted by the sight of a bar, a casino, and a fighting box all rolled into one spacious wooden room brimming with customers. All was lit by the many lanterns strewn about, hanging on the walls and from the ceiling and on the tables, too.

The bar was made up of a borrowed metal counter and a run-down chalked on menu. Racks of bottles and barrels were behind the bartenders which were two cats and a unicorn, shaking up some cocktails and pouring them into mugs which they then slammed on the surface for drinkers to snag up and chug down. The casino, if it could be called one, was only three tables where card games were played; though the players were few, there were many observers and betters, silent in that code of honor to never give one of them an unfair advantage by telling them their opponents' hands—or hooves, or claws, or whatever. The fighting box was a medium-sized ring where, currently, two griffons were battling it out by flying at each other, slashing the enemy with their pointed claws and their pointed blades attached to those claws, with the one who passed out first being the loser and dragged to the floor for recovery by the local doctors while the winner, who did not pass out, stood proud and was given a huge sum of bits by the loser's accomplices.

On the balconies above, more patrons could be found either talking in subdued tones or counting their bits and examining their newly-purchased merchandise.

"Remember, everyone," Celaeno whispered to her crew and Capper, "look for the Earth pony wearing yellow armor."

So, they stuck together, walking to the center of the room, moving into the chaos as they turned their heads here and there, searching for that one person.

Leery eyes watched them.

Then, by a staircase to the second floor and its balcony, an Earth pony matching that description stood, yawning.

Celaeno and the rest passed around the other guests in the establishment, finally trudging up to him.

The pony widened his eyes at the sight of them. "According to schedule, then. No time to waste—get upstairs."

Another door was opened.

It led to a tiny room occupied by two changelings wearing metal armor, gripping their spears as they guarded the only table inside. On the walls were various maps with arrows pointing to this and that spot in Equestria.

The crew of pirates and Capper followed suit, walking inside.

The pony flicked his head at the changelings. "Get out and stay outside. We're going to be discussing some...secret subjects."

They nodded, said nothing, and flew out of the door, closing it behind them.

"And, to be extra sure..."

He walked around the crew and locked the door.

Walked to the table and sat down on it.

"You may take a seat."

They took the extra chairs and pushed them closer to the table. A few more chairs were left over.

"Had to prepare for anything," the pony said, taking off his helmet and his armor, revealing a yellow mane which complemented his blue coat. "What if I get a big opportunity staring straight at me? Lots of bits to be made, but you have to catch it while it's around."

Capper groaned. "Save the obvious for later, mister."

Celaeno glared at him.

He shrugged and smirked. "We know that stuff now."

The captain turned to the pony across the table, pulling out a sack of items. "Here's what you ordered."

She carefully placed it on the table and, one by one, took the individual objects out.

"We got the dragon's toenail you wanted," Celaeno said, holding the said toenail up—it was heavy and dirty. "It was easy. Found a sleeping dragon and cut it out." Then, she held up a bouquet of purple flowers. "We have the Fairlava flowers. Bit harder than the toenail since the shopkeepers weren't so keen on having us get the only ones left for a long while, but we managed it." After that, she carried a little box where a small ruby rested. "The enchanted Stone of Sproging. Lots of puzzles and explosions, but you wanted it because of its explosive properties, so...I guess I should've expected that when we came for it."

The pony nodded, smiling a little.

"Finally—" held up another plant but with no flowers "—here's the Amplification Plant. Looks simple, but we almost lost our chance at it—our scuffles at Thicket attracted the attention of the Guard. Our escape was quite the close call."

He studied the objects before him, resting on the table.

Looked at Celaeno and smiled. "Good work."

He brought up another sack, clinking a lot as it dropped to the table.

Capper leaned closer. "Is that the payment?"

The pony nodded, then faced the pirates only. "Although, since you've been through a lot of trouble to fetch these, I feel obliged to not only give you money but also...information."

Everyone else raised their heads at that.

"Precisely...why do I need these things in the first place?"

Celaeno scratched her chin. "Didn't you say it was for a personal project?"

"That's half true," he said, staying on his seat. "It started out as a personal project, but it was never bound to stay personal. That's because..."

He inclined himself a bit over the table.

"I'm working on mass destruction."

What Desperate Times Call For

He rubbed his hooves before his dumbfounded audience of pirates, with Capper the only one unfazed by the statement.

"I never gave you my name, and I don't intend to anytime soon. If calling me 'the pony' is too annoying, call me 'Plea Scald', but search the archives and the records—turn them over if you must, but you'll never find that name belonging to a pony living or dead. Check my description, too—there are so many stallions with my color scheme that it's impossible to track me down...and, well, I could always change the appearance of my mane, so there's that."

He pulled a drawer in the table and slowly put the four requested items inside.

Closed it.

Shifted his gaze back at those before him.

"I am no traitor nor turncoat to the land I love, but this suffering has taken its toll on everyone: on me, on my friends, even those who used to be my enemies. To put it simply, there is every reason to end it quick and clean, to kill it at its source."

He opened the drawer again and took out a large sheet of paper, put it down on the table.

Everyone took a closer look at it.

On it were rough drawings and sketches of a hoofball-shaped container at the center. Surrounding these sketches were lists of materials, of names.

"This, my friends, is the strongest bomb ever known in existence. It is larger than dozens of grenades combined. We would only need to make about five of these, one for the taking and the other four to serve as back-ups, and that's because..."

A smile crept up his face.

"That's because just one, if made correctly and according to my specifications, would be enough to level the entire Crystal Empire many times over, reduce it to a gray wasteland where nothing would ever thrive for centuries."

The parrots and the cat exchanged serious glances, opening their mouths to say something but restraining themselves before turning back to the pony.

"Astonished, I presume?" Plea Scald spat on the table. "I know what you're thinking. You think that this bomb will destroy more than just Sombra. It would destroy a whole kingdom with little hope of reviving it, plus casualties past ten thousand Crystal ponies and that's not counting the many prisoners of war they've turned into slaves and servants for that hideous king."

He grumbled.

"But, we've tried. We've tried for twelve months, and so it's spring again and he's not dead yet. It's all the same old: we win some, we lose some; they win some, they lose some—but they're winning more little by little. Four days ago, you probably heard about the invasion of Rockville, so they're at the river, ready to cross it and bring to ruin many lives, many families..."

Wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead, his cheeks.

"The longer this war gets, the weaker we become. Conventional warfare isn't enough, the old way of fighting isn't enough. They've routed forces several times bigger than theirs because they hid in forests, jungles, kept us waiting and turning us into vulnerable bait! We're learning, but then they'll just storm us with an all-out offensive with their huge numbers."

"Cut to the chase, mister," Capper said, resting an elbow on his swinging leg. "Your point is...?"

"I asked your friends to bring me the final pieces to this puzzle," Plea Scald said, motioning his front hooves toward the plans. "I have co-workers and subordinates to help realize a happy ending for all of us. I'll present it to the Guard for them to see its potential, and the war shall be over by summer."

He stood up.

"The money should be more than sufficient to satisfy all your needs and desires for half a year. The only thing I ask of you is that you should not speak of this matter to anyone else, even if they claim to work under me. I will never see you, and, hopefully, you will never see me again, too."

Capper stood up and spread out his arms. "That's all?"

Plea Scald rolled his eyes. "Fine."

He got a little sack of bits from the open drawer and threw it at the cat.

"Always have emergency money at hoof," he commented, closing the drawer. "You'll never know when they come knocking at your door and ask for payment."

The pirates stood up.

All remained quiet, silent in that tiny room.

At one of the landing platforms outside, hanging out of the cliff, a small airship was stationed, tied to stakes on the sturdy wooden planks which made up that platform. It was not particularly flashy; it had a brown envelope and could hold dozens of crates' worth of cargo on the deck.

Below, a long way to the hard and dry ground.

Exiting a sparse yet bustling crowd, Plea Scald approached his airship, escorted by two changelings hovering beside him.

"Humerus, Nastic," he said, turning his head to the both of them, "the next step of the plan is to make sure the bomb works. Therefore, I ask of you for extended duty out here in the Badlands—lots of testing ground since there's nothing to annihilate here."

The two changelings nodded.

A deer's head popped up on the airship's deck. "Sir?! Is that you?!"

"No, it's Prince Shining Armor!" Plea Scald said with a bitter voice as he shook his head. "I'm joking! Shouldn't you be watching for me? We could've left thirty seconds earlier!"

"Well, sir, I wanted to make a little profit of my own, so I went to the barber shop and tried cutting manes but I was kicked out because I didn't look the part and—"

"What?!" Plea Scald pointed at him. "Get us up there and I'll show you, Sugar Maple!"

The deer screamed. "No, please! Not again!"

The two changelings rested on their bunk beds.

Their bedroom was quite dirty: armor and helmets littered about the floor with some spears and arrows scattered with them; stacks of nearly expired canned foods had already been toppled and a few rolled around as the airship made its turns; holes had already made their way to the beds themselves, but they stood and did not collapse.

At least, not yet.

Out the only window which gave the room's inhabitants a narrow view of the outside, one could see the dry and hot Badlands. Another airship could be seen, a mere dot with it being so far away, but that was all.

"What did we get ourselves into?" Humerus asked, lying on the top bed. "This pony's not loving at all, and now I'm starving! He keeps on shouting at us, screaming at us—"

"That's telling me you didn't expect the criminal life to be rough and tough," Nastic interrupted, taking the bottom bed. "As optimistic as always, setting yourself up for massive disappointment and—you know what?" He sat up. "Why not tell your complaints to the boss himself?"

"But, he's mean!"

"It's either that or I'll drag the both of us back to the hive!"

Humerus sighed. "Maybe later."

A pause.

"I miss the good old days."

"There weren't any good old days to miss," Nastic said. "It's like you've forgotten about escaping Chrysalis and her army of mindless slaves."

A pause.

"Sombra, Chrysalis—what's the difference? All I want is independence and you want that, too—unless I'm gravely mistaken."

"But, what's the difference between Sombra and Chrysalis and Plea Scald?"

"Plea Scald is a pony who's selfless," Nastic answered. "Barely selfless, but ways better than those tyrants...one of which he wants to eliminate, which is always a good thing." A sigh from him. "Thinking about it makes me wish Chrysalis would declare war on Equestria right after this one ends. Then, Chrysalis would be deposed and we would all be free changelings. Instead of feeding on love, we share it with each other—we won't get hungry for the rest of our lives."

The two became silent again.

"Do we have any beans?" Humerus asked.

Nastic smacked his face with a hoof.

The airship lowered to the ground, creating a little dust storm of its own.

Ponies got out from the lonely house and ran across a little dry distance to throw ropes at the airship.

Lower and lower.

Stakes were planted on the ground, ropes were tied.

The airship then landed.

In the middle of this dreary and blazing wasteland, a two-floor house was the only building in view. Not a road nor even a dirt path crossed ways with this home; around this was nothing but a dusty landscape.

Plea Scald hopped out of the airship along with Sugar Maple. The changeling escorts simply hovered to the ground.

He looked around, then faced the troupe of ponies who had helped park the airship. "We have exactly two minutes until the next patrol unit comes around. Get in—and you, Slapshot, time for the invisibility shield again."

Everyone hurried inside the house through the front door.

The last one to enter, the deer, closed and locked it.

Back door locked, every window shut, and curtains drawn, too.

Then, up the chimney, a burst of light which then spread around the whole house and a small patch of ground around it, forming a magical shield.

That shield and the home inside disappeared, leaving only more ground.

So, it was uneventful for a minute. A breeze of warm wind went about.

In the distance, a small unit of changelings flew, their buzzing sounds growing louder as they approached the spot where the house had been.

They passed it by.

Their buzzing went softer, quieter.

The patrol was gone.

Then, a burst of light appeared and dissolved the shield, bringing the house into view.

One week and a half elapsed.

A short walk away from the house was a little robust bunker made up of concrete.

It had a rather empty interior, looking gray and drab while it stank of cement. On the front side of the bunker was a short window with a thick glass pane, giving the ponies, the changelings, and the single deer inside a sweeping view of the flat and yellow-orange land before them.

The only entrance and exit was a reinforced door opened and closed by a lever outside and a lever inside.

Plea Scald glanced at the watch on his left foreleg, his giddy smile only getting bigger. "Forty seconds and we'll see how it'll fare."

Humerus shuddered and hugged Nastic tight. "I can't see this with my own eyes!"

Nastic groaned and shoved him aside.

Sugar Maple hit the window with his face, keeping it there as he waited for that inevitable moment.

The other ponies who were there stood a few steps away from the window.

"Thirty seconds," Scald noted.

Silence reigned in the time left to tick.

"Twenty."

Humerus jumped to Nastic and hugged him again. "Help me!"

Slapshot, a lanky green-blue unicorn with sloppy hair, pulled him away from his friend.

"Ten seconds."

Everyone's attention turned to the landscape past the window.

"Five seconds."

Scald kept looking at his watch.

"Any moment now."

He lifted his head toward the outside.

The little dot in the sky dropped something, then flew away fast.

Everyone looking at that something.

Falling fast.

Hit the ground.

Boom.

A bright light, streaming into the bunker.

All covered their eyes.

Rumbling, tremors shaking the bunker.

Some staggered and tripped.

Scald stumbled, banging his head with the wall.

Rubbed his hurting cheek, kept his eyes closed.

Opened his eyes.

Could see the wall and a part of the floor.

Looked at the window.

No more bright light.

He stood up and got a better view of what was happening.

Plea Scald suppressed a smile.

Outside, rising from the ground, a humongous cloud of smoke.

It was shaped like a mushroom.

"We have it!" he yelled, jumping up. "We did it! Let's pack up and go home, everyone!"

Everyone looked at him surprised.

"Now?" Slapshot asked, scratching her mane.

"Now!" he shouted, galloping to the lever then pulling it.

The door opened up.

"Explosion's too big for the changelings to not notice," he explained as all of them ran out of the bunker and to the house and the airship far ahead. "We gotta get out of here before they catch us!"

It was sunset.

They reached the airship, boarded it, cut off the ropes, and that vehicle was soon in flight, leaving a home and a bunker behind.

Alongside a towering mushroom cloud nearby.

"Next stop, Canterlot!" Plea Scald yelled, grabbing the wooden steering wheel on top of the cabins and whirling it around, feeling the wind rushing through his mane.

The airship leaned left.

Crates and creatures slid to the left, the latter trying to not fall off by holding on tight to whatever they could grab.

Scald himself hung on to the wheel, none of his hooves touching the ground.

Spun it to the right.

The airship leveled itself.

Everything and everyone oriented back on track, many rubbing their heads and recovering from dizziness.

"Mister!" Slapshot yelled at Scald as she ran up the stairs to the wheel. "You're gettin' dangerously close to the Changelin' Hive! You should go by the McIntosh Hills—"

"I know what I'm doing!" Scald yelled back, arching his eyebrows.

Then, buzzing from below.

"Changelings!"

As if on cue, small swarms of changelings appeared, rising up and boarding the ship. Some were left attacking the envelope to little success, for they were shot down by some beams from the unicorns on deck.

Everywhere else on deck, fighting ensued, pitting ponies and deer and even fellow changelings against changelings. Punches, kicks, throws, blows, swinging around and slams. Crates and barrels were smashed, with the deer desperate enough to kick barrels at lunging changelings, propelling them out of the airship and into the sky.

Humerus and Nastic were cornered by their kind, Humerus shuddering while Nastic standing resolute.

"You're a traitor to the hive!" one of the loyal changelings roared. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That I could say anything for myself!" Nastic cried out.

He flew a hoof at the offending changeling.

Grabbed short, pulled, and thrown to the floor.

Humerus stood up, an expression of anger on his face. "No one does that to my—"

Was also grabbed short, pulled, and thrown to the floor.

"The Queen will be so happy to see you return to where you belong," that loyal changeling said. He motioned to his lackeys beside him and they carried the two traitors out of the airship and toward the ground.

"I'm running out of barrels, guys!" Sugar Maple shouted, flinging yet another changeling out of the way with a barrel. "I need help!"

Slapshot ran to his side and shot a few beams at the approaching changelings, neutralizing them.

Only to be replaced with more changelings.

Slapshot's self-assured smile disappeared. "Oh, no."

They charged at the duo of deer and pony.

Punch to the face.

Kick to the hindleg.

Uppercut to the jaw.

Thrown out of the airship.

The battle continued, yet that duo stayed afloat.

"Slapshot!" Scald shouted from atop the cabin roof, struggling against a changeling attempting to take control of the wheel. "Did you disable the bombs before we moved to the bunker?!"

The unicorn kicked down yet another changeling. "Yeah! Why?! I'm kinda' busy!"

"I have a back-up plan!" he yelled. "It'll get rid of the changelings! Hold them off for as long as you can!"

Scald faced his enemy and punched the changeling.

He jumped away from the wheel, landing beside Slapshot but continued running to one of the crates which was identified by the red paint on it. Dodging several changelings jumping at him, he was caught only a meter away, though he only slid and not collapsed.

Reeled back.

Charged forward.

Lobbing the poor changeling out of the airship, unconscious and falling fast to the ground.

Scald opened the crate.

Sweat pouring down his cheeks.

Pulled out one of the bombs.

More changelings swarming around him.

Scald closed the crate.

Kick to his leg.

"Ow!"

Kicked the changeling back at his face.

On the bomb, two buttons. One red, one green.

He slammed the red one and pushed the crate out of the airship.

Yet more changelings swarming at him, flying straight at him.

Scald looked behind.

The bomb that stood there.

Past the bomb, Sugar Maple and Slapshot but more than just them. Fighting against the changelings were several ponies, each defending the airship in their own way from physical punches to magical beams to luring tricks.

Wiping away a tear, he stood still in front of the bomb.

Changelings approaching, zooming.

Then, he jumped out.

Into freefall.

Falling in the sky.

Could see green below.

Looked up.

A bright flash, covering all.

He closed his eyes.

Falling.

There was a knock on the door.

A mare sprinted and opened it.

One disheveled stallion, bruised and sooty under the night. "Sorry, ma'am, but I need to take a shower! I got involved in a serious accident at the paint factory I was inspecting and I got confused by the explosion and I somehow ended up here near Canterlot! Now, my—"

The mare covered her mouth out of pity. "That's too bad! Don't you worry—the whole house is yours until you're fine."

"No need for that!" he said, scrambling his way into the cottage and past some lines of plants on tables and stamps on walls. "I'm running out of time! Must report to Canterlot before I go back to the Manehattan Front!"

"You work there?!" she shouted. "What's your name?"

"No time!"

And he disappeared round another hallway.

Prince Shining Armor tapped his hoof at his mansion's gate, looking left and right down both ways of the road illuminated by streetlights.

Cold wind flowing through.

A taxi carriage pulled up and the armored passenger paid the driver a few bits and hauled down a big crate down to the sidewalk.

"Took you long enough, General Radar," Shining remarked. "You're late. You said you would return from your vacation leave at nine o' clock. It's now ten. I and my wife have been entertaining your ranking buddies for more than one hour, and we're losing ideas."

"Sorry," was Radar's reply. "I did discover something that could end the war quick, though." He gestured to the box.

Shining raised an eyebrow. "And, what would that be? I guess it's a weapon of some sort."

"It's a weapon..." Radar looked at him, a stormy face riddled with fury, "which could take the Crystal Empire out of the map for good."

Not Free to Destroy

One thing that Shining Armor's manor could boast of:

It had a decent conference room.

A varnished wooden table was the centerpiece, standing on top of an intricately designed rug with a complex of patterns stitched and woven to create a masterpiece. It would be alright to ignore all the trifles that this resplendent and ostentatious indoors territory for official Equestrian appointments and discussions had to offer—fine pottery, valuable paintings, distinct colognes, and plates of crunchy biscuits. What one should focus on was the table, the rug, and the personages seated there.

Those personages plus one who stood and carried a bomb with his forehooves, never breaking a sweat.

All eyes were on that explosive.

"What we have here," Radar began, "is a bomb that—"

"We can clearly see that," broke in one of the other generals, sporting a short yellow mane and some freckles.

Radar cleared his throat. "Yes, you're right...but, it's not just any old bomb! No! It's a bomb dozens of times more powerful than any you could ever imagine!"

"What would be the radius of a typical explosion?" an air force marshal asked, twirling his hoof around. "A hundred meters?"

Radar laughed and rolled back his head. "No, Nimbo! I've seen it and it's about two thousand meters, give or take some hundreds."

Everyone else looked at each other, straightening themselves on their chairs, and staying silent.

"Yes, this bomb can take out most, if not all, of the Crystal Empire. It will kill Sombra, eliminate the mind control power of the Crystal armor, and free the Crystal population still alive."

Silence.

Shining stood up. "General Radar, this bomb of yours...if it's really that destructive..."

Radar nodded. "It is! I've tested it!"

"Tested it where?"

"In the deserts of Southern Equestria," he replied. "No one was living there, so I was free to drop prototypes of this thing."

Shining sighed. "Well...as much as I want to see the end of the war—"

Doors swung open, revealing a panting guard levitating a letter and an envelope.

"Prince Shining Armor! We have an emergency on our hooves! Sombra's putting out an experimental weapon and it flashed through the sky over the Badlands!"

"What?!" was everyone else's reply, including that of Radar who almost dropped his bomb at the news.

Shining trotted to the guard and grabbed the envelope.

"Reports are scarce, but the testimonies we got said it came from some unsanctioned airship," the guard went on, drenched in sweat. "I don't know if Sombra's getting his supplies from the black market or criminal organizations or—it's...what if...was that the only one there?! 'Cause I don't know—"

"Stop it," Shining ordered, agitated, opening the envelope and taking out its contents.

The contents were pictures and photographs of ash and the burned remains of said airship. The dead bodies of so many changelings plus several ponies—and that of a deer, too...

Radar gasped, but covered his mouth quickly.

Nimbo cast a glance at him. "You know those ponies?"

Radar shifted his eyes. "Uh, y-yes! They were my friends back in school! I do recognize them!"

Shining turned round to face Radar. "Funny that your friends ended up on the wrong side of the tracks." He tapped on one of the photos. "From the looks of it, they're all participating in illegal business...used to, until this."

Another general stood up, resting all his weight on the table. "Captain Shining Armor, if Sombra has a hold of a similar bomb, then that means Equestria is under an imminent threat!"

Whispers, murmurs arose from high command at the table. Several shoved their plates of biscuits aside, plopping stacks of papers and maps and plans and back-up plans and back-up plans for those back-up plans.

The doors swung open again, ushering a lovely Princess Cadance inside, wearing a concerned face. "What's happening here? Is there a problem?"

"It can't be possible," yet another general stated, rising from his seat. "It's extremely improbable that the both of us developed these bombs at the same time without any interference."

Shining held up a hoof toward his wife, facing at that general who just spoke. "Are you saying that Sombra stole our new bombs?"

Radar shook his head, still holding the bomb. "No, no! They haven't stolen any of it!"

"How are you so sure about that?" Nimbo asked. "Did you leave any bombs at the desert?"

"I got the rest of the bombs in the crate!"

Radar then proceeded to walk to the crate at the corner of the room.

"I counted them all too many times."

The whispers and murmurs became heated arguments, squabbles, bickerings—panic rising—

"Quiet, everypony!"

And everypony went quiet, looking at a frustrated Shining Armor.

Cadance stepped outside of the room, closing the doors with her magic as they glowed blue.

Shining breathed in, breathed out.

Silence.

Radar on one side, everyone else on the other.

He put his bomb down on the floor, his forelegs quivering.

"General Radar," Shining began in a low voice, "you have to explain yourself. If Sombra has acquired these bombs you invented, then we are in big trouble—that pony has no idea what kind of power he wields in his hooves. But, you said that all of your bombs are here, and I see no reason to believe that you're lying."

The guard gave Shining a sour look.

"Tell me the whole story, General Radar. I'm assuming that the airship was destroyed by one of your bombs. Was it an accident?"

Radar gulped. "Alright! I admit it! I'll tell all!"

The rest of high command took a collective step back, every one of them standing up from their seats if they had not already. Shining himself was the only one who kept his place, but even he recoiled.

"I asked for a three-week leave because I wanted to develop something that would finish this war as soon as possible, as quick as possible, as early as possible! The new bloods here don't know anything about the magnitude of what I had to face everyday at my post!"

Planted his hooves firmly on the rug.

"How do I break the news to families I myself broke because I had a lapse of judgment in strategy?! When those pacifists and other protesters and rioters ask me if I have a clean and good conscience after all of this? I've seen a lot of well-intentioned ponies go out to war with happy hearts and, in a week's time, they're cold, sober, and don't wanna talk to anybody—and I take responsibility for my actions! Multiply that by one full year, and you know what? You know what?! I don't want to to drag it on any further, which is why this—" pointed at the bomb on the floor "—will be what saves us from any more hurt, from any more pain! It will save me!"

"But, General Radar," Nimbo said, "don't you know how much collateral damage you'll cause if we strike at the Crystal Empire with that menace?! The civilian casualties—"

"There are no Crystal civilians!"

Radar kicked the bomb.

High command rushed to Radar, restraining him, while Shining galloped to the bomb and carried it away from the struggling general holding his hooves out to his creation.

"Are you insane?!" Shining yelled. "You could've killed all of us and Princess Luna! You could've burned down Canterlot, too!"

He placed it down carefully.

The generals, the admirals, and the marshals placed Radar down carefully.

That Radar got a hold of himself, breathing in then breathing out.

Sitting on the floor, facing them.

Shining budged his way to the front.

Between him and Radar, a little space.

Silence.

Tense silence.

A guard-driven carriage pulled a caged General Radar on Restaurant Row under the night, letting him smell all the dishes being prepared and cooked in those eateries. They made his mouth water but they never could lighten his face up from that perpetual pout.

It passed by a restaurant known as The Smoked Oat.

True to its name, it was smoky inside and there were oats on the food—well, oats were food. For a grill in an upper-class city, The Smoked Oat certainly did its best to stand out from the crowd of fancy—and, maybe presumptious—restaurants which were the usual fare of Canterlot inhabitants. Instead of lavish and expensive decorations and garnishes on the walls and ceilings, there were wooden tables and chairs and portraits of the staff; nothing more. The floor was wooden, too, and the brick walls wrapped up the diner's atmosphere.

The cooks were fast with their food, grilling and sometimes flipping their food high up in the air with their spatulas. It was a show where a small crowd gathered to watch them grill, taking in the quick sights, the sizzling sounds, and that aromatic whiff of grilled vegetables and—definitely—smoked oats.

At one table, over plates of almost burned oats and grilled cheese with glasses of water, a conversation was ongoing between three ponies.

"You heard the rumors circling around?" Twilight Velvet asked. "They say they found scuba-diving Crystals doing secret missions."

Night Light nodded, facing the other occupant at the table.

"That is surely a problem," Fancy Pants said before drinking some water. "I have not seen any of it on the news, however. Fairly recent?"

"It happened yesterday," Night Light replied.

"I apologize for not being ahead of our official news outlets," Fancy Pants said. "I desire to stand on pure facts before I get on with scubas and secrets." He cleared his throat. "What are the common details, though?"

"They're quite murky," Twilight Velvet answered. "What we know is that they're training for something big and unexpected. I don't know what that might be, but I'm not sure if they're going to ignore us. We're far away from the seas, but who knows? Maybe they'll get to the lakes and spy on us that way."

Fancy Pants looked bewildered. "Really?"

"They're always making new things to get an edge over us," Night Light said. "When we adopted Sunburst's artillery, they got some of it and made it their own. When we bundled grenades into one mega-grenade...thing, they got that idea and made their own mega-grenades. It's scary to think what they'll do when it's something original."

Fancy Pants nodded, levitated a fork, cut a slice of grilled cheese, scooped it up with his spoon, and ate it.

The two parents looked at each other.

"Have you reported it to any of the Princesses?" Fancy Pants asked. "I don't want to let them in on a false scent, but this has the ring of...genuineness to it."

He stood up.

"But, sir," Night Light spoke, pointing at the half-empty plate on the table, "you're not finished with your food!"

"That's alright," he said, smiling.

With that, Fancy Pants left The Smoked Oat and went out on the dark streets.

Fancy Pants passed by an hourglass-shaped house, glancing at the two busy mailponies at the mailbox.

Derpy and Special Delivery were talking as they closed it and took to flight, zipping past streetlights and carriages.

"Where are you going next?" Special Delivery asked.

"I'm going to the Everfree Forest!" was her cheerful answer.

"Again?! What did you say?! That place is...it's unnatural and—"

"But, I'm a mailpony and I deliver mail, so if I have mail for the Everfree Forest, then I must go there!"

"There's dangerous creatures out there! Evil monsters, cursed plants—aren't you afraid you might get hurt?"

"I've been a mailpony for years now," Derpy replied, "so, I know I can handle everything they will throw at me."

He scratched his head. "Come to think of it, who lives there? No normal pony would want to live there!"

"Which is why she's not a pony!"

He pulled his head back a little. "Oh? Then, who is she? Dragon?"

Derpy shook her head. "She's a magical zebra named Zecora! She's not a unicorn at all, but she can do spells!"

"OK. I trust that you can do it on your own, Derpy. If it's too hard for you, just try dropping the letter over her place...like, a mile over her place."

The two finally went out of Canterlot and they parted ways, waving at each other before disappearing from their sights.

Disturbing the Peace

Deep in the Everfree Forest at night, streaks of moonlight upon grassy patches.

Growth unchecked. Trees proliferated to a fault, their leaves and branches spreading and hanging with some drooping. Rocks with moss abundant, chirps and howls of different tunes, unimaginable smells, damp puddles and mud.

Then, the start of a short dirt path which ended only a few meters afterwards.

At the end, a hut made out of a hollowed tree. It was rather thick-barked, its trunk quite wide. The leaves sprouting out of the branches created ample shade while dangling from them were colorful jars and pots. Above the door hung a vibrant mask.

Derpy knocked the door, hovering over the wooden steps to the entrance. She glanced at her saddle bag, ready to give the package to whoever appeared.

The door opened.

A zebra stood there, wearing large golden earrings and golden rings stacked around her neck.

"Ah, a mailpony I do see! Have you brought the delivery?"

Derpy nodded and hoofed the package to her.

Zecora turned it around, checking the information written and stamped on it. "You've done well in your job. Now, go, for I must lodge."

"Thank you!"

The pegasus flew away in the mysterious forest, under those intangible beams of moonlight.

Zecora closed the door and walked farther inside her hut.

Carved out shelves of ingredients and potions, more vibrant masks of varying lengths and designs, candles and lanterns lighting up the abode in their dull yellow glows. At the center were two things: a cauldron where, currently, a magical mix was brewing and bubbling with a stirrer inside, and a complicated bamboo-made contraption where powders and bowls of water were placed at various points all converging down to one glass tube.

Zecora opened the package.

Inside, wrapped in a bouquet, were four pink flowers with tiny petals. Tied to it was a letter with hasty hoofwriting.

Zecora picked the bouquet up and read the letter.

She smiled. "Just as I expected from Sunburst and his fellow mages. These few nochtanns must wait, though, until the morning ages."

Zecora hobbled her way to a small bed by the window.

She placed the flowers and the letter on the empty part of a shelf.

Lied down on her bed and slept.

Next evening, Zecora was trotting down the sidewalk of a small town. Though the houses were average enough, by the time she reached the busier area filled with shops and stores, she saw a short line of ponies going inside the tallest building in the area.

It was an old-style building, filled with architectural curves and flourishes, colored mostly in brown and white.

Zecora followed the ponies entering and went inside.

She felt a breeze of cool air.

The lights inside were a welcome sight to eyes used to the night. The main area held a small group of ponies including a few Crystals. They were all discussing, talking over a long table.

Guards were stationed at each and every door and at each and every wall that could be seen.

Sunburst turned around and saw her. "Ah, yes, Zecora! Glad to meet you once again—and, are you done?!" He eyed the glass tube tied to her saddle bag. "That fast?!"

Some of his colleagues rushed to inspect the tube without touching it, admiring it from a little distance.

Zecora nodded. "To clarify, I did not rush in the slightest; it was merely a case of timing, not of who's the brightest."

Sunburst coughed. "Right, right, absolutely right. Let's move on to the experimenting and see how effective it'll be...shall we?"

Coughed again.

"You seem gravely unwell," Zecora blurted out. "Have you a disease or a sickly spell?"

"N-No, it's fine!" Sunburst said, putting on a grin. "Just a bad cold."

It was an average room.

Sort of.

A table where many of the researchers and mages waited at, observing Sunburst and Zecora talking to each other with a cardboard cutout of a frowning Crystal soldier decked out in full armor. Around them were closed windows and shelves containing usual laboratory apparatus: test tubes, bunsen burners, graduated cylinders, funnels, and what not. Also on those shelves were spell books, magical flowers, and bright potions.

"So, as much as we would like to talk about your progress on that memory-retrieval spell," Sunburst said, placing a firm hoof on her shoulder—to which Zecora gave a surprised face—"I'm afraid we have to get back to what's actual, to reality, to the real world that we're living in the here and now and not tomorrow—yes, tomorrow is coming in a few hours, folks!"

Zecora pushed his hoof away from her shoulder. "I fear that you are not of sound mind tonight. You should go to rest before you worsen your plight."

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Sunburst said, adjusting his glasses and cackling after. "You're just seeing, uh, my personality! We haven't spent much time with each other because...you know, you're in the Everfree Forest while I'm in Canterlot doing wizardly stuff—but, we're both doing it for Equestria, c-correct?!"

Zecora blinked. "I do not think this hour's personality is normal; your behavior—"

"Come on, guys!" Sunburst interrupted, turning round to his fellow mages at the table. "Let's experiment the experiment and test the...uh, experiment?"

They exchanged serious, nervous looks. Murmurs.

"Your behavior, right now, is beyond informal," Zecora said, eyeing him with a tough yet caring look. "I assume it is the lack of sleep which has made you mad in bounds and leaps."

A mare stood up from the table, having a tie and long and clean hair. "I agree with her, Sunburst. You should at least go to bed or, if Doctor Hickmane's still up, have an appointment with him immediately."

Sunburst opened his mouth but could not speak a word.

A stallion stood up, too. "I agree with both Zecora and Apple Polish. You are our leader precisely because you have a clear head. There are times when we wanted to tell you that you're just hurting yourself by staying up so late and that you're really slowing us down, but we were very fearful because—"

"OK!" Sunburst shouted, stomping his way toward the door. "I get it! But, as I've always said: No rest for the wizardly!"

Then, he closed the door and disappeared.

Everyone at the table looked back at Zecora and the cardboard cutout.

"With him out of the way," Apple Polish said, "let us see your project in action."

Several ponies held up their notepads and quills.

Zecora grabbed the glass tube, poured out a muddy and gel-like substance, and rubbed it over the cardboard face.

The whole cutout glowed bright.

Poof.

In its place, a cardboard cutout of a smiling pony.

"That is good," Apple Polish said, levitating her quill down, preserving a neutral face. "Now, let's test it on a live subject with our regular volunteer."

A stallion raised his hoof and walked out of the scientific crowd.

He was a chubby Earth pony. His thick yellow hair was his most prominent aspect—his mane, his beard, and his tail under control by ponytails. The apparel on this stallion was a green vest and a red bandanna across his forehead. Above all, his cutie mark were two cattails and a sun.

Zecora smiled and approached him. "The famed Cattail of Hayseed Swamp, descendant of Mage Meadowbrook! I've heard of your abilities and prowess, plus your stint as a cook." She capped that one off with a sly giggle.

Cattail laughed with her. "You're overdoin' it, Zecora. I always thought you were the one with abilities and prowess."

Apple Polish's horn glowed and so did those of the other unicorns there. "Yes, it's nice for the both of you to meet, but we're on a schedule and we can save the pleasantries for later."

Cattail nodded before being hit with the combined blast of their magical beams, glowing bright.

When that glow subsided, he had a different look: purple hair, thicker eyebrows, and a mustache, not to mention a darker yellow coat.

"The best that we can do is a highly-convincing illusory spell," Apple Polish explained to Zecora from afar. "That's about the same level as that of the Crystal unicorns."

Zecora thought for a few sceonds.

Poured a bit more of that substance to her hoof.

Spread it over the stallion's face.

A few more seconds.

The glow covered him.

Zecora, along with most of the other ponies there, covered their eyes.

When it disappeared, there was Cattail back to his normal self.

Gasps and gulps abounded among the mages there.

"Better than I expected!" Cattail said, offering a hoofshake to the zebra.

Zecora accepted the offer, shaking his hoof. "I sincerely wish to work more closely with you. Perhaps together, that counterspell will come through."

Cattail nodded.

Cattail walked down the dark hallway, lit up by few candles and lanterns on the walls. He passed by several doors, all of them closed.

Except one near the end; it was slightly open.

At the end of the hallway, a grand portrait of a bearded scientist and mage loomed, holding a spell book with his forehooves. The nameplate underneath the portrait read "Solvent Plank, Seven-time Winner of the Noma Prize in Physics".

Cattail walked to the painting and turned to the right, entering the room with the open door.

Sunburst at his desk, reading and writing and re-reading and re-writing and re-re-reading and re-re-writing on his desk by the candlelight.

Which he snuffed at the door's creak.

"Agh!" Sunburst tumbled out of his chair. "Who are you and who could you possibly be?! Are you the security guard? I'll give you candy and my baked goods—don't steal my baked goods!"

"What?" Cattail grabbed a candle on the table underneath the painting and lit it up, revealing his face. "No, it's me! Cattail!"

Sunburst squinted despite his glasses. "You? Surely, you're not an imposter!"

"I'm not a spy," Cattail said. "Remember me? We've been working side-by-side for months now!"

"Ah, yes, yes!" Sunburst said, re-lighting his candle by the desk and illuminating his face.

Cattail went further inside and closed the door, glowering at the wizard.

In the darkness, there was not much to discern, but what could be seen somewhat clearly was a messy bed, a stack of books, many jars of potions along with other magical liquids, and deteriorating scrolls emanating a musty stench.

"Last time I saw a clock tonight, it was two in the morning," Cattail said, taking on a thoughtful voice. "How many times did we tell you about this bad habit? Sleepin' late, drinkin' all kinds of caffeine to stay awake? There's always tomorrow."

"What if they k-kill Princess Celestia before tomorrow?!" Sunburst said. "There won't be a tomorrow! Who'll raise the sun? There's Princess Luna...but what if they knock her down, too?! Nopony will raise the sun and the moon—it'll be total chaos, the Crystal armies will march right in and capture Canterlot—"

Cattail grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Snap out of it, Sunburst!"

The wizard's eyes rolled about, whirling in his dizziness. He jolted his head about, regaining his bearings.

Cattail let him go. "I'm tellin' you right now: you better go to sleep. You're not the only one running the team. We're all important, even if you're the leader and maybe the smartest of them all. Maybe." Gave him a sharp look. "You have us on your side, and seein' you act like this...it makes us feel like you don't trust the very ponies hired to assist you."

"But, if all of us sleep, then there's no progress made!" Sunburst said. "Do you want to find that counterspell?"

"We all do, Sunburst, but—"

"Then, while everyone's asleep and resting on their nice beds, I'm sacrificing all my time and effort in finding the counterspell! You don't know how many times I've had to memorize so many lists, read so many books—and, I enjoy them!—but, I have to do this because it's my duty!"

"Chill out!" Cattail said, taking a step back. "You...you really need some rest."

He walked toward the hallway outside.

"Oh, and what are you gonna do?" Sunburst quipped. "Are you going to tell the others about it?"

"They already know about it," he replied, holding the door handle. "You're quite noisy."

Cattail closed the door.

The train rattled, rumbling a little, but that was not enough to rouse the passengers to a fit of unease. In fact, the calm landscape of green hills and craggy mountains gave most of the ponies inside the carriages something mild and slow to think about.

It was almost a week later, and the team of mages, scientists, and other experts were riding along, protected and escorted by a small unit of guards around their seats. Zecora, Cattail, and a trembling yet smiling Sunburst were to be found resting among their number.

Some seats ahead, two ponies were arguing—one a ribboned mare and the other a hatted stallion.

"I'm not taking a tour!" the mare continued, flailing her hooves about. "I'd rather watch from far away, on top of a hill with a pair of binoculars. It's pointless to get the experience when you're dead a minute later."

"Honey, it's alright!" the stallion replied, doing his best to maintain a semblance of cheer. "If we're dead...well, on second thought, let's not think about that."

"Even in death, I have to pay money!" she said. "Funerals are expensive."

"Then, so much the better you want to become a soldier," he said. "What with your fear of getting hit, you also get huge discounts on burial expenses when you really get hit."

"Who said I wanted to enlist? I only said I was interested in seeing our honorable and patriotic ponies fight for a noble cause! I always told Chocolate Gum that our guards need some additional training, but he didn't listen. He always thinks I'm so 'cruel' to those good ponies, but who's laughing now? He ends up being one of the best fighters on the West Coast—to think he was OK with lazy guards before the war—"

"Can you quiet down?" he interrupted, lowering his voice. "Don't you know there are guards—no, certified soldiers here?"

"Let them hear me!" she yelled. "They got what they got, and they'll get it coming! They've got to thank ponies like me for sending them off to the front with so many farewells! It's as if you've forgotten about the many letters I write to them! It's not like I keep it a secret."

Then, a yellow pegasus guard walked up to the couple.

The stallion gulped.

"Misses," the guard said, "please restrain yourself. You are disturbing the peace."

She nodded. "Why, yes."

The guard moved back to his post with the mages and experts.

"That's not fair!" the stallion yelled. "You treat me, your husband, like I mean nothing to you, then some random guard comes by and tells you to be quiet, and you obey him like your whole life depended on it!"

"Not really," she said. "I felt like punching him in the face."

He glanced with clattering teeth at the guard watching them. "But, you didn't do it because you would go to jail straight after?"

"No. I didn't do it because I love you."

He placed his hooves on his head, confused. "That doesn't make sense! Help me out here—how does that mean you love me?"

The guard walked back to the couple. "Mister and misses, please restrain yourselves."

She stood up and pointed at him. "I won't restrain myself because what I've done and what I'm doing is for your good!"

Under a potential attack, the guard gulped and opened his wings. "Misses, if you don't refrain from your course of action, I will—"

"You have the heart to refrain from hurting me!" the mare shot back at him, shoving her husband to the window and walking to the guard.

Almost everyone else looked upon this unfolding scene. Another guard came to his aid.

"Without ponies like me," she rambled on, thrashing her hooves about in an attempt to make gestures, "you would not be in such a distinguished position in society! Everyone gives you adoration and poems and paintings, but that's because of ponies like me!"

"Ma'am!" the guard said, raising his voice yet staying cool. "If you do not sit down and act civil, you give us no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace."

The mare looked at the formidable foes she had before her.

She resigned, sitting down on her chair.

The two guards left the couple who had then descended into a little squabble.

"Getting hectic each day, huh?" the other guard said, adopting a casual tone with him as they walked back to the group of ponies they were protecting. "Flash Sentry, I'm glad we've got ponies like you here and not there."

Flash Sentry nodded. "Yeah, Beta. I'm glad about that."

He did frown a little, though.

Looked out the window, seeing the rushing and blurring landscape.

A sign hung under the wooden canopy of the train station, reading: "Welcome to Cornhusker! Built during the Great Crystal War! Never taken!"

The first passengers out of the train was the team of research mages accompanied by their armored guards, walking inside the station, staying inside for a minute as papers were approved and identities were confirmed, walking outside and beholding the sight of vast cornfields with the occasional barn sprucing the town up.

Most of the town's buildings—its tiny apartments, its small stores, and its big warehouses—were another minute's walk away.

Flash Sentry, with his fellow guards, escorted the civilians on their way.

Felt a tap on his shoulders.

Turned around.

Saw another pegasus hovering almost behind him, this one wearing a bowtie. "There's someone who wants to see you back at the station. Looks like a lieutenant to me. He's talking about next month's batch of newbies and boot camp and...other things like that."

Flash Sentry, still walking and escorting, looked puzzled. "Why me?"

"Don't know. Probably because you're the only he recognizes—and, don't worry, I already sent one of our guards to take your place."

So, Flash Sentry followed the bowtied pegasus back to the station.

A Civilian's Last Day

Three weeks later

The clock struck eleven o' clock in the evening over the one and only plaza in Cornhusker.

At such a late hour, there were barely any ponies left wandering around on the streets. Those up and awake outside, besides the guards who stood vigilant and watchful whether they had eye bags of strain or not, were the ponies galloping or flying back to their homes as they received gloomy looks from the more active soldiers there.

Streetlights were not abundant; about three per street was all there was. The buildings did not have many lights themselves, only containing mere light bulbs inside and the occasional neon sign for some low-end diner or an always-open weapons shop.

A cold night.

Flash Sentry flew up to a small house by an intersection, right beside a corn field. After hovering over the stone path across the front yard, he knocked on the door and landed.

Seconds. Hoofsteps.

A muffled talk. A short talk.

The door opened.

Against the bright lights emanated from a lamp collection by the hallway, a brown unicorn.

Flash Sentry took up his list, scanning down to a wrench cutie mark. "Uh-huh. You're Silver Spanner, correct?"

She nodded, glancing behind her. "Yeah, that's me."

"Not that young," he went on, "but you still fit the age range for the draft."

Spanner sighed. "I had a feeling I was next."

Flash closed his eyes, tilting his head down.

"I already said my goodbye's to my Mom and Dad," she said, stepping out of the house and closing the door behind her. "They'll be the ones to continue the scrapping business until I come home or find somepony else with a talent like mine."

Flash opened his eyes and nodded.

They trotted out of the yard and on to the lone path toward the train station, walled on both sides by acres of cornfields.

Under the cold, quiet night; under the glistening moonlight.

In the moving train, dozens of ponies filled the seats under flashy lights, chatting with each other. Some smiled at the prospect of going to war, others frowned at that very same prospect. Some held a sober face, showing no obvious emotion.

Guards were here, too. They were at each end of the carriage and at the middle.

None of the guards participated in any of the chatting going on.

Silver Spanner looked out the window and saw the dark, peaceful scenery pass by her.

Over there was a tree. A lonely tree surrounded by grass and flowers. Its silhouette figured in the night. Seconds later, it was gone and the next thing to look at was a house on a hill. Its lights were off and the chimney spouted out smoke. That house was soon gone, too, and then it was merely greenery. Hills and plains, grass and flowers—mile after mile.

"Are you OK?" a voice behind her asked.

Spanner turned away from the window and looked at the Crystal pony sitting beside her.

"I think so, Macnam," she said.

He snorted, wearing a sarcastic smile. "I know that trick. You're not really OK, are you?'

Spanner looked back through the window. "Yeah, I'm not."

A silence.

"It can't be that hard to see why. Did you live with your parents? Do you have many friends back at home?"

"Do you ask that to everyone you meet?" she said, slightly growling.

"No, but...like I said, it's not that hard to see why you're so blue."

Silence.

Spanner turned back around to Macnam. "Just because you think it out rationally—that doesn't take the pain away. I can't just write letters—I need someone with me."

"I'm here," he said, pointing to himself. "I know we just met five minutes ago, but we could be friends forged in the fire, surviving everything together and protecting each other."

"How do you know we'll survive everything?" she asked back. "We haven't even received military training yet!"

"That's the purpose of boot camp—"

"That's not the point!"

Macnam closed his mouth.

"The point is...it's if any of us survive, if any of us live to end this fighting."

"Wars usually don't last a very long time," he said. "So, you don't have to worry about that."

"I mean...what if we get hit by an arrow? Or a cannon? Or any other lethal thing?!"

"It's the price of defending a good land," Macnam answered, letting his orange mane sway. "I'd like to see the Crystal Empire back when it was under a kind and loving ruler...those days of Princess Amore." Eyes becoming cloudy. "But, at this point, I don't mind seeing it destroyed if it means ridding the world of Sombra."

"So, it's all Sombra's fault!"

Spanner turned back to the window.

Macnam turned away from her.

They trotted, could not see much though they heard a lot—hoofsteps around them.

The non-existent smell of dry, rough dirt.

Dirt. Little grass.

Glaring lights.

They could not see much else.

"Get inside!" a voice boomed out from ahead of them.

As they followed in straight lines, multiple files.

Closer to a huge metal door.

It was open, there were lights inside, but they could not see much.

The lights outside illuminating the path blinded everything else.

"Are you trying to make me look bad?! Get inside!"

Flash Sentry and a mustached pony sat at opposite sides of the table.

Minimal decoration in this small room. One light, three maps, four cans, two jars, ten books, four chairs, five folders, three quills, three inkwells, one notebook, two scrolls.

Brown walls, brown floor, yellow ceiling.

One wooden door.

The mustached pony sprayed some moss-scented cologne on himself.

Flash Sentry blinked.

He looked at the nameplate on the table again.

Sergeant Hoof Drill.

"Took you quite a while," the officer said, taking off his camouflage cap. "But, I can't complain about something I can't change anymore. Yet...you must use all legitimate means to round the next batch up when their time comes, hm?"

Flash Sentry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. At least you've remained obedient. You've been in this service years before and you're better off than the most stressed out recruits these days."

He pushed his nameplate a little to the left.

"It's unbelievable. You didn't face half the rigor they confront today...if only everypony was like you, Flash Sentry. Judging from reports and indirect mentions about you, I should be using you as a role model for these new faces. Imagine it all!"

He cleared his throat, and then, in a snooty accent:

"'You clearly don't know what real discipline is like! Your parents did things like time out's and no sweets? That's nothing compared to what we have in store for you scaredy-ponies! Now, I want you to follow everything I say—no questions, no exceptions!'"

He let out a mad grunt.

"'If only you knew who Flash Sentry was—ah, yes, Flash Sentry! Although he has never obtained a specialist role in his squad, there is one thing to imitate from him: obedience! Total obedience, total servitude! You snobbish ponies always have your own little issues and arguments about what color should your mane be—this fine young stallion does not say a word whether he is told to dye his mane blue, yellow, white, black, or even pink! If it makes him more effective as a soldier on the field, then he shall take it!'"

Flash Sentry smiled, although he did not laugh at the absurd example.

"Now, here are some numbers about the base," Hoof Drill said, giving a folder to him. "Send it to high command in Canterlot and worry about yourself. I'll be the one to shape up these ponies into efficient warriors for the good of Equestria."

The two rose from their chairs.

Flash Sentry stretched a hoof to his forehead.

Hoof Drill returned the salute.

"Go, Private."

And, he was out of the little office.

Resocialization

Hoof Drill looked out one of the windows.

Dark, but a glimmer of bright blue far ahead. Stars twinkling away, fading out; the moon close to the mountains.

He looked at his watch.

The second hand ticked higher, climbing its way to the top.

Then, the minute was over.

"Five-thirty."

He faced the open door through which he could see the large hall of beds and their sleeping occupants. More than a few were snoring loud and clear.

Hoof Drill held up a bugle.

Blew on it.

Thunderous notes, blaring brass.

Many jumped out of their beds, scrambling then shouting—or, shouting then scrambling. A lot covered their ears, screaming at the "crazy guy" to stop the annoying performance. Others cowered under their beds, shuddering and shivering in fear. Those who were left sleeping rolled around on their beds, trying to muffle out the noise by covering their ears with their pillows.

"Attention!"

About ten ponies stood up straight and walked to the side of their beds, looking ahead.

Another pony coughed and waved a hoof before his nose. "What is that smell?!"

Everyone else—scrambling, shouting, or still insisting on sleep.

"Attention!"

Everyone else got up and made straight lines.

No smiles, no frowns, no smirks, no pouts.

Hoofsteps echoed through that spacious hall. Little sunlight could be seen through the small windows, and, besides the beds, there was nothing else to take note of other than lights that had been turned off hours ago.

Hoof Drill walked slowly, passing by each recruit with their stoic faces or their attempts at them.

"I am your drill instructor, Sergeant Hoof Drill, and I offer you no apologies whatsoever for the wake-up call!"

Guttural, grating was his speech as those shouted words reverberated across the whole chamber.

"Whether you volunteered or not—it doesn't matter! Over the course of three to four weeks, we'll turn you from confused and helpless no-goodies to competent and proficient soldiers fit for the E.U.P. Guard! By the end of training, you will make the Princesses proud as you will be qualified for missions at the front, fighting off the Crystal Terror in the North and wherever else it may pop up!"

A shaky stallion raised his hoof up. "Uh, sir, may I—"

"No, you may not, turtle pony!" Hoof Drill yelled, flicking the blue bangs of the "turtle pony's" hair. "You may not eat, drink, or sleep until you are fully and duly authorized to do so!"

"Ah...uh, yes, sir!"

He saluted the officer.

Hoof Drill slapped the stretched hoof away. "I am not just a 'sir'! I'm a sergeant, and you will address me as 'Sergeant Hoof Drill'! Do you understand?!"

The recruit's whole green and blue body trembled. "Uh, y-yes, sir—uh, I m-mean, s-sergeant!"

Glanced at his companions on his left and right.

They were looking back at him.

"What are you, anyway?" Hoof Drill went on, examining the pony before him, inclining his head to see his hair more closely, and now his teeth. "You took care of turtles for a living, eh?"

"Uh, n-no—it's actually a symbol for—"

"I could turn turtles into a symbol for running around in circles until you fall down flat to the floor and hurt your face and go right to the clinic. Any ninth-rate philosopher could do that—ha! Are you a ninth-rate philosopher by any chance?"

"I d-didn't know there's such a th-thing as—"

"Well, there's such a thing now!" He stomped the floor, cracking it a little. "For your disobedience and insubordination against the order of this base—" pointed at the cracks "—I command you to fix the floor."

"B-But, I d-don't know—"

"Ignorance is no excuse! You should've read up on it before you came here!"

"But, I was d-drafted—"

"You had a week's notice, am I not correct?"

"Y-Yes, s-sir—"

"Sergeant!"

"Sergeant, y-yes, but—"

"And, what did you do during that time? Did you go around and flit about in the flowers while countless ponies who could've used your help went without?"

Felt the sweat on his face, going down to his neck. "W-Well, n-not exactly—"

"But generally so! Hm!"

Hoof Drill turned around and pointed a hoof at the fearful pony.

"This is what will happen to you if you don't take this fight seriously! A young stallion who has no experience with how the world truly works! What does he do? He's happy in his job—whatever it may be. Did he toil for it, risk his entire life on its success or failure? No!"

He stomped, cracking the floor again.

"Complacency, complacency! That is what the kingdom was tumbling down into and it took a war to get us in the right direction! Everypony is rich, but nopony is capable to defend themselves! Hmph! If only every single one of you cared!"

He smashed a tile into a million pieces.

Hoof Drill gave everyone a hard, silent look.

"If it weren't for ponies like him—" pointed at the blue-haired stallion "—then you would go straight to the first part of training! Instead, you must clean the mess he started by fixing up the floor!"

"But, sir—"

"'Sir'?!" Hoof Drill turned around to face the stallion again, and smacked a hoof on the poor pony's nose. "Didn't I tell you to call me 'Sergeant'?!"

He crushed another floor tile.

"Four tasks for the batch to do because of you and your questions—"

"But, if we don't ask questions—"

"Interrupting me while I'm talking?!" Hoof Drill howled at him, pointing a hoof at himself. "This is unheard of! What a brat! A rascal!"

He proceeded to smash ten more tiles.

His audience of recruits just watched him, sustaining calm faces and mild expressions as he destroyed a good part of the floor.

Hoof Drill finished, then trotted to the pony.

"You'll get it, Sandbar—ah, yes, I know your name and the names of all of your friends! Hm? You think that I'm being unreasonable, that I have a bad temper? Back in my day, I didn't have defiant rookies to deal with! If only you and your peers knew the destruction you yourselves are causing to Equestria without knowing it!"

Hoof Drill then took out a clipboard and cleared his throat.

"I will tell you the schedule of your stay here in training. Today, Day One, you'll have your breakfast at six o' clock and then have physical training at six forty-five along with how to wear your uniform properly. After that, you will go to Room 153 to learn about the Virtues of the Guard—which you should have studied up and learned before-hoof, but a little refresh won't hurt. Then, at nine o'clock, you will learn how to manage your personal quarters for thirty minutes and then training resumes. After that,..."

Sandbar sighed.

Saw the glances aimed at him.

Did his best to skulk there, to hide his face from their bitter looks.

At a long hallway, there was an equally long line of ponies.

Past a lot of lockers and a lot of doors and a lot of lights, there were two unicorns at the end who fired beams at the last pony in line. Their coat changed to white or gray or brown, and their hair to white or black or gray or blue—they depended on the characteristics of the pony's given job and squad on the clipboard one of those unicorns was holding and reading.

Sandbar shivered, each step taking him closer and closer to that change of coat.

"Don't worry," said the pony behind him.

He looked around.

A Crystal pony waved at him. "It's not permanent, but you'll wear it for a long time—"

"Who said you could talk out of place?!" a gruff voice cried out.

Hoof Drill trotted up to the Crystal pony and smashed the floor tile before him, crumpling it and tearing it to a million more pieces.

Gave a mop to a confused Macnam. "Now, tidy up that mess!"

Macnam then went on wiping that one tile with the mop, doing nothing but just shuffling those bits and pebbles about.

"I will show you pathetic ponies how to fix a bed!"

Hoof Drill was standing in front of lines of standing ponies.

Of white or gray or brown, wearing their armor and helmets.

Beside him, a messy bed.

Other than that, nothing and nobody else in the wide room.

Hoof Drill picked up a large bed sheet, held it at one of its corners.

"First, you must spread this sheet over on the bed and place the corners of the sheet at the corners of the mattress. Like this!"

He grabbed one corner, put it down under the mattress at a corner.

Another corner, under the mattress at another corner.

Third corner, at the mattress's third corner.

Final corner, mattress's final corner.

The result was a flat, nice mattress with a flat, nice sheet.

The crowd murmured among themselves, some smiling.

"I didn't order you to cheer for me! Everypony here should know this technique by now! You could've asked the guards stationed at your towns, but it never crossed your mind, eh?! Now, to the next step!"

Hoof Drill placed both his front hooves at the edge of the mattress, one near the bottom and one at the surface. Then, with his near bottom hoof, he lifted the sheet slowly, his surface hoof being the weight on the mattress.

A little triangle from the sheet dangled out of the bed.

He placed that little triangle back into the mattress.

Let the rest of the sheet hang off the mattress at that side at an acute angle.

Then, placed that part of the sheet back under the mattress.

Hoof Drill finally went back to standing on his four hooves and faced the recruits. "What you've just seen is a hospital corner! Keep that in mind or I'll kick you down to a real hospital—but, we're not done!"

He picked up another sheet, thinner than the previous one.

"Spread it over the mattress like you did with the first sheet!"

And, he did so, making sure that the corners were tucked under the mattress tightly.

"Finally, blankets!"

He pulled out a blanket and spread it over the mattress like the two sheets before it. He then adjusted it, making a little space between the edges of the blanket and those of the second sheet.

There it was, a fixed bed.

"Don't cheer!" Hoof Drill shouted. "I should only be cheered if I save your lives in actual combat! That takes lots of courage, which I doubt you have...but, who would like to volunteer and present to me how good they are at fixing a bed?"

Everyone else shifted their eyes about, looking everywhere but the instructor and his neat bed.

"Then, I shall draft a volunteer for the difficult feat of arranging a bed!"

Several groans were heard.

"What?! Complaints?! Who told you that you could make public your complaints, hm?!"

A quiet night back at the large hall of beds.

Sandbar was lying on his bed—it had the hospital corner and all, which is a good thing.

He could not see much in the darkness. The random lantern hung about on the walls and from the ceiling, but it was like trying to get some candles to light up a city. Those specks of light were merely there, illuminating little else than themselves.

He also saw his gray hoof, his gray coat.

There was no snoring.

He turned his head to the left, seeing a brown mare sleeping.

"Psst!"

Silver Spanner still asleep.

"Psst!"

Still asleep.

"Psst!"

"Would you be quiet?!" she whispered, her eyes still closed. "I'm trying to get some shut eye!"

"But, I don't feel like sleeping and Macnam's a hard one to wake up." He glanced at the gray Crystal pony on his right.

"Do you want to get in trouble?" she muttered, barely audible.

"N-No, but..."

He trailed off.

Silver Spanner was asleep once more.

Sandbar turned his head toward the ceiling.

A lantern above him. A bright, yellow lantern.

He closed his eyes, tried to sleep.

A line of unicorns stood at the shooting range, and Silver Spanner was among them.

The range was a polished facility, its walls shiny, and even the scrolls on the shelves were dust-free. Officers supervised this part of training, observing as many ponies as they can.

The pony in front of her trotted away from his stand and she walked up to it.

A target popped up.

She charged up her horn which glowed.

Fired a beam at it, making a swip! sound.

It hit.

The target bent down and disappeared.

Another target went up.

She fired at it with that same swip! sound.

It hit.

That target went down.

"Heh. I'm getting the hang of it."

Another target popped up.

Fired.

It hit.

Yet another target.

Fired.

It hit.

Another.

Fired.

It hit.

Silver Spanner smiled, seeing her part of the range clean of any activated targets.

Another night.

In the dark hallways of the base, that mare walked around, wearing a little flashlight on her head, on her white mane, hearing nothing but her echoing hoofsteps.

She could see lockers and double doors. A room was lighted up and she could hear conversations from the inside.

Spanner passed by those doors, slowing down her pace and catching a glimpse of what was being said.

"...go here, and these platoons stay here."

"I still say we should have an aggressive attack all the way. We've already bombed their supply lines dozens of times last week. There's no way they could bolster their forces here this long."

"But, remember the reports about the tunnel lines I just received five minutes ago."

A plop on a table.

"Well, do our air squads know about it? They already know how to take out these structures."

"But, he said those tunnels are lined with steel they stole from..."

Spanner was away, back into the corridor's darkness.

Another night.

Silver Spanner was writing a letter, standing on the side of her bed.

Around her, muted noise. While the rest of the platoon was engaging in talk, they spoke in hushed voices, sometimes glancing at the doors at the end of the hallway with a fearful dread.

She completed the letter and placed it at the trunk in front of the bed.

"Psst!"

Spanner groaned. "What is it, Sandbar?"

He walked up to her. "So, you're a unicorn, right?"

"Who else could I be?" she asked in deadpan. "A griffon?"

Sandbar gulped. "Yeah. Right."

"What is it?" she said, fixing her blanket. "It's ten to nine and I need all I could get to prepare for what they have tomorrow."

"Hoof-to-hoof combat?"

"Good. You memorized the schedule."

He smiled. "Thanks, and—"

"I was being sarcastic. It's spear combat."

His smile was gone.

The two of them went to their beds.

It was a sunny day on these grass fields.

Spanner, Sandbar, and Macnam hopped over the tires and ran to a wall.

The two stallions carried the mare up to the top.

She landed on the wooden platform there and threw her hooves toward Sandbar who was then being carried by Macnam.

Sandbar crashed to the floor. "Woah!" He shook his head. "That hurt!"

She grabbed him.

"Wait. What are you doing—"

Held his hind legs and hung him down the wall.

"Help!"

"You're supposed to pull Macnam up!" Spanner shouted, struggling to maintain her grip on him. "Hurry up!"

He extended his hooves, his vision getting blurry.

"What's going on?!" Spanner yelled.

"I'm trying, but he's too far—"

Felt the grip on his forehooves.

"Got it, Spanner!" Macnam shouted.

"OK!" Spanner replied, looking down at him. "Sandbar, get ready!"

"Ready for what now?!"

Then, pulled up the wall with Macnam in tow, screaming all the way back to the platform.

Flopped to the floor, bringing Spanner down with him.

Three ponies lying around and a little hurt.

Hoof Drill walked up to them and turned off his stopwatch. "Could've been faster. Your performance at the balancing section was sub-par, you crawled through the mud very slowly, and, here, at the wall, it was a unicorn who did the heavy work pulling her friends up. Embarrassing for you two Earth ponies, huh?"

He smirked.

The three of them strained to stand up on their four hooves.

"Faster, ponies, faster!" he roared at them. "The rest of your buddies are waiting for you!"

"What's wrong?" Flash Sentry asked Hoof Drill, the both of them seated back in that little office.

The sergeant sprayed more of that moss cologne on himself. "We had to delay the shave to the second-to-last day of training. It was exhausting to get them totally obedient with those manestyles they're rocking—it's a small thing, but, sometimes, it's the small things that count."

Flash nodded. "But, the razors are here."

"Yes, they are—and, a day before they go up to the frontline. It's hazardous—what if those ponies don't recognize each other because of their manecuts? Short-term loss for long-term gain, that's what I'll say to calm myself down."

Flash noted the calendar on the table. "So, tomorrow's the month's big push?"

"You, of all ponies, should know," he said, grinning afterwards. "Colonel Solenoid's received his orders from Captain Shining, so it's only a matter of coordinating with him and ensuring they coordinate with us."

Flash rested a foreleg on the table, laid-back.

"Something bothering you, private?" Hoof Drill asked.

He shook his head. "Just...thinking about what to do when those press ponies come here."

"You'll be fine," he said, making his voice a bit more compassionate. "It's a simple thing: Tell them to report as usual, to pay attention to the censors, and then, when they're out and about, watch them. You said they'll be moving to Sarcidano the next day?"

Flash nodded.

"Opposite of common sense. When the battle gets rough, they get to the meanest parts of the battle. Probably not their fault, is it?"

"They told me their boss, Print Run, is sending them here for that reason."

"As I expected." He rubbed his forehead. "And they say we're the bad guys. If I was a journalist myself, I would run to his firm and expose him for the greedy pony he is!"

Hoof Drill banged a hoof on the table.

Calmed down.

"After this, you'll be spending the weekend back in Canterlot?"

Flash nodded. "I've had enough of being near death."

Hoof Drill smirked. "Why did you ask to be a guard, then?"

"I mean, nearer to death than usual, sir."

Silence.

The smell of moss lingered in the air.

"Are you proud of your new platoon?"

Hoof Drill blinked. "Me? Why, yes—I've always said that you need more than enough patience to bear a group of whiny trainees, even more when high command asks me to shorten a twelve-week training course to almost a month. But, look at me—I did it."

Flash nodded. "Yes, you did."

Hoof Drill looked at the little clock on the table. "It's getting awfully late for your bedtime. Go to sleep and...I hope I'll see you at the end of the push. Maybe we'll be lying on new beds for a change, hm?"

Flash could not withhold a short laugh.

The two of them stood up.

Private saluted the officer.

Sergeant returned it.

Flash Sentry then flew out.

La Calamité

"...so, you got all that?"

Eff Stop and Long Shot nodded at Flash Sentry, all three walking a dozen meters away from marching platoons in their battalion shaking the land with their steps and muddying the dirt with their set of hoofprints, moving onward through the valley.

A valley with no grass, no trees. Only dirt and rocks.

"Good," Flash said, opening his wings. "I gotta fly. Some errands to do before I return to Canterlot."

And, he did fly, leaving the press ponies on their own with the soldiers.

Those two marched along with them, silent and not asking a single question.

Lighthoof had been a respectable city. Its brooks and rivers winded through many streets, which made bridges an abundant resource here. Hills overlooking residential areas were not uncommon, and the variety of trees was more than enough to make a botanist gush over the hidden treasures in this urban field. Many parking lots, parks with lots of benches and trees and ponds—these provided wide open spaces where ponies could have played and talked and relaxed.

Of coruse, the key phrase here was "had been".

What once was a respectable city now was a ruin. Wreckage. Buildings torn apart, debris littered about the streets, those very same streets cracked and damaged. Streetlights and trees uprooted from their seemingly fixed positions, now lying down across some frontyard or backyard—and that, too, had only smidges of green, for the plants had been smashed or made desolate already.

Ravens and crows perched on the broken rooftops of a library. They cawed and abandoned their posts as the sounds of hoofsteps became louder.

Five ponies. Three guards wearing their armor, two press ponies holding on to their hats—well, at least Eff Stop could while hovering.

Long Shot looked upon the birds flying, set against the dark and cloudy sky. Her hooves touched upon the rough and bumpy road, sidestepping fallen debris like concrete chunks and toppled trees.

Stepped on a sharp rock.

"Ow!"

Held her hoof up and tightly covered the wound up with a bandage from her saddle bag.

"Hey, slowpoke!" Spanner yelled at her, standing atop a pile of concrete pieces. "You better get moving! Their scouts are quick to spot us, and we best get to suitable cover."

Long Shot trotted faster, wincing at each step with her cut hoof, trying to catch up with a flying Eff Stop.

The three-floor restaurant was deserted, in a great disarray.

Tables and chairs overturned, fridges and storage containers empty and void of anything edible. Trash and garbage strewn about, emitting a horrible stench. A white hat at the first step to the next story.

The second floor was in shambles, too. Potted plants had been knocked over, shelves had collapsed, and the windows at the facade had their glass panes shattered. Plenty of those fragments of glass were still scattered about, giving the ponies there cause to tiphoof their way around them.

Away from the sunlight, they finally rested, sitting on the only couch that was not totally devastated by either civilian panic or by martial weapons—for, over there, by the corner, was another couch but riddled with arrows shot deep into it.

Long Shot whirled her head around, drinking in the display of destruction before her. "Is it safe to talk—"

"Shush!" Macnam glared at her with mad eyes. "How long were you a war reporter, anyway?"

Eff Stop patted her on the head, looking at the Crystal pony with an anxious grin. "We're both doing double time. You see, we're supposed to be three, but Press Release fell into a cold this Monday."

"Nice excuse," Spanner blathered, leaning her head out of another wall's cover and getting a good view of the outside through the broken windows. "Don't use it again."

Eff Stop pursed his lips.

"Why exactly are we hiding out here?" Long Shot asked, nervous. "They said this is the big push that will change the course of the war."

Spanner chuckled without looking at her. "You're so naive, aren't you? How many big pushes did we have before this one? All of them were supposed to end it in two weeks."

"But, this could be the one!"

"Yeah, me, too," muttered Sandbar, sitting on the couch with sad hooves on his cheeks.

"Well, don't set your expectations high," she replied.

Spanner gasped.

"Get your head back!" she whispered, almost at normal volume—her face in fright. "I hear them!"

They pulled their heads back behind the wall.

Incoming gust.

Papers, leaves, rocks swept up outside.

Flaps of wings.

And, all they saw was the marred environment of the restaurant, lit by bleak sunlight.

"Why don't we just move?" Long Shot asked in a hushed voice. "We have lots of numbers."

"We don't know how many numbers they have," Macnam answered. "If they wipe us out, a thousand ponies down and for no good reason."

"Then, why don't we just bomb the city?"

"We've bombed it more than enough times," Spanner said. "We need to maintain as much of the infrastructure as possible while keeping and repairing key structures in the area. If this operation succeeds, this will be our new base where we can replenish our supplies—also, closer to the Crystal Empire and its walls. Fortify it, and we'll have reclaimed Lighthoof."

A sigh.

"It's a shame nopony lives here anymore."

"Yeah, a shame," Sandbar blurted out.

"Be cooperative, and it won't be a shame tomorrow," Spanner replied. "Or next week."

Then, half a minute of waiting on that couch.

Silence, except for the wind.

"I'll go check," Spanner said, hopping out of the couch. "Macnam, watch over the stairs. Sandbar, keep an eye on me and the press."

Macnam leaped to the start of the stairs and Sandbar stood up to take care of the seated civilians.

Spanner stepped carefully, doing her best to avoid snapping a floorboard or hurting herself with the shards of glass sprinkled about.

Finally, she crouched low, hiding under the open window while using a thick rug to shield her hooves from more piles of sharp shards.

She lifted her head up, obtaining a good vantage point of the outside.

Hit in the head by an arrow.

Fell limp to the floor.

Sandbar screamed.

Eff Stop jumped out and covered his mouth. "Get a hold of yourself!"

"It's an ambush!" Macnam whispered to them across the room. "Don't freak out and stay here! If we go outside, we'll be attacked on all sides!"

Long Shot shivered, holding on to her bag with a mean grip. "Tell my family I love them!"

"There won't be anypony to tell your family if we all keep shouting!" Macnam said, raising his voice but controlling his whisper. "Don't say a word, and we might get out of this alive!"

Sandbar shuddered, his armor clanking at his shuddering. He clattered his teeth, peeking at his spear holstered on his torso.

Harsh hoofsteps coming in.

Macnam steeled his stance, getting his spear out. "If it gets too much for me, run out of the windows and get to safety—and Sandbar, get here!"

Sandbar gulped, eyes shivering. "B-But, what if—"

Macnam howled, charging down the stairs.

Clinks of metal. Fighting on the ground floor.

"Y-You heard him, right?!" Sandbar yelled at the two other ponies there. "Lets' get outta' here!"

Three ponies running on the streets.

Dodging arrows.

Then, dodging rocks and arrows.

Catapulted rocks, then bigger stones and boulders.

Hopping sideways, avoiding debris and jumping into husks of what used to be homes, stores, offices, factories. Over tables, through door frames and windows.

Inside, outside, inside, outside.

To an open park of fallen trees.

"Sandbar!" Eff Stop yelled, flying as fast as he could while keeping up the pace with Long Shot. "This isn't a good place to—"

"I'm trying to live!" he yelled back at him, turning his head round to face the contrarian. "I'm a trained soldier, so I should know what to do and where to go and—"

Bumped into a standing tree and fell down.

"No!" Long Shot cried out. "What are we gonna do?! We can't just leave him out here!"

"He left a buddy back in the restaurant," he replied, picking him up with his forehooves while flapping his wings. "But, I have an idea."

"Put me down!" Sandbar screamed, scared while being propped up over huge swaths of land, Long Shot galloping below him on the broken roads. He struggled to get out of the pegasus's grip, wriggling his hooves about but to no avail. "This is embarrassing! Next thing you know, they'll laugh at me for being saved by some random reporter pony!"

"I'm not some random reporter pony, thank you very much!" Eff Stop replied, bothered. "And, would you stop moving around so much? You'll make this so much easier for the both of us!"

Sandbar looked down.

He screamed some more.

Arrows shot by, almost tearing through his mane.

"Whoops!" Eff Stop lowered himself down, still gliding a good distance over the ground. "Got too confident over there."

"You could've killed me!" Sandbar yelled.

"Could've. Now, stop your whining!"

Hiding under a bridge, sitting on the bed of a dried out river, the three of them hobbled close together, staying underneath the shadow of the stone passage overhead.

"I think we'll be safe here," Eff Stop said, feeling the water dripping from his hat. "Nopony gets their heads out in the open, and we'll be fine."

"But, for how long?" Long Shot asked, also wearing a wet hat."We can't possibly hang in here for weeks! I only brought enough food for...ten days!"

"Could I borrow some of that food?" Sandbar asked sheepishly.

Long Shot glared at him.

"Or...not, because I totally have, uh, food, too!"

He laughed nervously.

Eff Stop sighed, taking his hat out and wringing it clean from the soaking water. "The plan is, we stay here until our armies get control over this part of the city or until it's nighttime. Either way, we sneak our way to a friendly soldier, they recognize us, and we're home free."

"You're home free," Sandbar barged in, putting on grave turns of his lips, "but I'll remain here. Spanner's dead and Macnam..."

He looked at his forehooves with those eyes.

Those eyes that stared a million miles.

"Did I...did I just abandon a friend? Left him to die?"

A gaining whistle in the air.

Getting louder.

Sandbar gasped. "We need to get out of—"

Boom.

All buried in dirt and stone.

Routines

"Out, out, out!"

Long Shot kept running through the tunnel, Eff Stop flying by her side, the both of them strafing and avoiding the arrows flashing by them.

Crystal ponies lunged at them, though they deftly eluded their grasp.

Out of the tunnel, before them, a huge glass building in shattered tatters—its whole framework tainted by holes and dangling steel bars, most of it exposed by the space which used to have glass panes.

"Long Shot," Eff Stop said, grabbing her by the shoulder—redder eyes, "if we're going down, let's at least go down together. Do you have a note?"

She shook her head, whimpering and moaning while fumbling in her bag for something—a scrap of paper, perhaps.

"Nothing's going to solve itself!" Eff Stop yelled, patting her hard on the back of her neck and urging her on. "Let's go, let's go before he—"

They turned around, facing one.

Clothed with a flowing cape and metal armor, a silver crown around his head.

Fanged, red eyed.

"Sombra!"

They ran away.

Only for Sombra to reappear in front of them.

"Other way, other way!"

Their other way blocked by a black wall of crystal.

Left and right—walls of crystal.

Stepping forward, laughing maniacally—Sombra.

Out of the ground, he levitated two swords of black crystal.

Eff Stop hugged her tight.

Both clattering their teeth.

Sombra whacked him on the head with the first sword, scarring him on the cheek and knocking Eff Stop out.

"No!" Long Shot shrieked.

The tyrant before her merely laughed again at that, dropping the weapon.

Aimed the second sword at her.

Then, vaporized into shadow, screaming.

He vanished

In his place:

Luna.

Long Shot gasped. "A-Are you...d-did you just kill my—"

"No," was the Princess's short answer. "This is only a dream...or, to be more specific, a nightmare."

Long Shot exhaled easy. "So...I-I'm not dead?"

Luna nodded. "You are not."

Her horn glowed and the crystal walls disappeared.

"But, I don't understand," Long Shot said as the newspony and the diarch walked along a dirty but flowery path under a moonlit sky. Butterflies chirped the sounds of crickets and flamingos dined with toast on the open fields. "What y-you're saying is...I'm OK?"

"Mostly so," Luna said. "So is your friend, Eff Stop. It just so happened that, when the shell landed on the bridge, several squads were converging upon that spot and managed to detect you under the mound of dirt."

"Then, where am I?" Long Shot asked, then twitching her eyes as she noticed the change of smell from pleasant grass to aromatic butter. "Am I in a hospital?"

"About to be discharged," Luna replied.

"Which hospital?" she asked further.

"The one in Pony Island, in Bronclyn."

Long Shot gasped. "I'll wake up in Manehattan! But, Print Run's gonna get mad about us—"

Luna held up a hoof, signalling her to keep quiet. "Rest assured, if he insists that you go out once more to such a dangerous situation while you are not in the best of conditions...I could send a royal decree."

The Princess giggled at that.

"Is there anything else that you want to ask about before I go to other dreams?"

"There's nothing—wait..." Placed a hoof to her chin, wondering. Thinking hard. "Actually...do you know what happened to those three ponies we were with? Like...do the names of Silver Spanner, Sandbar, and Macnam ring a bell to you?"

Luna blinked.

Lowered her head.

"You've seen Spanner's corpse," Luna began. "Macnam was overwhelmed and died shortly after you left that restaurant. As for Sandbar, he is the only one left alive—as alright as you are, in fact."

Long Shot glanced away, closing her eyes.

Feeling the tears well up.

Luna wrapped a hoof around her neck.

The two of them on that dirty but flowery path under the moonlit sky. Gone were the toast-eating flamingos and the cricket-sounding butterflies.

Only grass around them.

While Long Shot trotted past gridlocked carriages, teeming crowds, and streaming supplies—all in the morning backdrop of skyscrapers, high-rises, and intermingled words and accents which, joined up, made no sense to her—the journalist did not pick up on a conversation between two pegasi wearing military uniforms; they were herding sheep into a huge warehouse by the harbor where the waters did not crash against it in waves but, rather, stayed calm.

"What did you have for breakfast?" Sassaflash, the blue one, casually asked the other.

"Salted beans and peanuts," replied Rainbowshine, that other, purple one.

She placed a hoof on her own cheek. "You're too harsh on yourself!"

"It's not that bad," Rainbowshine replied, staring at the perfect line of sheep being led into the warehouse. "If you tired some for yourself, it's...passable."

Applejack opened the large cage at the archway to Sweet Apple Acres.

Amidst the clangs and jangles of machinery working inside the brick barn, the sheep outside grouped themselves into a straight line, haltingly moving their way to the shearers busy with the sheep who came before them.

Among those shearers was Fluttershy whose pink tail had already been cut shorter than last time as well as her mane. Her hooves and her face were blemished with mud, and her drab beige clothes did not help her image. The sheep before her was almost done, with only little wool left to shave off.

She nervously looked at the new batch of sheep approaching.

And sighed.

Closed her eyes.

"Fluttershy!" Applejack yelled from beside the cage. "Focus on the job!"

Cherry Berry, a pink Earth pony, had found herself inside a dark and damp train carriage, surrounded by many bales of white and black wool.

The bumpy ride made her trip and fall, hitting herself on one of the bales and feeling its soft and fluffy surface while slightly injuring herself on the chin.

"Ow!"

"Hey," another voice yelled out, this one female, too. "Watch where you're going."

"Sorry." She stood up while dusting her now dirty legs. "It's taking me some time for my eyes to adjust to so much...darkness...on a daily basis."

"Remember the layout," the other mare quickly replied in a helpful tone: "The walls are lined with wool."

It was nighttime back in Bronclyn, Manehattan.

Which district? The Fashion District.

However, one must disregard the art deco skyscrapers, the plentiful parks, and the overall poorer look of this side of Manehattan, styled with more bricks and mortar than steel and glass despite fashion being its famed subject.

Three or four turns would land a tourist on a narrow two-laned street jam-packed with industrial structures. Smokestacks, chimneys, conveyor belts, assembly lines; do not forget the open cemented spaces where carriages and wagons are parked to obtain their cargo and haul to wherever—drivers stood at the ready.

Inside one of the factories here was a uniform mill. Carts of wool were wheeled to the main processing area where, in many dimly lit rooms and cubicles, ponies worked hard on producing bleak, colorless, and efficient uniforms. Stacks of raw wool laid beside stacks of completed uniforms, these before the neatly organized workers at their sewing stations each of which had a sewing machine, a pincushion, and a set of instructions on how to operate the sewing machine.

Rarity, one of those workers, was clothed in one of those mass-produced uniforms. Blue gray with buttons, sleeves, pockets—this was the uniform for the body. Blue gray, tied, wide—this was the uniform, the cap, for the head.

She wiped the sweat off of her forehead.

It was hot and humid here, garnering the collective sweat and heat of those ponies crammed into one room.

Her mane? Gone were those fine curls. That mane, corrupted with splitting ends and frizzes—her tail, too.

With yet another uniform done, fresh from the machine, she levitated off to one of those uniform stacks, ready to go to some citizen ready to fulfill his or her duty to Equestria and fight for the cause—surely, a noble cause.

Whether willing or unwilling.

In the afternoon, at the train station in Ponyville, a line of ponies ended on its wooden boarding platform. They did not mind the breakdown of the station—graying paint, invasive graffiti, decaying propaganda posters.

Sea Swirl, the next unicorn to enter the train, received her uniform from the guard in front of her, floating it with her purple aura instead of the guard's yellow. She turned around and trotted to the train, carrying a full and heavy sack on her back.

Before those wooden carriage doors closed, before she was fully inside, the train whistled and blew out lots of smoke, spreading everywhere.

But, the ponies did not cough at this, nor did they cover their noses to protect themselves from whatever harmful chemicals might be in the smoke.

The line moved.

"'Do not cry, my dear,
At the tip of a spear.
Better to die in dignity,
Than to live in scorned conceit.'

"For that is a poem written by one of General Firefly's contemporaries, Battery Fire, who, by the way, bears no relation to the general," a yellow stallion conveyed to the newbie soldiers at their seats.

The train rolled on, the grassy hills continuing in the landscapes past the windows.

"What I'm trying to say here is, whether you signed up for battle or were forced to do so, remind yourselves that this is for the greater good, for the good of Equestria."

Most of them looked elsewhere. Some gazed upon the beautiful outside, that one last glimpse of an outside of green and blue and yellow—the green of the bountiful grass and the lush plants, the blue of a sunny sky, and the yellow of that very sun. Others occupied themselves with looking at another pony as they conversed with them, revealing their secret pains, their hidden worries, those things that would prompt any creature to tears if pushed to it. Finally, there were those who merely looked, deep in thought as they mulled over what was to come, what was to arrive for them.

Therefore, that stallion, who went on with his speech which was supposed to encourage a new platoon of ponies, instead bored them.

Or worse, burdened them.

It was sunset.

Chocstown, a city by the bay, teemed with what was deemed "old architecture". Indeed, many of the buildings there had that design—thin houses with diagonal roofs squished against each other, spacious balconies where an entire party could be held, and shrubbery decorating the yards of even commercial establishments.

For the train Sea Swirl rode on, the last stop was at the end of land and the beginning of sea: Chocstown Piers.

Vast warehouses capable of storing thousands of multi-story tall racks and shelves which could themselves contain everything from the tiniest of laboratory samples to the biggest of catapults and cannons and "Sunburst's Famous Artillery Cannons!" one of which was put on display right before those warehouses, a sign depicting those words and a painting of a happy Sunburst complete with glasses.

At the ports proper, cargo ships were the majority here, although passenger ships for the soldiers were not lacking. Long lines of uniformed soldiers, mostly wearing gloomy expressions, simply waited to move up the ramp and to the ship. Those who were on the ship simply waited for the vessel to be full. For those with full ships, they simply waited for the ship to move.

But, something unusual was happening on the side. Two huge families were bickering with a blue dragon almost twice as tall as them, those arguing parties standing right at the edge of the port and near a large steamship.

"I was told there was something urgent!" Ember, that dragon, roared at them. "But, what do I get?! A bunch of obnoxious ponies too little to save themselves!"

"But, we made an agreement!" Big Daddy McColt shouted, raising his hooves to the air to make a point, although his height and his hat was not enough for it to be very convincing. "We promised to temporar'ly set aside our diff'rences to get to safety in yer' place!"

Ma Hooffield, an elderly brown mare with aging hair, stomped her hoof on the concrete. "What he said or you stay away from us!"

Ember snickered and crossed her arms. "Oh, so you think you're too tough for a dragon, huh? I live in the Dragon Lands and you think you're tough enough to just sleep in our territory?!"

Meanwhile, a robed unicorn with a goatee watched the whole affair unravel from afar, seeing the blue McColts, the brown Hooffields, and that single dragon duke it out in words.

The large clock on the wall struck ten in the evening.

That robed unicorn sat on a swivel chair, sipping a cup of coffee while tapping his hoof on the table.

His room was tremendous in size, and the imposing stone columns would immediately catch the attention of any visitor unaware of what this place had. Portraits of various ponies, including himself, graced the walls alongside statues and flower vases. Thick tomes took up the space of many bookshelves arranged in precise order. Secured collections of valuable antiques such as ancient helmets and maturing perfumes dotted much of the space that was left.

Finally, a red carpet led to the table where he sat under one light.

"It was a mistake," he said in his deep accent. "A serious, grave mistake. But, the dragons deceive only themselves, and so do the rest in their so-called 'help'."

Silence, the only sound echoing throughout being his voice and his hooftaps on the table.

"How many times have I advised the Princesses about this error? They, of all ponies, know the maxims of war and, among them, is this one: That a war should never be long, lest it should drain the kingdom waging war. Don't they know that these 'leaders' also have knowledge of that, too?"

He shook his head.

"We are exposing ourselves to a fatal spiral of death. Even if we gain the upper hoof in this conflict, we are purely an opportunity in the eyes of others—a prize, for a moment, achievable. The changelings, the Abysinnians, and the hippogriffs to the South, the dragons and the griffons to the West, and the yaks who are already within our borders! Once they see us weak and weary..."

Shook his head again, rubbing his forehead.

"It is a national disaster. If only ponies like us had more sway. If spoken principles alone won't bring the Princesses to realize their wrongs, then only action can set them aright!"

The double doors opened.

He stood up from his chair, trotted to Princess Celestia who had walked halfway on the carpet, and bowed down to her. "Your Highness."

Celestia smiled at him. "How many times do I have to tell ponies they don't have to kneel all the time?"

"It is only right and respectful, Princess Celestia," the unicorn said.

She nodded, her wavy mane moving with her. "You still sincerely see the value in it. That is always good...but, you can stand up already."

He stood up.

"So, what is the object of your sudden visit?" he asked.

Celestia removed her smile.

"To speak with you about an important topic, Chancellor Neighsay."

Debate and Books

The chancellor and the Princess sat across the desk.

It was a quiet room.

The clock ticked in its place.

Two minutes past ten.

"I've given you the dual role of Chancellor over the Equestria Education Association and of Secretary over the Department of Wartime Internal Affairs because I trusted you would do the right and sensible thing. It was, and still is, a delicate occupation, and, for much of your tenure, you did well and complied with everything—and, if you objected, you provided reasonable explanations and we listened and compromised whenever possible. But..."

She sighed.

"This is too much, too far, Neighsay. We cannot resort to lying to the populace in our public events and posters, much less slander the Crystal ponies who know no better."

"It is not slander and it certainly is not lying if the statements are true," Neighsay replied coolly. "Are they not a danger to us? Are they not a threat to us, to Equestria as we know it? These truths must be communicated to as many ponies as possible, if it is not already obvious and self-evident."

"However, you cannot call these poor Crystals 'mindless', 'insane' or even 'wicked'. It is also obvious and self-evident that they don't attack us willingly. You know as much as everyone else about how Sombra controls his subjects."

"Then, all the more reason to spread these hard truths," Neighsay responded. "The more ponies we can persuade to work directly against the enemy, the better."

"You're a thoughtful pony, Neighsay," Celestia said, eyeing him with a stressed eye. "I'm sure you've thought of the long-term consequences of what you're doing here. If we win the war and free the Crystals, all this hateful propaganda would influence our ponies to heap hostility upon them. They would mistreat the Crystals, abuse them, shout hurtful names at them—for something they did not intend to do at all."

"For they must learn their rightful place!" Neighsay answered, raising his voice and half-standing up from his comfy chair. "An evil committed out of ignorance—what is that to me? What matters is that the evil has been done, and the crime must be punished. The punishment must match the severity of the crime, and if that crime is war—stealing the lives of our fathers and mothers, of our sons and daughters, of our siblings and friends—such Equestrian animosity would not be enough to fulfill the required justice."

"Such animosity would only fuel the cycle of revenge," Celestia said. "A Crystal pony ostracized and resented by everyone around him would not feel a sense of justice but only a sense of hatred. He would ask himself, 'Why can't I live like the other ponies? Why can't I be treated like the others? Why can't I go through a single day without being called a 'mindless pony'?' He would see how unfair everything is, and what would stop him from planning his own war to wage on Equestria?—and, this time, it would be a virtuous war, since he would be fighting for the rights and privileges taken from him by us."

"It is only natural that the criminal hates punishment," Neighsay replied, putting himself back down on his chair. "A criminal who is not punished is a blight in the judicial system and in the moral system. And, Princess, before you say anything about giving them a milder punishment..." He placed a hoof on his robe, effecting a sympathetic face. "I am being gracious by extending to them another chance at life, for if it were up to a crueler pony, they would be executed on the spot."

"But, how much better is it than the death sentence?" Celestia asked, sounding a little pained. "To bear spiteful behavior directed against them for the rest of their lives—no ordinary pony, Crystal or Equestrian, could endure that without suffering irreversibly!"

"Are you saying that our ponies do not suffer irreversibly themselves?" Neighsay asked with raised eyebrows, with a voice of incredulity. "Families and friends gone wholesale because a Crystal pony decided to use a catapult out of sheer boredom! Our loved ones killed off, even when they aren't soldiers! Don't they who live suffer, too? They would never meet their companions again, and it is not their fault, but it is the fault of the ponies at the other side! Do you not hear our victims cry for justice, for retribution, for what's right?"

"I do hear their cries," Celestia said, "but this propaganda is counter-intuitive. Yes, it does instill patriotism in ponies, but at what cost? The Crystal ponies would only fight back harder, Sombra would have more reasons to vanquish us—since we hurled harmful insults at him and his soldiers—and our credibility before other kingdoms would take an awful dip when they see that we continue to use horrible libel."

"It is not slander or libel if it's the truth," Neighsay repeated. "However, I think that we shall go nowhere if we remain in the realm of propaganda and punishments, since you've brought up the matter of other kingdoms..."

Celestia nodded and placed a hoof on the table. "That is exactly the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Neighsay."

"With all due respect, Princess Celestia," he began—"it simply won't work!"

Celestia flicked her head backward, staring at the seething chancellor with both of his forehooves on the table.

"I've requested an audience with you to discuss this very matter and how this will work to our detriment! While it is our duty and our responsibility to stop an evil authoritarian empire from taking over the world, it is too much to expand our cause to help these non-ponies! You know that they do not place our welfare as a top priority, and if they want to take advantage of our kindness and generosity, then they will."

"But, when we give them our kindness and generosity," Celestia answered, "we also give them a chance to be better. It does not benefit any one of us to fight each other—the Crystal Empire is, in fact, an enemy that binds all of us together in a common cause."

"They are only fair-weather friends," Neighsay shot back. "Once we've all defeated Sombra and peace negotiations begin, they will see our land—depleted and spent. It only takes one ruler to send their troops to us and it is back to war. If we defeat them, another kingdom could strike, further weakening us—and, so the cycle goes until Equestria is too feeble to sustain itself and we are all captured."

"Have you considered that they also have relations and ties with each other?" Celestia asked back. "They also have to fear each other—they do not want to be called a warmonger, after all."

"It makes no difference if they team up to take us down or only involve themselves in their sole pursuits. If one of them wants to fight us, then that is more than enough reason to distrust them."

"Which is why I and my sister do our best to convince them that it's not a good idea to invade Equestria," Celestia replied. "Trade deals and agreements are already underway between us and the next Convocation of Creatures this coming month will finalize these policies. Don't you think this is a better world, Neighsay? A world where ponies and other creatures live together in peace and harmony, in friendship?"

"It is a utopia," Neighsay answered, brushing his hoof as a gesture. "And, as with all utopias, it is impossible. Unattainable. It is useless to work towards something beyond what can be done."

"But, we can try. It is only a utopia because no one else has tried their hoof at it. Besides, if you have any doubts, we control the sun and the moon." She chuckled at that. "It wouldn't be too hard to make sure everyone gets along with each other."

"It would be an extremely strenuous process," Neighsay said. "Even if it can be done, how long will it take? It takes many years for an entire kingdom or empire to change their perspectives and their interests so that they will serve us—not to mention the potential for many, many accidents that can happen along the way. It is not worth it."

"Who said that they'd have to serve us?" Celestia asked. "I do not want them to do everything for us. I only want them to live in unity with us. We would all be serving each other, helping everyone accomplish their benevolent goals."

Neighsay blinked at that, pausing for a second. "Do you believe that those dangerous creatures have benevolent goals? At best, they are pragmatic; at worst, they are downright evil. A dozen dragons would be enough to burn down the East Coast, an army of changelings could infiltrate our government and plunge it into chaos, all of the yak refugees could destroy several cities in their worse days by merely running—"

And inhaled.

"Needless to say, their powers and strengths are bad enough. It is best we keep them at bay or—even better—silence them for the greater good."

"Then, we would be the murderer of so many creatures," Celestia said. "Who would then exact justice upon us?"

"No," Neighsay said. "We would be the exacters of justice ourselves, as it were. We will have destroyed the evil before its birth, nipped the misery in the bud. Then, only then, would the world be free from the plague of iniquity."

"Even if I were to accept your view of non-ponies being causes of pain and suffering," Celestia retorted, "why should I not reform them? Surely, if their powers could be used for evil, then there is a way to use them for good—their rougher aspects could be used to help us win the war, for example, by letting changelings infiltrate the Crystal Empire for us."

"They are traitors to their own kind," Neighsay replied, "so why should we trust them when their bosses aren't changelings?"

"There is always a reason why they turn to us," Celestia said. "It's not always to drag us down. Perhaps, if you spend some time with them and talk to them once in a while, you'll find out that they flew all the way here to experience the plethora of freedoms we have here."

"Only for them to turn those freedoms against us!"

And raised his hoof in the air to emphasize his point.

"We must not give them any leverage whatsoever," he continued, slowly standing up from his chair. "We must not allow them to know how our methods work. We must not let them in, not even for a short period of time, because it is in our best interests to keep Equestria safe in any way possible."

"And let these innocent creatures languish in lifetimes of anguish and torment?" Celestia asked, raising an eyebrow and giving the chancellor a hesitant look. "It sounds very selfish of us, and is it not your duty and responsibility, as Chancellor of the Equestria Education Association, to teach young ponies the value of being, hm, generous to others?"

"Yes, your Highness," he replied, sliding the chair away, "but, you must understand, Princess, that there is a limit—you also know that you cannot be too generous lest you would make yourself susceptible to scams and frauds, garnering fake friends for yourself."

"So, you're saying that we should be generous to other ponies but not to other creatures because we know ponies will give us generosity in return—but those other creatures won't? What happened to doing good without expecting any reward? Our greatest heroes did what was right despite the odds."

"This is no time to dream about heroism!" Neighsay yelled. "The both of us know and everypony else knows about how such heroism can lead to disaster! Too many fresh graduates from the military academy ran up to the front of the battalions to get honor and medals, only to drop dead within the first ten seconds of the fight! I cannot grant such reckless thinking on our part, whether in the military or in the rest of our government."

"Galloping to the fight without making sure you're safe is reckless thinking," Celestia replied calmly, keeping her voice at that mellow level. "Being consistent with your moral principles is not reckless thinking. It's being ethically sound."

"You're getting off-topic!" Neighsay countered, moving his hooves about. "Being too generous is reckless thinking and—"

Celestia laid her hoof right before his face.

Neighsay gulped.

She retracted her hoof.

Celestia stood up.

"Before I came here, Neighsay, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps you were too enthusiastic. Maybe I misunderstood your letters and our prior dialogues. You could've been talking about something else entirely and I didn't know it—I thought that this was the time to clear up any confusion."

A pause.

"I wasn't wrong. This night cleared up every confusion in my head about you and what you want to implement. You believe non-ponies don't deserve the kinds of lives we lead because they are dangerous to us—that is the status quo, you say. But, what if I change that? Then, your argument falters."

Pause.

"Not only do you knowingly continue to produce lies in the form of propaganda—and I really want to call it something else, but that is the popular term—well, not only have you done that, but you also teach our colts and fillies those same lies as well."

"They aren't lies if they are—"

"These young ponies need the guidance of good teachers to interact with the world around them. It is up to the parents and teachers to give them a proper understanding of that world. If they're fed lies, then it is sad. They will blindly accept those lies and will live them out to their fullest extent, whether they realize it or not. And, if we show them the truth? Many will hold on to those lies and refuse to accept the truth."

Silence.

"Having you as Secretary of the Department of Wartime Internal Affairs was a mistake. Having you as Chancellor of the Equestria Education Association...it is a tragedy."

Neighsay took a step back. "Are you saying that...?"

Celestia nodded and several guards leaned their heads into view from the doors and marched inside.

Levitating chains.

"I am relieving you of your offices," she said, speaking quietly yet, on her face, a bitter look. "I, too, want to protect Equestria and keep it safe, but the ends do not justify the means."

Neighsay lowered a brow, glaring at Celestia.

Then, he bowed his head. "It is no use opposing you any further. I only hope that you are right, for if you are not—"

One final glower at the Princess.

"—you are to blame, your Highness."

Celestia nodded one more time.

The unicorn guards nodded back and cuffed the chancellor in chains.

Neighsay, caged and chained and in a wagon, was wheeled into the carriage of a train.

The last of Canterlot he saw was a somber street in the night, streetlights barely illuminating the roads and the sidewalks and many of its buildings darkened, adding up to a forlorn path glittering with the faint light of the moon.

The carriage doors closed.

Train whistled.

Smoke gushed out.

And, it was moving.

One of the ponies who had watched his leave was A.K. Yearling who had seen it from afar at one of the junctions.

"And, he's out. What's going on?"

Looked at her watch on her hoof.

Half-past ten.

In the cool morning, Yearling trotted her way to a park in the middle of the capital.

Its atmosphere was serene. Compared to the rush and hurry of ponies pulling in massive carriages of supplies from time to time, the park provided a welcome change of pace. Tranquil in its delights, it had what one would expect from an average park: trees, grass, benches, space, and a pond.

Birds chirped overhead.

"What a nice place," she commented. "I should go out more often in Canterlot. Gives me more particular descriptions of quiet places and breaks to use for whatever adventure's up next. If only I brought some additional paper with me..."

Heard the blare of fireworks in the air.

Jumped a bit and looked up.

In the blue sky, faded red and green.

"Is it a party?" she asked herself.

She trotted off toward the source of the fireworks.

Yearling rounded the corner of another street and, over there, not too far away, was a mare painting the wheels of her wagon brown, working by the front of a book store. An unhappy Well Read, that librarian inside, rested her head on the counter, eyeing Trixie with disdain at blocking much of her shop from sight.

The unicorn was wearing a colorful wizard's cape and a pointed wizard's hat.

Yearling squinted, approaching the magician. "You look familiar."

She turned around to face the writer, still floating the brush of brown paint as it glowed purple. "I should be familiar to you, for I am the Great and Powerful Trixie!"

With that, she kicked the carriage and fireworks shot out of it, exploding in the sky with their loud outbursts and their dazzling lights in spite of the bright morning sky.

"And, you must be Daring Do!" Trixie went on, pointing at her and smiling.

Yearling bit her lip. "Not really! I'm the author of the Daring Do series, but we do look alike because I based the character on myself."

Trixie nodded. "Yes, you do look very much alike." She resumed painting the wheels, though she kept facing Yearling. "Speaking of authors and books—how convenient that we are at a book store! I didn't quite catch the name, but if you want, I'll do a quick check and—"

"That won't be necessary," Yearling interrupted. "So, what books have you read lately?"

"Oh, there's this one book that I finished up over the winter. It's called 'Rivers and Streams' and it's a non-fiction book about—"

Yearling grabbed her, covered her mouth, and galloped inside the wagon with her in tow.

Encountering a Fluke

Closed the windows.

Locked the door.

Pinned Trixie against the wall.

Her wizard's hat fell.

"Hiding in plain sight?" Yearling said, rough—gnashed her teeth, pressing Trixie's forelegs on the wall. "Living as a traveling magician? Impressing ponies with your magic tricks? I should've known you were right under our noses all along!"

"Uh, I w-wasn't trying to hide!" Trixie squeaked out. "I didn't commit any felony—at least, not on purpose!"

"Where's your wardrobe?" Yearling asked.

"You want to steal my magician costume?"

"No! I'm looking for your cloaks!"

"I d-don't have any right now!" Trixie replied, shaking her head fast. "Are you some kind of a cloak cop or what?! I didn't know Canterlot had literal fashion police—"

"OK, what about your books?!"

"Books?!" Trixie gulped. "But, I don't have many books! Look, Miss Y-Yearling, if you want the Great and Powerful Trixie to buy your books, then this is not the best way—"

"'Rivers and Streams', Trixie!" Yearling yelled, releasing her grip. "That book! The one you told me about! Where is it?!"

Trixie screamed, then scampered to a little shelf on the wooden wall over her bed by the window, and threw a book at her.

Yearling caught it with her hoof.

Examined the cover.

Broke it open, flipped through the pages.

Closed it.

Adjusted her glasses.

"Did you finish the book?" Yearling asked, putting it inside her cloak.

"Yeah," Trixie said, slow from halfway across the one and only room. "I told you I finished it over the winter."

Yearling rubbed her head, making sick faces. "Alright, alright...we're still fine, we're still OK..."

Trixie tiphoofed to her. "What are you talking about? You sound crazy for an author—I mean, I'm assuming many writers go crazy because they have to hold all these threads and arcs together, and, you know—"

"Will you be quiet?!" Yearling shouted, almost flinging her glasses across the wagon. "You don't know what you're talking about, because..."

Took a deep breath.

"Well...you're definitely not the pony I'm looking for," Yearling said, wiping the sweat off of her face, facing Trixie with an apologetic look. "But, I need to take this book away from you. You know the gist of it? The contents? Did you cast any of the spells contained within?"

"I did some of the very basic ones on a couple of old clocks," Trixie replied, putting on a smug smile and picking up her hat. "I could do chrono spells now! Isn't that going to make the Great and Powerful Trixie a worthy rival for anypony who seeks my profession?"

"Don't!" Yearling cried out, reaching a hoof out to her—despairing. "Do your best to forget it!"

"Why, exactly?" Trixie asked. "It's not like I'll cast it on ponies. I don't have enough time to train for that."

"Then, that's good!" Glanced at the closed door, then back at her. "Listen. There's a unicorn roaming around Equestria. I have no idea who she is—all I know is that she's a unicorn. She has a copy of this book and...well, she also wears a cloak, so she's trying to keep everything about her secret. What does she want? I don't know, but it can't be good—why would she be hiding if it wasn't bad?"

Trixie was silent, looking at the writer with bewildered eyes.

"I'll burn the book. It's the only way to be sure it won't fall into the wrong hooves."

Yearling ran out of the wagon.

That daring author galloped past an open square where carts and stalls marketed their wares to the folks passing by. Ignoring their calls to buy their amazing products, she dashed, making sure to keep her violet cloak intact about her.

"Kites!" a voice called out. "Kites at astounding prices! We're half-off today and for today only!"

"No, thank you!" she shouted back before running away from the salespony's sight.

That salespony of kites looked back at the toys he was selling.

There were numerous kites in stock. Regular kites with their recgonizable diamond shapes, smaller and economical square kites for those in a budget, special kites sporting complicated designs which could cover half of a home's roof and provide enough shade for a dozen ponies. They all flew high in the sky, tied up to the wooden columns supporting his stall where he kept his cash and change.

The salespony himself was white in coat and white in hair. His blue eyes glimmered in the sunlight and past his glasses. He donned a white hat and a black mustache.

Sugar Belle, with her curly mane, trotted up to him, carrying a saddle bag with her—smiling. "So, I would like to buy a kite shaped like a diamond."

"You need to specify which one, ma'am," the salespony said, adjusting his hat a little. "I can't just give you anything."

"The one that looks all broken," she said, pointing to a shabby kite fixed up with lots of nails.

It flew erratically, always about to fall but then picking up speed at the last second.

"Strange choice," he said as he untied the kite from the table and gave the string to her. "So, how's your monocle collection going?"

"It just arrived," she said, keeping up her smile while levitating the string. "It's even on a carriage."

"Fancy, hm?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's very fancy. Later, I'll bring my friends to the party—no tuxedos, though."

"Everyone's invited?"

"Yes. No one's being left out."

He nodded. "Good to hear. Am I still welcome to the party?"

"You'll be the one to kick it off, remember?"

"Oh."

"Don't be so forgetful," she said.

He nodded once more.

"Lovey-dovey," whispered Sugar Belle.

She left, carrying the kite with her.

"Fancy Pants riding on a carriage," he whispered to himself, eyeing the big book underneath one of the shelves in the stall.

Communal Harmony: An Anarchist Manifesto by Starlight Glimmer

He grabbed the sign resting beside it and dropped it on the stall.

The sign read: "Closed".

Double Diamond took off his glasses, his hat, and his fake mustache, threw them into a garbage bin, and ran out of the square.

Sugar Belle trotted down the sidewalk, passing by several houses and stopping by the staircase to another house, looking at the lethargic yet elegant carriage of yellow and white.

That carriage, pulled by a single pony as if he was only strolling, held two unicorns. The stallion was Fancy Pants, attired in his usual black suit and purple bowtie along with his spiffy monocle; the mare was Fleur de Lis, with her long and graceful pink mane complementing her white coat.

Sugar Belle heard a jangle from behind her.

"Why, hello!" Minuette said, trotting down the stairs with Lyra and Twinkleshine while she grinned. "You must be new here, 'cause you don't ring a bell."

Sugar Belle laughed. "Funny. It should ring a bell because my name is Sugar Belle."

"Really?!" She looked up. "So, what's that? Your kite?"

"It looks kind of bad," Twinkleshine remarked. "You had this for how long?"

Sugar Belle giggled. "I only bought it a minute ago. I'm testing it out—is it too heavy or too light? Besides, I know the pony who gave it to me. He's not sour over refunds, so if it's bad, I'll just give it back to him. Also—" glanced at the carriage "—do you have any kites or any kite-flying friends? Because, he set up shop only a week ago, and he's not in a good spot. Lots of mean ponies want to steal his kites and his ideas, so they—"

The three ponies at the stairs gasped.

"Sugar Belle!" Minuette yelled, pointing to the sky. "You let go of your kite!"

She looked up with them.

The kite was falling.

"Get out!" Sugar Belle exclaimed, galloping up the stairs and budging the three mares away.

Entered the house.

Leaped over a couch and hid behind it.

Boom!

Room shook, rumbled.

Paintings, vases, candles, books, boxes, containers, bells—and many others fell off their shelves and surfaces.

Felt the heat of the explosion.

The wind, the gust.

Crumbling, breaking, collapsing.

Crash!

Kept her eyes closed.

Screams from the outside.

"What's going on?!" she could hear Moon Dancer cry out from upstairs.

"I knew they were coming for us!" Lemon Hearts yelled from the kitchen amidst glass jars hitting themselves. "I'll go get the rest! Stay up there, Moon Dancer!"

Could hear the hoofsteps to the living room.

"They got our house!" Lemon Hearts cried out. "There's a big hole in our house! Is that...Minuette?! Lyra?! Twinkleshine?! Are you OK?!"

Sugar Belle could hear the start of weeping in those words.

Kept her eyes closed.

"They're not waking up!"

Lemon Hearts leaned down to a knocked Minuette and hit her on the face.

As those three unicorns lay with their eyes closed in the middle of a crater in the sidewalk.

"Girls! Wake up! Wake up!"

Heard screams around her.

Looked up.

Saw ponies galloping away.

Broken streets, broken roads.

Devastated homes, infested with fires.

Fancy Pants, Fleur de Lis, and their driver lying on the road.

Dead.

Lemon Hearts whimpered at the scene. Streetlights down, bodies lying on the streets and sidewalks, and several ponies running with spears and arrows of their own.

Fighting off the incoming guards in their armor.

A blur, a whirl.

Saw two ponies galloping on, across the road.

The cracked road. Some carriages were on fire.

Burning.

Over rubble, journeying the lines of destroyed houses with their cowering inhabitants. Only a few attacked those two ponies, yet they were deflected by Double Diamond's punches.

Party Favor levitated an arrow in mid-air and flung it back at the guard who had fired it.

The guard fell over.

Fractured floors, shattered windows, smashed walls, crushed buildings.

"Where's Sugar Belle?" Party Favor asked as they jumped over to the sidewalk and hearing the screams and shouts around them—arrows flinging by.

"She will come around," Double Diamond replied. "Now, what's top priority is rallying the rest of our forces and bring them over to the castle. Striking at this opportune time, burning down Shining Armor's mansion..."

"Are you sure we have all we need to take on the entire Canterlot guard?" Party Favor said, nervous. "They're professionals and—"

"Which is why we trained as well," Double Diamond chimed in. "What we can't match with our numbers, we make up with our tactics. The guards thrive in numbers, we thrive in tactics. Follow my lead, and you'll always be safe."

Party Favor nodded.

The two of them crossed the street and saw more streets in chaos. Carriages overrun, ponies clothed in rags defeating the guards down with ease, late explosions further scattering the city into debris and wrecks.

Bodies lying on the streets, on the sidewalks.

Either unconscious or dead.

Double Diamond sat at a desk inside a closed room, turning on the microphone there. Party Favor ran about, plugging and unplugging speakers to this and that electric outlet, sticking out his tongue as he levitated another set of speakers and placing them by the windows with open panes but closed curtains.

It was a dark room, and they could not see much.

"Is everything ready?" Double Diamond asked, covering the microphone with his hoof.

Party Favor nodded, glowing his horn to make himself more visible.

"Perfect."

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

And the microphone.

"Good morning, fellow Equestrians!"

The voice boomed throughout, flooding the air.

Trixie yelped, freezing right at her spot, hooked to the wagon.

She galloped faster, breezing past the falling debris and the decaying city.

"Today, you have witnessed the ruin of your precious capital, Canterlot. Do not worry—this is not a Crystal attack. This is an attack made by your own kind, by those who disagree with the thoughts and actions of our 'beloved' Princesses."

Trixie bumped into somepony and fell to the ground.

Rubbed her head, pounding with pain. "Can you watch where you're—"

"Ah, Trixie!" Yearling yelled and hooked herself up to the wagon with her own harness.

"You dare commandeer the wagon of the Great and Powerful—"

"Move or the both of us die!"

"Eep!"

And, the two were off, galloping down the streets.

The speech continued, but, between the two of them, it was drowned out as they talked.

"What are you doing?!" Trixie yelled.

"I'm escaping with you!" Yearling answered. "First, I want you to stop by the book store you went to earlier!"

"Why?! Are you mad?"

"I left something there! It's very important that I keep it with me!"

The wagon screeched to a halt in front of the book store.

Yearling unhooked herself and ran inside.

Well Read was crouching behind the counter, looking outside through the cracked glass facade. "Who's there?!"

"It's me!" Yearling shouted and ran to the back room.

The librarian took another mint off the candy bowl under the counter and swallowed it immediately. "Are you getting your treasure chest?!"

"What do you think I'm doing?!" she hollered from inside.

Well Read eyed the remaining mints inside.

Scooped them inside her saddle bag.

Eyed the many books left on their shelves.

Yearling appeared by the back door, carrying the treasure chest over her shoulder. She turned to Well Read hiding over there. "No time to waste! If you want to get out of here alive, get inside the wagon!"

Well Read zipped her bag shut and ran outside.

"Our troops are everywhere," the voice barked through the speakers. "You will not flee so easily. Trust us, it is better that you stay here and obey our every single order—wait, what? What is that you say? Hold on—one minute, everypony!"

The wagon creaked, wobbling. Careened down several streets, dodging arrows and outpacing attackers.

Whizzing by burning buildings, dying ponies.

Ambulance carriages, defending soldiers.

Turned round one more corner.

"There it is!" Yearling cried out. "The exit!"

Indeed, there it was, the gate out of Canterlot.

Slowly closing.

"Quick! Trixie, run faster!"

"I can't! I'm not an Earth pony like you!"

"That doesn't matter! Your whole life depends on it!"

Galloping.

Closer and closer to the gate.

Arrows pouring down.

Strafing left, strafing right.

Then, through the gate.

Up the half-closed, lifted moat bridge.

Flying through the air, those two ponies and their wagon.

Trixie screamed her way to the paved path.

Landed on the other side of the river.

Galloping onward.

Door swung open.

Well Read sat on her bed, her yellow and orange mane fuzzy and disorganized.

Yearling approached the librarian. "You're alright?"

She nodded. "I'm alright. Thank you for saving me."

Yearling waved her hoof. "No need. I was just doing what I had to do."

Well Read turned towards the treasure chest sitting underneath the window.

"Manuscripts," Yearling added, taking the container with her. "Manuscripts and other articles, including some ancient relics I found on my own when I tried to copy my own hero."

Well Read checked herself, stopping a burst of laughter. "Did you find the Sapphire Stone?"

"You can't find it," Yearling said, smiling. "It's fictional."

Well Read sighed. "Thanks again, Yearling."

Open fields of grass cut in two by a wide dirt road which was engraved with the trails and prints of so many wheels and hooves.

It was almost noon. Smelled of fresh grass, that exhilarating breath of fresh air. Far ahead could be seen the outline of a short town.

"I guess your next step is going to be finding another place to call home," Trixie said.

The magician and the writer stood outside the cart, in the fields of grass by the path.

"Not really," Yearling replied. "All I have to do is wait it out. Princess Celestia may be out in some random skirmish, but Princess Luna is here. Starlight's going to answer for a lot in the coming weeks, don't you think?"

Trixie kept silent.

"I'll be off," Yearling said, carrying the chest over her shoulder again.

Trixie did a double take. "Why don't you come with us? You'll be alone and helpless!"

"I learned more than a few tricks during my time with Daring Do." She inched an eyebrow upward, giving her an assuring feeling. "Had to study a lot about survival tips and, well, I have to do this on my own. I have an army of dedicated fans, but some are...too dedicated, and I gotta finish up the next book."

Trixie nodded with a swing of her cape flowing with the wind. "Then, you shall meet the Great and Powerful Trixie again soon?"

Yearling cackled. "I don't know about that. Let's see."

The pharmacy was bright with its lights and radiant yellow on the walls and on the ceiling. Endless shelves of medicines and vitamins and minerals, soaps and alcohols. The scent was typical for such an establishment: soothing yet artificial.

One cashier at the counter looked at Yearling odd. "You seem to be lugging around a lot of bandages, Miss Yearling. Do you need any help?"

She shook her head, carrying a heavy plastic bags brimming with those bandages. "It's OK, sir. I need to be prepared for anything. Popularity has its downsides."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

The town of Bristle was aptly named for its abundance of pig bristles—it was right there on the slogan of the city, "With Bristles We Brush Off", which could been seen at nearly every turn, for the slogan was painted on the walls, written on the papers, printed with the city logos, and stamped on the road signs.

Sure enough, the first thing an avid tourist might see on a regular visit to Bristle—besides the admittedly aggravating slogan—was a carriage of pigs, pulled by several strong Earth ponies hauling them off to a brush mill where those pigs' bristles are cut off and placed on a variety of brushes.

Under the surface, though, was where Bristle showed itself to be a rich and diverse site. There's a shop dedicated to selling only paint and, as of this late hour in the night, lots of ponies were flocking to it in hopes of catching the final paint cans on sale before it closes. A block away was a facility where ponies could spend time with their pets inside; true to its nature, it was a noisy place with all the warbles and meow's and ruff's—not to be beaten was the owl who, flourishing in the night, hooted with great joy and abandon. On the other side of town resided a comedy club where mirthful guffaws, not mere laughs, could be heard from a bedroom despite the doors being closed.

That bedroom was across the street, so it was not much of a stretch to hear it, but it did irritate Yearling to the point that she covered her ears whenever she thought another bout of hilarity was about to drop in.

Her bedroom was rustic in a sense. While it did not have that country theme, it did not have many items and objects to begin with. There was the bed, of course, and a lamp to read under. A table was there and so was a closet, but that was it. Nothing hanging on the walls, no rugs or carpets to cover the gray floor.

Yearling was sitting by the table, typing on her typewriter more pages for the next installment in the "Daring Do" series.

Beside the typewriter was the treasure chest, open.

Inside were typewritten manuscripts and blank papers.

Along with them, ancient relics shining under the lamp.

"If only those comedians knew how much I'm trying to recover from an injured wing," she murmured through her teeth before continuing on with the novel.

Sticking with It

Inside a convenience store, Yearling sat at a plastic table, eating a hayburger by the glass walls through which she could see Bristle under the morning sky.

The odor of cold, conditioned air drifted through the premises, somewhat strong but otherwise invigorating. On the racks was a great range of things: potato chips, salad dressings, dozens of eggs, fake leaves, chart templates, assortments of straws, second-hoof windows, vintage newspapers, rolling pins, vast lawns, chilly sodas, and ice cream, along with tons more.

Happy cashiers took customers' orders, wearing uniforms of red and white stripes like barbers in a barbershop. Yet, a sense of unease could be detected in the small talk they engaged in.

"They're all in prison now," one of those cashiers said, putting several items into a paper bag and hoofing it to the sharp-eyed mare in front. He went to the cash register and took out some bits. "Starlight Glimmer is too late to get them out in time."

"Eh, we're safe and they're alive, so that's good," Limestone Pie said, looking at the contents of the paper bag.

"Didn't you hear the number of casualties?" he asked, mentally counting the bits on his hoof. "There's about thirty killed, I think."

"That's sad," she said, closing the paper bag, an ear covered by her gray mane as normal. "Now, where's the change?"

The cashier sighed and gave the change.

Limestone poured the bits into the bag then walked away, holding it with her mouth.

A five minute trot from Bristle was a fenced off cottage with a short mailbox by the door. Unlike what the rest of the town was surrounded with, the cottage had not a single blade of grass in sight around it. Instead, there was dry, dead ground and plenty of rocks. Over there, by the hills, were mined caves.

Limestone knocked on the door, still biting on her paper bag.

The door opened.

Marble Pie smiled, saw the paper bag, then nodded before stepping aside and giving way to her sister.

Limestone clipped the bag to a hanger by the door and walked the wooden hallway down with Marble.

"Did you set the table up with the flowers and the candles?"

"Mm-hmm," was Marble's answer with a shy nod and a shake of her long gray mane.

"Do you have all the ingredients ready for dinner tonight? Did you read up on the cookbooks I sent you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you make sure Ma and Pa won't be here when he comes by?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Where did you send them off?"

Marble pointed at the door.

"You sent them off to teach ponies how to cook rock soup this very night?! How did you pull that off?"

Marble smirked at her.

"I'll not ask. So, from now until tonight, we have to act normal. Move the rocks where they're supposed to go, mine other rocks, manage the crystal business with the table outside. Give Ma and Pa no sign about what we have in mind."

Marble nodded, smiling.

The morning and the afternoon had come and gone.

It was sunset with a pink sky.

The cottage's front door lurched open, showing Limestone ushering her father and mother outside on the stone path in the barren brown front yard.

"Don't hurry things along!" she said to them, trying to hide her restless condition by prematurely waving goodbye to them. "You know, rock soup takes quality time to make, and ponies might get lost if you go too fast."

"We have rightfully understood thy favorable advice," Igneous said, slowly nodding his head at her, "but it is repetitious, for we already do know the things of which thou hast told us."

"Surely," Cloudy began, fixing her glasses a bit, "it hast not left thy mind that we have become skillful in the art of preparing our rock soup according to the age-old recipe passed down from generation to generation."

"Yeah, I'm sure!" Limestone said, grinning. "I just wanted to make sure you don't make a bad first impression."

Cloudy smiled—a little. "It is comforting to us that thou still show thy filial affection for us."

Limestone kept waving at them, then glanced at the left.

In the horizon, approaching the cottage, a lone figure.

Nearly choked and continued waving at her parents. "Hurry up! They'll get angry if you show up late!"

"Then, farewell, our firstborn," Igneous said, taking his hat off.

He put it back on and the two trotted away from the homestead, on the path toward Bristle.

Not a minute had passed and they encountered the stranger by the horizon, walking the opposite way.

Igneous scrutinized that figure as they came closer.

The pony in question was a young gray stallion. His hair was brown; mane had long yet straight bangs. His cutie mark was a stick standing in a mud puddle.

On him was an apathetic face. He looked uninterested.

"Good afternoon, sir," Igneous greeted, waving a hoof. "May I ask of thee what thy name is and where art thou going?"

The stranger stopped. "I'm Mudbriar," he answered in a formal accent. "I'm currently going to the next point on this road which we are now standing on."

Igneous and Cloudy stopped, looked at each other, then looked back at him. "What dost thou mean?" Igneous asked, lightly muddled.

Mudbriar pointed at the path before him. "You see, you've asked me about where I was going. Well, if I were to resume my walk for one second—" he took a few steps forward "—you would note that I have achieved my present goal of advancing on this road. However, in order to reach my destination, I have to continue this process for an as-of-yet undefined number of times. So, technically, the correct question to ask of me is—and, I shall be adopting your mode of speech—'Where shalt thee end up after thy walk?'"

Igneous still looked muddled. "I shalt apologize for not comprehending what thy hast just spoken, but we art those who value punctuality and we art required to attend a class for cooks for the single purpose of teaching them our traditional method of preparing rock soup."

Mudbriar nodded. "Your apology is accepted."

"Then, farewell, stranger," Igneous said.

The parents were off.

Mudbriar kept walking down the path under the setting sun.

Finally, he reached the cottage.

Seeing Limestone there burst into a joyful grin. "Mudbriar!"

Mudbriar smiled. "Yes."

"Get inside," she said, motioning a hoof to the hallway.

Romantic.

That was probably the best way to describe the mood of the dining room.

The only table was covered with linen, the plates were of expensive ceramic, the candles were scented the smell of exotic cedar.

The food prepared beforehoof was of exquisite taste. Cinnamon bread peppered with raisins, corn and mushroom soup with diced garlic and onions, and fresh salad sprinkled with Balsamic vinegar. The dessert was one cakepie—a hybrid of cake and pie which had the look and flavor of cake but had the taste and texture of pie.

The windows were closed except for one and that was at the center of the wall facing East. One could see the empty, rocky landscape turn into reticent beauty, those rocks reflecting a tinge, a trifle, of the moon's soft glow accompanied by its many stars which shined upon this land, upon this cottage.

Upon boyfriend and girlfriend.

Marble sat quietly at the corner, watching the two lovebirds—technically, loveponies—enjoy their time together over a candlelit dinner. Though silent, she smiled.

Limestone and Mudbriar sat there, only a little distance between each other.

Both smiling.

Mudbriar picked up one of the candles. "Technically, this is not a real cedar. This is from the Luna redcedar, the scientific name of which is Thuja plicata, unlike true cedars which are classified under the genus Cedrus. But, I must admit, I do like the smell of this candle."

He put it back down.

"You said that you have three sisters," he asked, still with that formal accent. He looked at Marble sitting by the corner.

She turned her head away, avoiding him.

"I and Marble have already met," Mudbriar went on, looking back at Limestone. "However, where are your other two sisters—Maud Pie and Pinkie Pie?"

She gulped. "Ma and Pa sent them to the front a long time ago. They're famous Rock Troopers."

Mudbriar nodded. "Have you received any letters from them and written by them within, say, the last week or so? I would like to be in good terms with your sisters, to ensure that there will be no disagreements from your family about our...like."

Limestone blushed. "Yeah, I've got some letters. Pinkie writes to us everyday and Maud..." she gulped again, "Pinkie speaks for her."

"Technically, Pinkie writes for Maud," Mudbriar corrected. "Unless, of course, they are in close proximity with the ponies they wish to speak to—however, my accuracy on that assumption may not be perfect, for I do not know the personalities of your sisters, Pinkie and Maud, well enough to be precise regarding them."

Limestone coughed and brought out a long wrapped gift box. "Well, it's nice that you care for my sisters."

She extended the box to him.

"Here! I got something for you."

Mudbriar received it and unwrapped it.

Another box was inside.

Mudbriar opened it.

A short, leafy branch with green conifer cones.

He opened his mouth, short of gasping. Eyes grew wide, leaned back on his chair. "Is that a branch of Cedrus brevifolia—a true cedar? But, more than half of them have already been cut down—"

"You don't need to know," Limestone said. "I got it, and here it is, Mudbriar. I know that you like branches from rare trees."

"Technically, they are not rare but are endangered."

His smile grew.

"But, it is a precious gift."

He hugged it.

Took out another branch—a little twig.

Placed the two of them on the table.

Mudbriar gazed upon the branches sitting by his plate of salad. "They're very adorable together."

He bent closer to the twig.

"Do you like your new friend, Twiggy?"

Limestone scratched her head. "OK. That branch could also be a nice pet."

Alone in the bedroom, Limestone stood at the window.

Watching Mudbriar, that lone figure gleaming in the dark under the moonlight, walk away.

Disappeared over the horizon.

Her smile faded.

Eyes rested on the table.

By the lamp, a quill and a sheet of paper.

She drew in breath, sat down, and wrote.

Special Delivery looked at his watch.

Half past midnight.

It was cold, chilly.

He did not care for the cottage. All he cared for was the mail inside and he got it, turned the flag on the mailbox down, and flew away.

The mailpony landed by the fortified, heavily guarded gate just outside the forest. Watchtowers with spotlights shone on him.

"Show us your ID," one of the guards ordered.

Special Delivery held up his mailpony badge using his wing.

The guard hovered to him, grabbed the badge, inspected it.

Gave it back to him.

Made a gesture with a wing to his comrades at the towers.

They lowered their heads.

The gate swung open.

Special Delivery flew in.

Hidden inside one of the mountains beyond the forest was Sarcidano Base. A military compound built past the rocky slopes and the thick trees, it was close to imperceptible at night.

Past the barriers which separated the outside from the compound was the main hallway lit up by a myriad of lights on the ceiling. Notwithstanding the late hour, soldiers walked around, participating in their hourly patrol shifts.

Special Delivery flew to a mailbox by the door labeled "Mail" and slipped some mail inside from his saddle bag.

In the dark bed chamber, one candle was alight by the foot of a bed.

Pinkie Pie, awake alone in a sea of sleeping ponies in their blankets, held the letter close to her chest.

A tear went down her cheek.

Splashed upon the letter.

"How long has it been?" she whispered to herself, her voice stifled by the lump in her throat—her long pink mane partially hiding her watery eyes. "I've been away so long...Limestone already has a boyfriend...a-and, time moves so...fast..."

Wiped the tears.

Lied on the bed.

Tried to sleep beside her silent Maud.

Night Glider

In the cold cafeteria, hot food was being dished out with soldiers wearing their uniforms, lining up to receive them on trays. On the breakfast menu this morning was sliced carrots, toasted sandwiches of tomatoes and lettuce, blueberry pies, orange juice, and canned apples.

The cafeteria itself was rather unremarkable since it merely had the paint of yellow and several notices and schedules on clipboards.

Sitting beside a dressed up Maud who was taking a bite of the burned sandwich, an identically dressed up Pinkie rotated a can of apples around, then read the words on it with a dull voice: "'Granny Smith's Famous Canned Apples! If they're not Apple family apples, then they ain't apples!'"

She sighed, putting it back on the tray with her other food.

Rainbow Dash flew her way to Pinkie's table, holding a tray of her own.

Pinkie noticed the look on Rainbow's face.

Concern.

"Haven't you heard?" Rainbow asked, shifting her eyes left and right to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"Heard of what?" Pinkie asked. "Did I miss something? I don't think I missed anything...well, not things but ponies, yes..."

Rainbow stopped. "Why? Family member died yesterday?"

Pinkie sighed again, looking away from her. "Limestone has a boyfriend."

Rainbow arched her brows, then frowned. "I see what you mean. Been away from your family so long, they're beginning to move on with their own lives, right?"

Pinkie nodded. "I kn-know they still love me, but...I also know they can't just think about me every waking moment of their lives..."

Sniffed.

Maud gave her a roll of tissue paper, then patted her on the back.

Pinkie ripped out a piece of tissue and blew her nose on it.

"I'll get it," a unicorn said, trotting his way there and then levitating the disgusting piece of tissue away.

He walked away and lobbed it into a trash can.

Pinkie rubbed her eyes. "Th-Thank you, girls."

She hugged Maud and Rainbow.

Rainbow struggled to get out of her caring grip.

Pinkie let go of them.

Maud resumed eating her burned sandwich with her audible crunches.

"So, wh-what did you want to tell me?" Pinkie asked Rainbow, facing her.

Rainbow leaned her head closer, over her tray of food. "Remember Fluttershy from way back in Cloudsdale and Ponyville when I got my actuator?" Rainbow gave her mechanical wing a tap.

"Yeah," Pinkie said. "She was a nice pegasus. Good friend of yours."

"Well...she's coming here."

Pinkie blinked. "To visit?"

"No. To serve."

Pinkie gasped. "But, her?! She's a fragile pony! How could she ever survive a full day out here, let alone a year? They'll tell her to kill the enemy—it's the only way!"

"It's not the only way," Rainbow corrected. "Fluttershy's enlisting as a combat medic. She's not gonna kill ponies—she'll be healing ponies."

"Won't they try to kill her first since she's, you know, the medic and all?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rainbow continued, her voice becoming shaky. "I think Fluttershy will be positioned a bit behind the front, but there will be emergencies where she could do nothing but move forward, and when those Crystal ponies realize she's a medic..."

Pinkie gasped again. "Then, down she goes."

Rainbow nodded, managing a mild expression, though her eyes moistened. "It'll be hard to see her out there. She's already nervous enough without having to think about getting shot down by an arrow or a boulder."

Pinkie looked down on her food, sulking.

"On the bright side," Rainbow went on, "Fluttershy will be with us, so that's the three of us together."

Pinkie looked up and smiled. "Yeah. That is something on the bright side."

Then, she made a quizzing face.

"But, when is she coming here?"

"Next month," Rainbow replied. "Right around Summer Sun Celebration."

"That's convenient," she commented.

Rainbow raised a brow. "Why?"

Pinkie picked up the can. "I could ask her about the pony she used to work with."

"You mean Applejack? But, why?"

"Because I'd like to know why these apples are sour!" Pinkie shouted, jumping on top of the table. "They're not sweet! They don't even look right! They're green and not red—they're not rotten or expired, but it's green and sour and—"

"Uh, Pinkie? You're attracting too much attention."

Pinkie stopped and looked around her.

The diners, the canteen workers, the janitors, the officers present—everyone was looking at her weirdly.

"Oh."

Pinkie sat down.

"Sorry!"

Everyone resumed their breakfast whether it was eating it or serving it.

Rainbow Dash trotted around the premises.

Sarcidano Base had few amenities. There was a rest and relaxation room by the cafeteria but it was merely an empty room where off-duty soldiers hung out when they were not exercising. Since nothing was provided for their entertainment, the soldiers brought their own forms of amusement to pass the time until the next operation. Board games were prevalent in the late morning—over there, Lieutenant Unharmed was playing chess with Private Boiled Sweets who was shivering all the way as he was losing pieces left and right. Miniature golf was set up there, too, with half a course already being played by amateur golfers, swinging their clubs and wildly missing their shots.

Rainbow entered the room and simply stood there, observing everything that was happening.

A couple of privates stood up and saluted her.

She saluted back with her natural wing.

"Any updates?" Rainbow asked one of them.

"None so far," answered Private Tee Box—it was on her stitched name tag.

"Alright. Continue with...whatever you're doing. I just don't have the time to stay here."

Rainbow left the room.

Rainbow was flying outside, patrolling with some of her Wonderbolt fellows. They were garbed in their bulky and armored uniform, yet they soared through the skies quick and nimble, feeling the flood of the wind.

Below them were immense ranges of mountains, most of them still fairly green in the spring, with only the tallest having peaks of snow. Behind them, spread-out forests with their leafy canopies, covering and hiding anything—and anyone—that happened to be moving there. Before them, past those ranges of mountain, was something different.

A gray, wintry land of nothing much. Cold, parched, and overflowing with Crystal activity. Dots flying in the air were enemy pegasi patrol, towers and other structures were Crystal bases.

"Do you worry?" she heard.

She looked to her left.

It was Soarin flying beside her in formation. "Do you worry about dying sometimes?"

Rainbow looked startled. "That was sudden."

"It's an honest question, Crash," he said.

Rainbow turned her gaze forward. "Sometimes."

"Me, too," Soarin said. "I know you get tired of me asking that question every so often..."

"It's clear, isn't it, Clipper?" Rainbow replied with a tint of frustration.

Soarin was silent.

The Wonderbolts continued patrolling.

In the Wonderbolts' locker room, a dozen pegasi either sat by the benches or stood at their lockers—all talking with each other but never lively, never quite enjoying the moment.

According to the clock on the wall, it was seven fifty-three in the evening.

Blue lockers with numbers on them. Wonderbolt posters—patriotic, zealous in their portrayal of those professional, elite winged forces; colorful poses, flying smiles, fervid words for Equestria: "Say 'Thanks' to the Wonderbolts!", "You aren't bombed because of these guys!", "The Wonderbolts: Soaring Higher!"

Rainbow Dash opened her locker.

Inside: notes, ribbons, medals, pictures of a happy Rainbow Dash getting along with her Wonderbolt friends.

Then, there were pictures of Rainbow Dash and her family. Those two cheerful parents, smiling for the camera and awfully proud of their daughter.

After them, photos of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy just being together—sometimes, Fluttershy attempting to hide from the camera.

Finally, pictures of Rainbow Dash, her family, Fluttershy, and the Shy family.

"Friends forever" was written in ink on one of those images.

Rainbow held that picture.

Held it tight.

Clutched it.

"Dash?"

Rainbow whirled her head around.

Saw Spitfire all armored up. "Are you OK?"

Rainbow bit her lip. Her ears drooped. "No, Spitfire. I'm not."

Spitfire drew her closer with a pull of a hoof. "I know. I'm not OK, too. I haven't heard from Mom for some time."

Rainbow bit her hoof, suppressing the tears about to spill over.

"But, we gotta move," Spitfire said. "Every second we delay is a second for Sombra."

Rainbow sighed and grabbed her helmet from the locker.

Night patrol. Night duty.

The same landscape which took on a grand and magnificent appearance hours ago in the afternoon assumed a mysterious apparel at night. The forests golden with dense foliage and pleasant trills became an enigmatic woodland where penetrating moonlight touched the grass and bushes with its delicate glow, where that once vigorous activity slowed to a crawl and only the occasional snapping of twigs popped up every hour or so. The mountains, dignified and illustrious by the intense shine of the sun, clothed themselves with the evening's shadows, preferring to disguise themselves and to be called "ominous"—for, under the blackness of the dark sky, only their outlines shimmered, and, to the untrained eye, these mountains would be a crude riddle until sunrise.

And, that gray, wintry land? It ventured upon sinister proportions as lines of lights were dimmed by clouds produced by the Crystal pegasi who were there flapping their wings and making, as if out of whole cloth, new clouds to mask the action being done underneath.

The Wonderbolt patrol navigated their way around, flying perilously close above the mountain tips.

"You see anything?" Spitfire asked, heading the formation.

"Not yet," Rainbow replied. "It's still clouds."

"I'm not seeing a lot," Soarin reported.

"Me neither," Fleetfoot informed.

The remaining Wonderbolts kept silent.

"Then, it's business as usual," Spitfire said, sounding tired. "Four more hours of the same—"

"Unidentified pegasus on our six!" Soarin yelled.

Several turned their heads around.

All of them kept flying forward.

"Don't hurt me!" that unidentified pony shouted, trying to catch up. "There's a mutiny going on back at base and—"

"Identify yourself immediately or you will be killed!" Soarin roared.

"Private Falatch of the Seventy-Eighth Division, Eleventh Battalion, reporting under Sergeant Pelote!"

"Good enough!" Spitfire cried out. "Wonderbolts, we're going back!"

The formation bent around and zoomed the other way.

Soarin picked up the poor messenger and carried him through the trip, enduring his incessant screaming.

The Wonderbolts swept through the open gate and into the base.

Guards there closed the gate in a hurry, equipped themselves with spears and arrows, and turned around, standing by the aerial team and facing the long hallway with them.

Several soldiers were laying wounded there. Medics applied bandages and medical dressings on some, always looking behind their backs.

Several lights broken, a few hanging from the ceiling with their wires. Lockers turned over, windows smashed—others running about, hastily readying their weapons.

"What happened?" Spitfire asked, prompting the nearest guard to pay attention to her.

The private stood tall, holding her spear. "Captain, there's been an insurrection led by Starlight's fanatics."

Spitfire shook her head and faced her team. "You heard that, Wonderbolts? Let's take 'em down before it gets any worse!"

Inside the rest and relaxation room, chaos.

A burly Earth pony smacked another uniformed soldier with an arrow, and then was knocked out by a big book to the face. More arrows fired, taking that pony down, but the pony with the bow and quiver was kicked and done in by a ribboned officer who was beaten by a glass pane.

That was only one of the many fights in progress.

The room was still fully illuminated, putting the riot in full display.

Rainbow Dash flew in and, by pure speed, took out the offending ponies and zipped out of the room and back into the hallway.

Flying by.

Eyes fluttering. "This c-can't be happening!"

Turned a corner.

Saw Pinkie and Maud fighting back against the insurgents, pelting rocks and then jumping to kick them out.

Turned another corner.

Stopped cold.

Saw another pegasus, covered in armor and helmet.

Trembling. "Rainbow Dash! This isn't what it looks like!"

"Of course, it isn't!" Rainbow yelled, striking her on the face.

She fell down to the floor, wings folded back.

"I'm tired of you phony pacifists!" Rainbow cried out, hovering before her. "What are you pacifist about anyway? You're not even being peaceful anymore!"

"I know!" she shouted, limping away from the mad Wonderbolt.

Around them, more ponies battling each other, throwing tables and shelves at each other while keeping to their spears and bows and swords—clings and clangs, screams before unconsciousness or death.

"Then, what are you doing?!" Rainbow shouted at her.

She coughed, taking off her helmet and revealing her white mane and her blue head. "You wouldn't believe me—I don't know if you w-will—but, I'm Night Glider and I want to say that I regret executing this mission!"

"Oh, you will regret it!" Rainbow said.

She held up her hooves in self-defense. "No, really, I do! I really do!"

Rainbow raised her mechanical wing. "Any last words, traitor scum?"

Night Glider took a deep breath.

"I was forced to do it! Clear Starlight's name just for once—she didn't order any of this! She didn't order the attack on Canterlot, she didn't order this attack...Double Diamond—he's insane and he managed to get Party Favor and Sugar Belle in the act! I'm the only one left, and they told me—they told me...th-they said I sh-should do this or else I'll be exposed or—"

Wing an inch closer.

"I just wanted to live a better life, not get pulled into dangerous situations like this! I don't like the war, but I...I wish I didn't say 'Yes' to any of this!"

Broke down in tears.

"Hey," Rainbow began, folding her wing closed. "At least you admitted it."

She opened her eyes. "R-Really?"

"As a witness."

Struck her with the wing.

Night Glider fell completely to the floor.

Dead.

Could hear nothing.

Saw the limp body on the floor.

Lifeless.

Then, sound coming back.

Hearing the shouts.

The screams.

"Rainbow Dash!"

Staring a million miles.

"Rainbow Dash!"

Staring.

"Rainbow Crash!"

She lurched around, saw Spitfire.

"We have to move out now! Crystals saw the base without our patrol and they're invading!"

Back in the outside, in that lush outside, pegasi were locked in combat—some grabbing on to each other and punching and kicking until one relented, others sticking to chasing the enemy until a decisive hit was made.

Crystal pegasi fell, dropping to the grass below.

Rainbow dodged arrows, boulders, cannonballs.

There, another squad of Crystal pegasi.

"Time to take out the trash!" she whispered.

Then, diving in.

Pummeled half of them without them noticing.

The squad turned around.

Hurtling at her.

Rainbow turned up, avoiding them.

Then, turned down.

Chasing them.

Defeated by the pair of Soarin and Fleetfoot.

"Dash!" Fleetfoot cried out from afar. "Don't risk it!"

"How else will I take the Crystal Terror down?!" Rainbow shouted before flying away.

Felt the rush of the wind.

Stretched her forehooves out.

Faster, faster.

Through the clouds.

Vision obscured.

Could still see her hooves.

The cone of wind forming around them.

"You can do it, Rainbow Dash!" she shouted to herself.

Looking down.

"Wait for the target and—"

Her helmet hit.

"Ow! What was—"

Mechanical wing hit.

Malfunctioning.

Falling.

"No, no, no! This can't be happening, not right now!"

Spinning, falling.

Flapped her good wing, pushing her away.

Gritted her teeth. "Come on! You've come this far—make it count!"

Spinning.

Falling.

Fast.

Seeing the ground approaching fast.

"As long as I could land on the forest, then I'll still be safe! I'll still be—"

Soldiers flowed from the base, some closing their bags as they left.

Under the night, under the trees, they hiked out of the way as more pegasi above defended the base.

Darkness, the only lights being that of the base.

Which were then turned off, plunging the fleeing warriors fully into the somber evening.

Soarin landed right beside the squad of Rock Troopers.

Looked at Maud and Pinkie. "H-Have you seen Rainbow Dash? I haven't seen her!"

"You haven't?!" Pinkie exclaimed. "I haven't seen her, too! Did you ask your other Wonderbolt buddies?"

"Yeah, but none of us have seen her!"

Pinkie gasped. "This is very bad! Rainbow's lost or...she might be dead or...imprisoned! What're we gonna do?!"

Then, she smiled.

She pulled a pigeon from a pocket in her attire, placed a camera around it, and shooed it away.

It flew to the sky, carrying the cumbersome camera with it and fading into the rest of the forest.

"And, what did you just do?" Soarin asked, puzzled by what he had just seen.

"Well, dogs could detect scents, but they can't fly, silly. So, I sent out a pigeon with a camera so not only will the pigeon come back, we'll also know where Rainbow is!"

Soarin arched a brow. "Uh, I don't think that's how pigeons work—and, even if they did work like that, how would it know what Rainbow's scent is?"

"Uh..." She flinched. "I really didn't think this through, did I?"

Soarin wiped the sweat from his face. "Let's hope pigeons work like dogs."

So, they continued walking.

Retreating from Sarcidano.

A strong wind was coming.

As with all inventions, especially in the prototype stage, a lot of things could go wrong simply because some parameter was overlooked.

One such parameter for pigeon photography was the weight of the camera.

Pigeons were not known for their strength, so a heavy camera tied around a pigeon was not the best of options.

The pigeon Pinkie had sent struggled to stay afloat in the air, flapping its wings as hard as it could. However, already confronted with the scene of arrows raining down everywhere and ponies scuffling below on the ground and trees wavering under a ferocious gale, the job it was given to accomplish proved to be preposterous.

But, if there was one defining quality this pigeon had, it was flying in the face of the impossible.

It flew on, at times bumbling and almost crashing to the ground but, either by a timely gust of wind or by pure wingpower, the pigeon was still in flight.

It headed over to a copse of pine trees and, deciding that it should take a nap right now, perched on one of the branches.

The pigeon thought that the camera was too much to carry for an extended length of time, so it walked its way near the trunk of the brunch where it was surprised that, instead of just finding a big enough space to place the camera in, it found a rainbow-maned pegasus who had closed her eyes.

It wrapped the camera around the pegasus's neck.

Perched itself on the branch.

And slept.

Unknown Knowns

Starlight Glimmer scratched her head, sitting on the chair.

Before her and across the table, three ponies. Not a smile on them.

Under one hanging light.

Surrounded by glass walls.

On the table, Starlight's complete manifesto with every page inside, nothing left out from the book.

"I would like to have a good explanation of what happened over the past few days," Starlight said, quiet yet firm. "If you don't, then you know full well what I'll do to you."

Silence.

"I trusted in you four."

Looked at the three of them again.

"There would've been four of you if it hadn't been for your careless plans you think behind my back!"

Sugar Belle twiddled with her forehooves on the table, averting Starlight's angry gaze.

Party Favor casually made a balloon animal, focused on Starlight but with a worried look.

Double Diamond remained resolute, narrowing his eyebrows at her.

"And you think you're smarter than me, huh?" She raised the book with a hoof. "You think you're smarter than the mare who discovered and developed the very things we believe in?! Didn't I tell you that we shouldn't convince ponies by force?! The Princesses don't have the right...they have the wrong because it doesn't matter if what they say is good or not—they might as well threaten all of Equestria with dropping the sun if you dare to disagree!"

Tense silence.

Starlight got up.

"We're supposed to show ponies what's right by what we believe in and that only! The day we terrorize towns and villages because they don't agree with us is the day we no longer fight for what's right—we fight for whatever works!"

Double Diamond raised a hoof. "But, Starlight—"

"I didn't say you could speak!" Starlight yelled.

Slammed the book down.

Blam!

"Before now, nopony could rightly blame us for pressuring ponies to abide by our rules. What we did was show the facts and speak the truth—nothing more, nothing less. We had right on our side. They could hate us all they want, but they could never refute our arguments, could never see what's wrong with them—because there never was anything wrong with them!"

She groaned.

"But, now...now, they can throw reason out the window and speak ill of us. They'll say, 'Why should you hate the war like the inhabitants of that weird town? Don't you know they just murdered this and that, killed a hundred creatures, both ponies and non-ponies?'"

She rubbed her eyes, moaning.

Sat down.

"You know what? I feel conflicted. Very conflicted. You're the best ponies I've got. That's why I sent you off in those missions where we could gather data and peacefully convince ponies of what's right. Did we have to hurt some ponies? Yes, but only out of necessity—when they're the ones attacking us, not the other way around."

Starlight looked at Double Diamond square in the eye.

"And, guess what? You're the one who's read the entire manifesto seven times over, and you didn't get it in your head that we should be doing things rationally? Without punching ponies everywhere you go?"

Double Diamond stood up. "Which is why I had reservations—kept a few things secret myself."

Starlight stood up, too. "Are you saying that you disagree with me, mister?!"

Pointed at him.

"Where do we disagree?!" Starlight demanded. "Maybe that's why you went overboard with this...killing and scaring ponies! If only you had consulted me—and, I was open! Everything was open! No need to be ashamed or to feel guilty—I will understand!"

Double Diamond sighed. "It's not working, Starlight."

Starlight took a step back, furious—irises shrunk, grating her teeth. In a restrained voice: "What did you say?"

"I said, it's not working."

Party Favor tugged at his mane. "This isn't the best time to make Starlight mad, uh—"

"Yeah, you heard me right!" Double Diamond shouted at her, ignoring Party Favor's plea. "I'll say it again: it's not working, Starlight."

Starlight rushed to the table, levitated the book, raised it over his head.

Double Diamond shuddered, trying his best to keep a cool face.

"What do you mean when you say it's not working?!" Starlight yelled.

He breathed in. "Our town's been growing, but it's not growing fast enough for Equestria to take notice. It's hard for them to get out of their comfort zones. They've been raised to always accept certain things and it's hard to sway those ponies out of them—at least, not without force. If you place a sword an inch away from their heads—" smiled, laughed a little "—everything becomes much easier."

"Easy for you to say that!" Starlight snapped, striking the table with her hoof.

Party Favor and Sugar Belle stood up and backed away.

Leaving Double Diamond to face Starlight alone.

"Oh, I guess you read the book but didn't take it to heart!" Starlight continued, her voice a strident roar. "What's the use of reading my manifesto dozens of times when you don't even follow it?! I wanted peace for a good reason, and we'd end up being hypocrites if we use non-peaceful means to further our agenda! How many times do I have to tell you that?!"

"But, it's not bringing in the numbers!" Double Diamond retorted. "Ponies won't listen to us with boring speeches and dialogues over tea! What we need is an active military, an active guard so those who don't believe after we kindly tell them to must believe."

"That will only make them resentful citizens in our town!" Starlight answered. "They won't really believe in what we say—they'll just find a way to escape this village and then they'll find a way to complete their revenge on us! I don't want ponies asking me to be dead!"

"We'll be here to protect you, Starlight," Double Diamond said, now in a smoother tone.

"No!"

She flipped the table over with her magic, glowing it blue.

Book fell over.

Double Diamond jumped back, avoiding the projectile.

Party Favor and Sugar Belle pressed themselves against the glass walls, glancing at the door out.

"If you elevate me to leadership," Starlight rambled on, stepping forward, "then that defeats the purpose of why we're here! We're not just here to protest against the war, to be pacifists in a warring kingdom! We're here to promote equality by putting ponies in their place, making sure everyone gives equally and receives equally! That's why we left our old homes, that's why we moved here, that's why we made ourselves the ideal society!"

"You're too optimistic, Starlight," Double Diamond said, putting on a shrewd smile and pacing toward Starlight. "Ponies don't like our ideal society because it changes too many things. If you don't have me around, then our beliefs no longer have influence—they are only ideas. You're the one who thinks, I and my crew will bring in the action."

"Ridiculous!" Starlight yelled, levitating the table and trapping Double Diamond with it against the wall.

Cracking the glass wall.

Party Favor and Sugar Belle gasped.

Double Diamond struggling to get out.

Starlight keeping him in. "You're undermining everything we've built together! Can you just have a little patience and wait for true believers to trickle in later?!"

"It'll be t-too late!" he yelped, buckling under the pain of the table. "The war w-will end, and our cause w-will be lost!"

"We've had this little village before the war," Starlight reminded, never loosening her magical grip on her weapon. "We'll still have it when it ends."

"Starlight, have m-mercy on him!" Party shouted, galloping up to her. "If you give him a second chance—"

"He's been with us from the very beginning!" Starlight barked, fuming. "He knows everything! I could excuse a newcomer for stumbling so badly, but I can't let him go off scot-free!"

Party glanced at Sugar Belle covering her mouth and watching Double Diamond suffer. "What about her?! Punish him, but at least let them—"

"I already sent an arrest warrant!" Starlight shouted.

Kicked him.

Party Favor fell down, sliding along the floor.

Sugar Belle levitated him and put him back on his four hooves.

He staggered, leaned on the wall.

Sugar kept him standing.

Faced Starlight.

With those clamped teeth, those shrunken irises, her horn glowing ever brighter, ever bluer.

"You can't do anything about it!" Starlight yelled. "Double Diamond will be arrested! The guard's coming to put him in custody where he belongs, and I'll keep him fixed here until they arrive!"

"Starlight Glimmer," Sugar spoke, about to cry, "y-you can't do—"

"Oh, yes, I can! Equality above all!"

Starlight focused on Double Diamond.

Pressing the table further.

Blocking every whack of a hoof, of that failing suspect.

Door opened.

"Miss Starlight Glimmer," the guard at front said, reading off a piece of paper, "we'd like to—"

He dropped his jaw at the sight of Starlight trapping Double Diamond at the wall with a table.

Looked at his squad behind him. "Uh, am I missing something here?"

Night had fallen once again upon the Town of Efficiency. The moon shone upon the insensible dry land surrounding the village. Scaffolds had appeared before new buildings under construction, following the strict plans which made them look just as much the same as those before.

However, no one was working on these projects now. The power tools had been laid to rest, the architectural equipment had been set aside, and everypony who was still not under a whole roof were rushing to get to any house, speaking of parties and some anniversary.

In Starlight's house was a grand banquet. On the dining table were many pizzas, sizzling hot. Did any of the impromptu guests prefer thin crusts over the ordinary style? That did not matter, for both kinds of pizza were here. What if they did not like the toppings? They could content themselves with the variety of cheese-only pizzas which ranged from everyday mozzarella to a mind-boggling twenty-cheese mishmash. Was the pizza too raw or too burned for their taste? Easy—a unicorn or two could warm or cool a pizza by blasting it with a temperature spell, and Starlight volunteered to be one of them.

This party was a levelheaded party. Ponies clinked their glasses of sodas and juices, toasting themselves to another wonderful year for their town. A group of ponies by the wall were playing "pin the tail on the pony" with a blindfolded player holding a fake tail in her mouth and wobbling her way to the pony drawn on the poster, all while a stallion placed a record of party music on a vinyl player.

Starlight sat on the stairs, floating a slice of mushroom pizza to herself.

Chewed on it thoughtlessly.

A wistful face.

Starlight looked at her bed.

Sheets tucked nicely, blanket folded properly, pillows arranged carefully.

A dark bedroom save for the light of the moon.

That glimmering moon with its stars.

She sighed.

Looked upon the pictures shining under the moonlight.

There, Starlight smiling.

Her friends smiling.

Everyone else smiling.

Before the Town of Efficiency.

She looked away.

Hopped on to her bed.

Covered herself in a blanket.

Slept.

"Don't you end up hating each other?"

She heard the question.

Starlight turned round the corner of a house.

Over there, by the path, was Night Glider. Her mane in a bun, her tail straight, but she was there.

"H-Huh?" Starlight shouted, then covered her mouth.

Approached her.

"Y-You're n-not dead?"

Saw the table before Night Glider.

There, Party Favor and Sugar Belle sporting dirty cloaks and the same manestyles as Glider's.

"I should've listened," Party said, talking to the living pegasus.

"You're so different," Sugar said, looking at the six ponies who had just appeared at the table with a plate of twelve crummy muffins. "A moment ago, you were disagreeing, but now you're...agreeing."

Starlight trotted to the table, restless under the afternoon sky. "Th-This doesn't feel right."

She reached the table.

Saw her friends' cutie marks.

Their equal sign cutie marks.

She gasped. "You have...what is going on here?!"

Turned to the six ponies.

She recognized the Wonderbolt Rainbow Dash, but she did not have her armor, nor her scars—not even that mechanical wing. Instead, she had her two naturally grown wings and a flowing mane, untouched by military standards.

She also recognized the Rock Trooper Pinkie Pie, but her mane wasn't straight at all. It was all poofy and curly. There were no scabs or wounds on her, too—she was a bright, happy mare.

The other three ponies...that one had a farm hat over a ponytailed mane, this one looked like a fashionista and had three diamonds as her cutie mark, and that other one—that shy yellow pegasus...

Then, she turned to face the last pony at the table.

A purple unicorn.

A purple winged unicorn.

"A-An alicorn other than the Princesses?!" Starlight said, stammering and slowly backing out. "This must be a strange dream...what kind of dream is this?!"

She tripped.

Fell over.

Saw a purple hoof.

Grabbed it.

Got up.

"Th-Thank you, miss...uh..."

"Hi, Starlight!" the alicorn said, smiling.

Starlight took more steps back. "Uh, this is getting too unusual for me!"

The alicorn stopped her by the shoulder.

A serious, pained look on her face like it was asking Starlight to stay for a minute.

"Look, Starlight Glimmer. I don't know what you've went through, but I know you can't do this!"

"Do what?!" Starlight yelled, fearful. "What am I doing wrong? Is it this town thing—are you a figment of my imagination, or—"

"I've seen where this leads and so have you!" she continued, becoming desperate. "I've seen it a dozen times. Equestria doesn't turn out well without my friends!"

Starlight gulped. "I d-don't even know you!" She glanced back at those new ponies by the table—they were laughing with each other. "Are they your friends? I know Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie, but I don't know—"

"The differences between me and my friends are the very things that make our friendship strong!"

A magical poof on her back.

A baby dragon sitting on her.

"Is that a dragon?!" Starlight exclaimed. "Are you trying to teach me something?! Cryptically? Is there some kind of code I have to...decode or something?!"

The alicorn spread her wings and hovered over her. "So, try again! Make new friends, and if something you can't control happens that changes things, work through it together!"

She finished the sentence by putting her two forehooves together.

"But, I know that!" Starlight said, frightened. "What are you trying to tell me, fake Princess?!"

"That's what friendship is!" the alicorn went on. "And, it's not just my friendships that are important to Equestria—everypony's are!"

She looked down.

"When yours ended, it led us here...but, just imagine all the others that are out there waiting for you if you just give them a chance!"

"What others?!" Starlight retorted. "Who are those others? Are you sending me off to do something? Are you Princess Luna in disguise? Oh, n-no...look, I didn't order the invasion of Canterlot—it was a disaster on Double Diamond's part, but I should've seen the signs and got him and talked to him! Consulted him and—"

"I guess it's up to you to make sure they don't," the alicorn said, landing on the ground with the baby dragon still holding on to her neck.

Extended a hoof.

Starlight blinked.

Shook her hoof.

"So, can I wake up now and—"

Fell down again.

Felt the hard surface.

Freezing cold.

Groaned, standing up.

Saw the surface.

Crystal surface.

Looked around her.

Crystal thrones, crystal walls, crystal lights hanging from tree roots above. She squinted her eyes, trying to see what exactly those things were inside—moving...

Shook her head, hopped out of the table.

It was a huge room. Wooden doors of brown and green, a purple carpet.

"So, I'm still sleeping," Starlight said. "This isn't good."

One of the doors opened.

Starlight turned around.

Those six ponies again plus that one baby dragon.

"OK, let's settle this once and for all," Starlight declared, stomping a hoof on the floor, half irritated and half scared. "If you're just a part of my stressed out imagination, then...alright. But, if one of you is Princess Luna, then please show yourself because you're not making this clear to me and—"

"Friendship connects all of Equestria," Twilight said, facing her friends, "and undoing one group of friends made its magic less powerful!"

"I'm getting out of here!" Starlight yelled.

Budged the six ponies out of the way and galloped out the room.

"No, Starlight, wait!" she heard the alicorn shout.

Starlight busted the doors open and fell down the stairs.

"OK, where am I now?"

She rubbed her head and stood up.

Gasped.

A delightful village of cottages by green fields and tall hills. On her left, a waterfall cascading into a beautiful lake. Above, the morning sky.

She galloped again, toward the village. "Maybe my way out of this dream is in that—"

Bumped.

Fell down again.

"Ugh."

Saw the pony down there.

Picked her up.

"Oh, I'm sorry...Rock Trooper Maud?!"

There was Maud, but she was not wearing her famed Rock Trooper uniform. Instead, she had a blue cloak and looked peaceful.

She ran past her.

"There's no way this dream is gonna get—"

Bumped again.

Fell down yet again.

"Ow!" Starlight attempted to stand up.

A blue hoof helped her.

"You may have just made my Great and Powerful magic show even better!" this new pony shouted, grinning donning a magician's costume. "Which I didn't even think was possible!"

"Get away from me!" Starlight shrieked.

Running closer to the town.

A Crystal pony blocking the bridge there.

Starlight knocked him down, advancing forward.

Glanced back.

Saw him glow and turn into a changeling. "Wait, Starlight! It's me, Thorax!"

"Changeling!"

Screaming, she ran on.

The ground faltered.

Tremors.

An earthquake.

Slipped.

Ground giving way.

Falling.

"Oof!"

Grabbed hold of the rocky ground.

Dirty, dusty, musty.

"You both look the same!"

Turned around.

Against the backdrop of a gray sky, a blue dragon.

"Agh!"

Ran away.

Bumped and shattered a window.

Falling over.

Down a hallway.

Feeling the soft red carpet.

Before her, a table and Princess Celestia at the other end, levitating a pancake.

She took a bite and ate it, then looked at Starlight.

"It's a small way to say..."

Celestia levitated another plate of pancakes for her,

"I care."

Table tipping over.

Starlight screaming, falling to the doors.

Table fast approaching.

Doors opened.

Starlight fell through the hallway.

Saw it crowded with cut manes of different colors.

Landed in a library.

Crystal walls.

"This looks familiar..."

Whirled her head around.

Saw the alicorn, the magician, Maud all dressed up like dragons and hopping around on books near a makeshift cutout of a volcano. Also dressed up as a dragon was an orange stallion with rumpled hair. Wearing glasses, a little orange goatee on his chin...

"Sunburst?!" Starlight blurted out. "Playing Dragon Pit with a fake Princess, a crazy magician, and a Rock Trooper?!"

Felt a grip on her tail.

"Hey! Don't you—"

Pulled away from the spectacle.

Past the doors.

Slammed shut.

Starlight turned around.

The throne room of Canterlot Castle with its columns, its banners, its carpet, its windows, its royal grandeur.

He saw that alicorn again plus her five friends and seven more ponies she did not know—they were all standing before Princess Celestia right at the step of her throne.

Then, the bearded one spoke:

"I simply cannot believe how tall you've gotten!"

"Star Swirl?" Starlight whispered to herself. "I think?!"

Placed a hoof on her head.

"I've had enough of this wacky dream! Maybe I'm still too riled up about Double Diamond and what happened...yeah..."

Laughed to herself.

Letting the words spoken before her drown.

Most of those ponies hugged each other.

Felt a grip on her tail.

"What?! What's going—"

Pulled away.

Fell once again.

She swung her head up and looked around her.

Panting, gasping for breath.

It was night.

That familiar town of hers.

Chilly.

"Whew!"

She wiped the cold sweat off of her brow.

"But...I'm n-not awake yet..."

Then, the alicorn walked into view.

"Starlight...time is ticking."

She got up, facing the strange pony on her level. "I don't get it...what's the point?!"

"This...time..."

"Look here!" Starlight yelled, pointing at her. "Tell me a little about yourself! Why are you here?! I haven't even seen you before!"

The alicorn gulped. "My name is Twi—"

She stopped.

Looked over Starlight's shoulder.

"Your name is Twi...what?"

Starlight then looked behind her.

Princess Luna.

Moon shining behind her flowing and sparkling mane, its rays glowing.

Starlight shuddered, bowing down before her.

The other alicorn bowed, too.

"Get up, Starlight," Luna said, serious.

Starlight got up. "Princess Luna, I'm very sorry—no, I apologize for what happened back in Canterlot and then at Sarcidano Base. I apologize for all the deaths I've caused without even knowing it! Your Highness, please forgive me—"

"You are forgiven," Luna replied, sober. "But, you must come with me. I have to talk to you personally about your...dream."

Starlight took a step back, opened her mouth but did not say a word for a while.

Luna looked at her. "What is the matter?"

"I...I don't like where this is going. Does this mean my dream is...dangerous? Is it a nightmare?"

"It is more than a nightmare," Luna said, "for I do not know where this dream comes from."

Starlight gasped. "But, you're the Princess of the Night and—"

"We must get out of your dream now!"

Luna grabbed her.

Flew upward.

Rush of the wind.

Starlight breathed faster and faster.

Climbing up.

Luna opened the door.

Inside was an average room. The fireplace and a few lamps lit up the little cottage, the former providing warmth to combat the evening freeze. A few couches were gathered around the fireplace, several paintings of verdant landscapes hung on the walls, and shelves contained a variety of knick-knacks and what-not's.

Outside, Starlight could still see the calm night and the infinite plains of grass around the house, around that cottage.

Luna closed the door.

Locked it.

"You do not need to sit down, Starlight," Luna said, "but it is quite alright."

Starlight proceeded to plop down on a couch, exhausted.

Luna levitated one of the books at the shelves, skimmed through it, closed it, and floated it back.

Turned to face a tired Starlight.

"Tell me everything you can remember from that dream," Luna instructed, her figure against the light of the hearth.

Starlight sat up. "I'm sorry for not doing it right away, Princess, but...what's wrong with my dream?"

Luna sighed.

Stared past the window, beholding the night sky with its stars and moon.

"While I was roaming around the dream realm, I noticed your dream. At first, I overlooked it, for I thought that it was merely a dream of confusion—produced out of a mind disorganized by the day's events. Then, I happened to get closer to your dream, and I felt something...odd."

Starlight brought her hoof up to her chin, listening.

"It was not a sweet dream," Luna continued, "but, it was not a nightmare, either. I cannot perfectly describe to you what I felt when I approached your dream—it is something that only I can experience and understand fully, for, as you know, it is my duty to protect ponies in their sleep—but, I detected...a different quality. A quality that I have never encountered in a very long time until now."

Luna breathed in.

"I was able to know the last words that mysterious alicorn conveyed to you," Luna said. "Her emphasis on 'time' makes sense."

Starlight sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

Luna looked back beyond the window. "I could tell when a dream is about to end or if it has only begun. But, when I tried to know if your dream was closer to its end than its beginning, not only did I know that it was nearer to its end, but that it was also...after its end."

Starlight's eyes got wide. "Are you telling me I dreamed about the future?!"

"That is where things become bizzare."

Looked at Starlight.

"At first, I had thought the same as you did. Then, as we traveled to this place, I pondered over your dream and its framework. It turns out that you dreamed about the future...but, it is not this future."

Starlight tilted her head a bit. "You mean I dreamed about a future that could have been?"

"Precisely."

Starlight tapped her chin, thinking. "But, what's so bad about it?"

"I have said before that your dream is not a normal one. You were not imagining about what you think could happen in the future. You were imagining about what might objectively and undeniably happen in the future."

Starlight shivered. "Did I dream about the end of Equestria if someone out there made the wrong choice? Is there a way that you could stop it?"

"Which is why you must tell me everything you saw," Luna said, firmer.

Silence.

Starlight breathed in.

"First, I was in my town and I saw several of my friends and co-equals—they had equal signs for cutie marks and their hair looked the same. Then, they were talking to six ponies—Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie were there, but they looked different—they looked better, happier. One of those ponies was an alicorn just like you but this one was purple and wasn't that tall—smaller than Princess Cadance, I think. Then, she talked to me about friendship and making new friends...next, I ended up in some kind of room with crystal things and those ponies came back—oh, the alicorn had a baby dragon, I don't know why...wait, where was I? Ah, I got out of the place, found myself in another village—it had grass and all—and I...got to Maud—you know, the sister of Pinkie Pie—but in her civilian clothes. Then, I bumped into another pony—a magician—and then I got to a changeling whose name was...was Thorax!"

Breathed in.

"I fell and saw a dragon who said that I looked the same with...somepony. Somehow, I got to your castle and saw Princess Celestia eating pancakes and offering me some. I fell to a library—it had crystals, too—and I saw Maud and the other two ponies—that alicorn and the magician—they were wearing dragon costumes and were playing a big version of Dragon Pit...the board game. Then, I saw Sunburst—I think you know him—but...I used to be friends with him until he moved to Canterlot to study at the School for Gifted Unicorns..."

Breathed in.

"I got pulled into your throne room and saw lots of ponies there including the alicorn and they were meeting with your sister and there was this gray pony with a beard—I thought he was Star Swirl—"

"—the Bearded!" Luna blabbed. "He could return?"

"How am I supposed to know?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know if there's a hidden meaning to all of this, of if I should take it literally—"

"Keep going."

Starlight sighed.

"So, finally, I got back to our town, but it was night. The alicorn was talking to me, and then you came."

Breathed out.

"And, that's all I could remember, your Highness."

Luna looked at her.

Breathing slowly, tired.

The Princess approached her.

"You asked for the alicorn's name. What did she say?"

Starlight looked up, seeing her troubled face. "She said 'Twi' before you arrived. I'm sure that's not her full name."

"It is not," Luna said.

"Wait, you know her?"

She nodded. "Not as much as Celestia did, but I knew her."

Starlight gasped. "That means there's another alicorn?! Another Princess?!"

"I do not know why she is an alicorn in your dream," Luna went on, "for she is a unicorn in the real world."

"But...how could it be? Why wasn't she a unicorn when I was dreaming? Who is she?!"

"She is a unicorn known as Twilight Sparkle," Luna said. "And, that is all you need to know."

Starlight eyed her strangely. "Why? Did she do something bad?"

"The fact is, you have seen her—in a dream, but you have seen her. It is only a courtesy that you know her name, since apart from that, information about her shall not be disclosed—it is a royal decree."

Starlight let her head hang.

Waiting.

"I am afraid I have to tend to other ponies," Luna said, spreading her wings. "In other times, I would not have spent so much time with you, but...we are not in those times."

The Princess of the Night flew out of the window.

Starlight watched her fly in the sky.

Starlight woke up.

No Celebration

Starlight sat down on her dining table.

Where enjoyment and laughter reigned the night before, the funereal took over today.

Outside, she could see the morning sky.

The gray morning sky, overcast.

"Thirty minutes," she mumbled. "Thirty minutes then it's back to farm work, back to normal."

Considered the basket of apples, oranges, and pears before her. Beside it, another basket, this one of potatoes and cabbages.

"Another celebration, another festival," she murmured. "Another happy time gone. We enter it rich, we leave it poor—having accomplished nothing of note. But, it serves one purpose: it makes ponies...happy. The friendships that—"

Caught herself.

"Friendship. Friendship?"

Starlight stood up, placed the chair back in its proper place.

"Equestria's fate is at stake!" she whispered, anxious.

Felt her legs shake.

Trotted around the dining and living rooms, winding around furniture and on carpets.

"But...if it's friendship...friendship with who? I've got like a dozen close friends at least, and many more acquaintances and contacts. Was it someone from a bad future sending me this dream through time to make sure I stop whatever caused it? But, why me? Why not the Princesses? They have the power, they have the might—"

Knocks on the door.

Starlight halted, faced that way. "Who's that?"

"Uh, Starlight?"

She ran to the door and swung it open.

Heart beating fast.

Faster.

"S-S-Sunburst?!"

The robed wizard nodded, laughing awkwardly. "Y-Yes, Starlight...it's me...Sunburst!" He adjusted his round glasses. "Long time, no see, eh?"

Starlight gulped. "Why, y-yes, long time, no see!" She swayed a hoof across her, making a gesture of confidence—while smiling. "It hasn't been that long like...years long, am I right?"

Sunburst laughed again. "Yeah, years long."

He glanced behind him, then turned back.

A grave face.

"So...Dragon Pit with dragon costumes?"

Starlight quivered, almost jumped back. "You know?!"

Sunburst nodded. In a panicky voice: "Close the door and w-we'll see what our next step will be."

Starlight walked over to the door and closed it.

The two ponies trotted to the dining table and sat beside each other.

"It smells like cranberries here," Sunburst commented, taking a good look of the house—seeing its brick walls, its light fixtures, its shelves of many books. Then, he faced the mare on his left. "Well, this is going to get embarrassing...me, the Head Pony over the Mages' Research Division and the inventor of artillery, talking with the one and only Starlight Glimmer—" cleared his throat "—ambassador of the Town of Efficiency and the current face of the pacifist movement in Equestria—and we used to be the best of friends and..."

Drifted off, becoming forlorn.

Starlight levitated an apple and laughed. "Yeah! This is going to get really embarrassing..."

Munched on the apple with a funny face, exuding yet more awkwardness at it all.

Sunburst took an apple and munched on it, too.

The overcast sky prevailed.

Starlight's horn continued to glow; she remotely and magically closed the windows.

"Actually, I didn't think about that one," Sunburst said, peeking at the window.

Starlight gave him an inquiring look. "Tell me what happened to you last night. Did you dream a strange dream I did? Did Princess Luna get you up to speed about it? Sunburst, you're...you're smart! Can you share with me your insight on this?!"

Sunburst took off his glasses and placed it on the table. "I...I'm not sure what to make of it myself." Breathing slowly, combing his frizzy mane with a hoof's sweep. "If this is about a potential future that could happen if we don't act wisely, then...w-we must find out what the events are, who are the ones responsible for that bad future...but, as far as I can tell, it's not bad at all."

"I don't know," Starlight said, contrary. "When I saw this town in my dream, it was smaller and looked drab. The ponies there had weird cutie marks—equal signs for cutie marks. I mean, yeah, we all want equality, but I don't think I'll take it that far...right?"

"What if things get so desperate?" Sunburst suggested, tapping on his head. "The war might be the first domino in a line of bad dominoes. International incidents, big ponies getting assassinated, mass evacuations—they might come next, and you might find a good reason to paint their cutie marks over with equal signs!"

"Then, I'll make sure to never do that!" Starlight declared.

Trembled.

Saw Sunburst shook his head, closed eyes.

"But, why?"

Opened his eyes. "Well, in my dream—"

Starlight sat up, leaning in to listen closely

"—I h-had a similar experience. I found myself in the Crystal Empire—but, it wasn't all dark and evil. It w-was the Empire before Sombra took it over...I saw Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance with a baby—"

"But, they don't have a baby," Starlight mentioned.

"Exactly!" Sunburst exclaimed. "That was the first sign...the first sign that maybe the future you and I both saw...we shouldn't prevent it. I thought of actually encouraging it—"

"I don't want to enslave ponies!" Starlight yelled, inclining her head back.

"I-I was getting there!" A pause to catch his breath. "What I meant was...making sure the good parts h-happen and the bad parts don't!" Sunburst completed the sentence by moving around his hooves.

"Argh! Which ones are the good and the bad?!"

Sunburst, agitated and scratching his head, sighed. "Maybe...maybe both our dreams are like puzzle pieces. If I tell you the rest of what I saw, then maybe we could figure it out!"

Starlight slammed a hoof on the table. "Then, tell it!"

It was Sunburst's turn to gulp. "Wow...I didn't know you grew grumpy during the years."

Starlight rolled her eyes, making a little smile at that.

"So...after the baby...I saw you...I r-recognize the town that we were in...we were hanging out in Ponyville, playing Dragon Pit but we were like the pieces. I saw three other ponies...there's a pony who looked like a wizard, too, then there was another alicorn, and there was Maud—"

"You know Maud?" Starlight interrupted, sounding surprised.

"Well, several Rock Troopers came over o-one of our labs and asked us to make a new kind of rock which can explode with ten times more force but is also very safe to carry in your pockets until you want to use it." He laughed yet again, avoiding Starlight's look of curiosity. "Let's just say that it didn't turn out well and Maud's usually funny sister gave me the cold shoulder..."

"Ooh." Starlight showed her teeth, sympathetic. "That's not good, coming from her."

Then, gasped.

"I almost forgot! Your dream! How did it go on?"

Sunburst put on a serious face. "That's the funny thing. It ended rather quickly after the Dragon Pit thing...but, it's how it ended..."

Starlight leaned her head closer.

"I saw that Twilight Sparkle alicorn standing on the cloud with you, talking to you. You looked...a-angry at her. You were holding a scroll and you were threatening Twilight to...do something—I couldn't get the rest of the words...you t-told her something and you began to rip the scroll apart."

"That's something we should avoid, right?" Starlight asked, troubled, holding another apple with her hoof. "That's part of the bad future we should thwart, totally not a part of the good future we want...right?"

"I think it's part of the good future."

"What?!"

Starlight slapped Sunburst on the face.

Retracted her hoof, gasped, looked away.

"I-I'm sorry, Sunburst," she began, voice unsteady, "but it's getting hard to wrap my head around it. Are we the ponies destined to save Equestria by...trying to solve a chronological puzzle somepony sent from one of two possible futures?!"

Sunburst nodded, rubbing his reddened cheeks. "I'm not a hundred percent certain...but, it m-might be..."

Starlight slumped on her chair, groaning. "OK, I'll take it...it might as well be the adventure that will get the two of us back together as best friends."

"I sure hope so," Sunburst said, not smiling at that idea.

Starlight munched on the other apple and swallowed the bite down. "But, again...why do you think me arguing with a fake Princess is part of the good future?"

"Because...because Twilight forgave you and you stopped being...uh, evil."

"So, for Equestria to be saved, I have to be the villain?" Starlight said, pointing to herself and pouting. "Thanks for the help, Sunburst!"

"B-But, maybe it was corrupted on the way to our time?" Sunburst suggested further, frantic. "Twilight's a unicorn, remember? So, maybe it's somepony else but that somepony's close to you!"

"Well, there's you..."

"But, I don't have any evil plans!" Sunburst said, grabbing his glasses.

They slipped.

Hastily putting them back on his face.

"I asked all the librarians back in Canterlot before I got here and what Princess Luna said was true—nopony wanted to divulge any information about Twilight Sparkle at all."

Starlight blinked, repeating, "By royal decree..."

"Yes...by royal decree. But, if it's not you and it's not me, then who's going to go against Twilight? And, why does he or she want to fight her anyway? Is this Twilight Sparkle the biggest reason why the good future turned out...good?"

"Maybe?" Starlight quipped.

Sunburst stood up, pushing the chair and scratching the wooden floorboards, and glanced at the door. "So, I have to get to Twilight Sparkle despite it being illegal—"

"It's illegal?!" Starlight exclaimed, shoving her chair aside and bumping the basket off the table.

Fruits rolled around on the floor.

"Luna said information about her is illegal, but just meeting her?!" Starlight held on to her head. "Is she a criminal? And, how are you so sure Twilight's the answer to this future thing?!"

Sunburst opened the door and let in damp rays of sunlight, about to leave. "Twilight shows up way too much in our dreams for her to be a mistake! She may be an alicorn there, but...she's there too much! Now—" levitated a small clock out of his robe "—I have to go and you better do whatever it is you're doing in this town! Leave it up to me and I'll send a letter when I get a good thread in this mystery!"

"Sunburst, wait!"

But, he was galloping off.

Starlight ran to the door.

Sunburst already close to the town's borders.

Running under the cloudy sky.

On the dry, parched land.

A bright and sunny day.

Between a line of trees, a dirt road.

A long line of carriages slowly pulling its passengers away.

Its mourning passengers.

Some lamented in earnest, rocking their heads and blowing their noses on hankerchiefs.

Others limited themselves to a single stream, a single tear down the cheek.

All mourned.

Past the carriages, past the trees, past the path.

Past them, was a field of grass.

It seemed endless, this field. These blades of grass, ever shining, ever reflecting the gentle light of the sun, drinking in its tender warmth.

An ocean of green.

Broken by a stone of gray.

A long walk from the road, a five minute trot away, was a tombstone.

On it were these words:

Night Glider
Loved in both life and death,
You will be missed

Starlight heaved a weighty sigh.

Standing alone before that solitary memorial.

The wind jolted her mane about.

Starlight kept gazing upon it.

That tombstone.

That solitary memorial.

That memory.

Memory of her.

Misty-eyed.

Sniffed.

Tears flowing down.

Running down.

Made out the sound of wings flapping.

She turned her head a little to the side.

Noticed the intruder's scarred face, her injured ear, her unwieldy armor.

Her strange, mechanical wing.

"Rainbow Dash, isn't it?" Starlight croaked.

She nodded and walked to her side. "I came here to say...I'm sorry."

Starlight half-faced her, slightly turning the rest of her body. "Y-You don't need to do that. You may have killed over a thousand unwilling ponies, but I'm sure that this isn't one of them, especially not a pony who hated to even be in the same room a soldier is in if she knew it..."

Gazing upon the sky.

"That's the thing," Rainbow said.

Starlight took her gaze off the sky, looked straight at the pegasus. "And, what are you saying?"

"I killed her."

Starlight placed a hoof to her own chest.

Felt her heart pounding.

"You what?"

"You heard me right, Starlight," Rainbow said, nodding solemn. "I murdered her."

Starlight staggered, about to fall down.

Breathing faster.

"Rainbow...look...you kn-know better than to tell me that right after the funeral service..."

"I couldn't keep it from you any longer," Rainbow said, placing a hoof on her shoulder, trying to calm the mare down. "When you have the death of so many ponies under you, it takes a great effort to subdue your conscience, to silence it. I always told myself that the ponies I'm killing are bad and evil—that keeps me going. But, I couldn't do the same thing to Night Glider. I knew that she didn't want the riot to continue, she felt that it was wrong and she knew it, too."

Starlight grabbed her by the neck.

Choking her.

"Then, why did you kill her?!"

Let her go and pushed her away.

Rainbow reeled, recovered.

Stood still.

Sighed.

"I got used to killing...at the moment, it felt like it didn't matter if I killed her or not. I was angry...everyone knows how I'm all for this fighting so we can live in peace much sooner, and to hear that so-called 'pacifists' are trying to take down my friends and fellow soldiers..."

Rolled a hoof around, trying to convey something to Starlight.

"I didn't care, so I killed her, anyway."

Starlight breathed in, breathed out.

Fuming, baring her gnashing teeth.

"I know I can't bring her back to life," Rainbow continued, looking at her. "I know that, whatever I do, it won't be enough to replace her because nothing can replace a life. If you don't believe me, then ask my friends—or, whoever's left. The only friends I got now from the start are Pinkie and the Wonderbolts—and, I'm not sure if any of us will live until the end."

Tears going down Starlight's cheeks.

Her mouth open, but never saying a word.

"Could you...ever forgive me, Starlight?"

Looked at the warrior, staring at her.

With wild eyes.

The two of them alone before that gray tombstone.

In an ocean of green.

Eyes flooding with tears.

Down her cheeks.

"I...I..."

"I know it's hard for you to forgive me," Rainbow said, glancing at her mechanical wing. "I don't know how long you've been with friends with her but...it looks like you've been buddies for a very long time."

She opened her wings.

Hovering higher.

"I'll just...leave you alone."

Flying away.

Starlight saw her rainbow streak in the sky.

Closed her eyes.

Broke down.

Wept.

Nighttime.

Manehattan.

Trumpets and drums resounding through the streets.

Under the deluge of lights in the Bridleway Theater District, on that grand and famous intersection where those wide avenues coalesce into a great asphalt space, a parade was ongoing.

Strings of uniformed military musicians playing in tune, in tempo, a marching song—wearing their brightly colored suits and tall hats.

The sidewalks were fenced off, ponies barricaded from meeting their celebrated veterans, though they could shout from afar and wave flags in spite of the cramped conditions for the usual civilian trying to commend his heroic fighters.

Flags of cities, flags of regions, flags of the Equestrian Kingdom.

Rainbow Dash stood on one of the many floats in line, among the Wonderbolts honored and lauded by the populace around her. She could see the streamers, the balloons, even that flag of Cloudsdale with its simple blue background and its circular rainbow together with its two clouds.

Staying stoic like the rest of the Wonderbolts.

She took a short glimpse behind her.

The next float in the parade held a lot of Rock Troopers, Pinkie Pie and Maud Pie a part of them. Every one of them wore their signature gray uniforms, their pockets full of rock ammunition.

Pinkie kept up a stoic face, copying Maud's.

The float moved casually, following the speed of the musicians and the other soldiers on the road who closer to the ponies on the sidewalks.

Pinkie saw one of those soldiers give a longing look to one of the mares there. While she did not recognize the soldier himself, she raised an eyebrow at the mare. That bunned mane, those earrings, that yellow scarf, the cookies she was selling to those by the fences—

"You!"

Sweetie Belle knocked the fence down and ran to the road.

Screams around, soldiers and musicians being dispersed and giving way to the galloping filly.

She hopped on to the float, running up the steps to Pinkie's level.

Pinkie bit her lip, watching her run across the platform, approaching her.

Several Wonderbolts flew off their spots and hovered over the Rock Troopers' float, keeping an eye on the youthful troublemaker.

More ponies crowding near the scene.

Yet more ponies in blue uniforms gathering around the float.

It stopped.

"Young pony!" the police captain shouted through a megaphone. "Get down from there!"

Sweetie ran on.

She passed by Pinkie.

Who was shivering.

Then, she reached Maud who had been observing her.

"This is for hurting my sister!"

Punched her on the leg.

Maud remained still, looking at the filly.

"This is for bringing her to the factory!"

Punched her on another leg.

Maud kept still.

"And, this is for turning her into the polar opposite of a fashion designer, making her work hours of overtime and turning her miserable!"

About to swing one more punch.

Grabbed by Pinkie.

"Hey!"

Struggled, punched her on the face.

"Ow!" Pinkie rubbed her head. "That hurts, you know!"

"So, you're working together, huh?!" Sweetie accused, pointing at her and then at Maud. "You'll pay when I can actually hurt you! You'll pay!"

"What did Maud ever do to your sister?" Pinkie asked her, looking nervously at the police climbing up the float, holding the filly with her hoof.

"She slammed Rarity at a wall and forced her to work at a horrid uniform mill! They don't always feed her on time, they sometimes order her to sleep there so she can work more, and...Rarity never wanted it! She wanted to work on her clothes and sell them in her boutique!"

A police pony finally caught up to Sweetie. "Ma'am, it's best you go with us."

Pinkie gave the filly to her.

Whispering, "I'm sorry!"

So, Sweetie was carried down the float and to the sidewalk, amidst a group of ponies murmuring and talking.

Returned to her mother who had placed the box of cookies down and hugged her daughter.

Could hear the words of the ponies around them.

But, what they all heard:

Her crying.

Bronclyn

It was sunset, the sky a fierce orange and the sun itself descending gradually upon the green lands beyond the rivers of "The City That's Always Awake". Here, its prime hour was about to make its renowned scene—various skyscrapers and high-rises had already turned on their exterior lights in preparation of that fateful hour, illuminating the streets already lit up by the final minutes of the day.

As usual, the roads of Manehattan were rife with carriages zipping by, yellow taxis making up about half of the traffic. In this noisy cosmopolitan metropolis, a great diversity of creatures could be seen—while the majority of them were ponies scurrying about on the sidewalks with their bags and briefcases, griffons could also be seen flying about along with a few yaks here and there plus some Abyssinian cats roaming and checking things out. The parks only magnified the variety—there, several ponies were sitting only meters away from yaks and griffons trying out the experience of sailing on a boat through a creek where several cats were casting their baited fishing lines and waiting for food over cozy chats.

By an avenue in the borough of Bronclyn, a bakery sat squished between two block apartments.

The interior gave off a toasted smell—the lights were already on ahead of the coming night. Pastries were advertised behind the glass displays, the most prominent of them being the array of cookies and their many different flavors: from plain cookies through chocolate chip and peanut butter and up to the peculiar like cookies topped with chili.

Customers sat at their tables, conversing over cookies and other baked goods, their words regularly woven with crunches and bites. Newspapers were a common sight, with ponies discussing the news of the moment: the headline of "The Manehattan Times" was "Grand Equestria Pony Summit Moved to Summer's Day 1! Emergency Conditions Called for Reschedule!" Given the unsettling nature of the news, the climate of dialogue was heating up, with one pony going so far as to say, "I shall relocate and stay alive that way!"

Behind the counter, helped by a few aproned assistants serving tables and baking food, was Cookie Crumbles herself, her mane in that bunned manner.

Sitting on a swivel chair across the counter was a pegasus wearing her ordinary orange shirt, chewing on a plain old chocolate chip cookie over a plate of more such cookies.

"It only makes sense that she's so upset," Cookie said in that country drawl, furnishing another plate of cookies and hoofing it to the customer before her. "I don't know if my husband could bear that much on his heart, much less me."

Windy Whistles sighed. "But, those ponies from that strange and crazy town in the middle of nowhere...they're evil! I don't get them, none of us over at Cloudsdale gets them! It's only right that my awesome daughter killed her—if that Night Glider only knew how much suffering everyone back at home has to endure, suffering without their children..."

Another frustrated sigh.

"Cloudsdale used to be great! An aerial powerhouse, a champion in weather control! Now, it's lagging behind because everypony who becomes old enough to get drafted is sent to the front and the best we could ask for is a two-week leave."

Cookie Crumbles continued listening, though her hooves went through the motions of getting cookies and serving them to other customers seated at the counter.

"Now that Fluttershy's sent off to the front as well, the Shy's have lost it. Nopony's heard from her brother for almost a week and the mayor let us know that he's certainly not in Cloudsdale anymore."

A sniff. Windy rubbed her runny nose.

"The first few days after Fluttershy was gone, we went to the Shy home, only to find that they were crying, too. So, we cried together...but, even we had to realize that we're becoming pathetic. So, we're taking a little vacation here—getting ourselves on the ground and just...getting our minds out of it all, you know."

Cookie nodded, having given yet another plate of cookies to yet another customer. "You're not the only one doing that. Manehattan's gettin' more tourists everyday but not for the right reasons. Strained families trying to relax, too, even though they're making themselves close targets if anything bad happens at this side of the front."

"But, where else can we go?" Windy asked, putting up a hoof. "Las Pegasus is history, Canterlot's never been the same with its sudden loss of the elite, and...Manehattan has everything. When you're emotionally and mentally drained as we are, you need everything to fill you back up."

Cookie nodded again. "I see..."

Windy finished her first cookie and grabbed another one. "Aren't you afraid of, well, getting bombed by the Crystals?"

"I sure do, but I do my best to not let it get to me. To be honest, it wasn't the best of things movin' here—"

Windy slanted her head a little to the side, slightly startled. "You're not a Manehattanite?"

Cookie nodded once more. "I'm surprised the accent didn't give it away, but we're from a small village known as Ponyville."

Windy almost spat out her bite of a cookie. She gulped it down. "Did you say...Ponyville?"

"Yes, ma'am. Why? A relative lives there?"

"Don't you remember that Ponyville and Cloudsdale are close together?" Windy asked. "Does that mean we were living almost right beside each other before you left?"

Cookie looked up, thinking. "That ain't exactly 'right beside each other', but...yeah, we were."

"Huh. Small world."

Cookie smiled.

"That's because Fluttershy actually worked for Applejack—one of the Apple family ponies running Sweet Apple Acres..." Windy made a sheepish smile, "you know, the one producing those Famous Canned Apples?"

Now, it was Cookie who sighed. "Yes, her. Sweetie Belle's been gettin' letters from Applejack's sister and another friend there, so we saw the farm slowly turn into a factory over the months as if we were there."

Windy placed a hoof on her cheek, wearing a pitying expression. "Doesn't it hurt to see such a traditional farmpony give up her farming ways?"

Cookie nodded yet again—eyes closed, a frown appearing. "Yes, it does, but what can you do? It's everypony for the cause—well, in Ponyville, at least." She rolled her eyes.

Windy looked away, chewing on her cookie again.

As Cookie Crumbles, through the main glass door, saw a carriage with a huge wagon full of tourists pass by outside.

The bus carriage traveled around in Manehattan at a peaceful crawl, allowing the tourists enough time to take pictures of those tall buildings, of this and that park, of these attractions by the sidewalk, and—of course—the Manehattanites themselves who took offense at being treated in such a way.

Walking around in the pulled wagon, guiding those visitors around, were none other than the Manehattan Cutie Mark Crusaders themselves, sporting appropriate tour guide hats.

"Our next stop will be the Bronclyn Botanic Garden!" Sweetie Belle announced. "Get your cameras ready because you'll be breathing in the fresh air of...uh, so many fresh plants you've never seen before!"

Babs Seed groaned and blew her bangs away from her eyes while Tender Taps sweated his way through the ride.

It was night.

Enigmatic was the garden at night. Cherry trees with pink leaves provided shade to a rocky path which wrapped over to a little forest with towering plants—including more trees. Shrubbery of all kinds and in all forms, from the untamed bush to the stylish hedge, bordered the path now covered in copious green leaves and security guards in their blue shirts and blue hats.

The path led to a calm river, becoming a bridge. The river itself was lined with flowers faintly shining the light of the moon. The scent of that crisp river, combined with the fragrance of the flowers...it was enough to bring the more poetical visitors to write down a few lines of verse.

On the other side, a fenced-off section of more beautiful flowers. The tourists went in and, constraining themselves to speaking only in whispers, beheld all that was before them.

Red roses with their umpteen nested petals. Blue violets in their simple guise with their simple leaves. Tulips in all the colors of the rainbow, facing upward toward the sky. Daffodils in white and yellow, drooping downwards toward the ground. Buttercups in their dainty shape, hyacinths bundled up in bunches, lavenders exhibiting purple...

A hushed picture. The guests became silent. The snapping and clicking of cameras came to a halt, for it was the eyes that took the garden in.

Stillness in the busy city.

"Uh, are we getting our cutie marks, yet?" Tender Taps asked Babs and Sweetie beside him, the Cutie Mark Crusaders standing just outside the flower garden. He looked at his flank. "Because, I don't think we're getting our cutie marks, yet."

"What about you start askin' after the tour's done?" Babs said, pushing Taps aside.

"I wouldn't want to put it that way," Sweetie added, "but we have to wait it out until the session's over. What if this really is our true talent?"

Tender Taps gulped. "But, what about our—"

"That was because there was nopony who wanted our services back then," Sweetie answered. "Now, we got our tourists."

"But, how long do we have to, uh, guide them?" Taps insisted. "I don't think I can handle talking to a crowd of ponies much longer!"

"Keep it together, Taps!" Babs replied, shoving him and making him fall.

"Ow"

"Hey, Babs!" Sweetie lashed out, keeping her voice down and glaring at her freckled friend. "We're in this together!"

Babs blew her bangs away again. "It's difficult to work with a crybaby everyday."

"I'm working with a 'crybaby' everyday, too, and you don't see me treat him like that!" Sweetie replied, helping Taps up.

Babs grunted, scowled at him.

"Agh!" and Taps clung to Sweetie.

Babs walked up to him and pressed her hoof on his nose. "You better have a positive attitude out here, Taps, or else...what are ya' gonna do? Go dance your sorrows away?"

"Babs Seed!" Sweetie cried out and shoved her away.

And the three of them heard gasps.

They turned around and saw the tourists gawking at them.

Sweetie gulped and faced the shocked group of visitors. "Uh...sorry for the inconvenience?"

The doors of the bakery opened to show a sullen Sweetie Belle entering the establishment.

Eyes were watching her, murmurs buzzing about over her head.

"Sweetie Belle!" Cookie greeted—worried, bothered. She ran from the counter, bumping against her assistants and causing them to almost drop their trays of cookies they were pulling from the ovens. Around the counter, to the customers' dining area, then to Sweetie.

Picked her up.

"I can see that face from a mile away," Cookie said, ignoring the clientele minding mother and daughter. "What happened? Did you fail in one of your cutie mark adventures again?"

"It's not just that!" Sweetie whined, stomping on the tiled floor. "Babs mocked Taps for being so nervous and scared of this and that, and I tried to stop her—"

Cookie patted her on the head. "There, there. You tried and it didn't work out, but that's OK! You know how these Manehattanite folk work—they shout at each other at night and make up in the morning."

"I heard that!" one of the patrons said, taking his hat off and looking rather annoyed at the remark, but continued eating his food anyway.

Sweetie sniffed, eyes wet. "But...what if th-this time, they won't make up in the morning?"

"Oh, let's not worry about what could happen," Cookie said, putting her down and smiling at her. "On the bright side, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo wrote back and I got the letter in your room. You read over that and don't think about Taps and Babs for a while, will you?"

Sweetie nodded, holding back the tears and contriving a small smile. "Thanks, Mom."

Heading her way to the counter, she noticed Windy Whistles sitting at the counter, with a stack of dirty plates and one clean plate of cookies. "Wow, miss! You really like my Mom's cookies!"

Windy muffled a giggle. "They are delicious...and, you must be the Sweetie Belle she's been talking about?"

Sweetie blinked. "You know her?"

"Not until today, but we found out that we used to live near each other! I lived in Cloudsdale and I still do with my lovely husband, but we're here on a short vacation trip."

Sweetie nodded and trotted to her.

Cookie gulped, but continued to the counter and resumed her bakery duties of attending to the night's newcomers and their orders.

Sweetie hopped up the chair beside her and whirled her way around to face her. "So, what's your name?"

Windy picked up yet another cookie. "My name's Windy Whistles, and I'm the Mom of—"

Cookie glanced at her.

Windy noted it and covered her mouth with a cookie.

"Oh!" Sweetie shouted, bending her head forward to listen closely. "How many children do you have? Are they all pegasi or do you have an Earth pony or a unicorn in the family, too?"

"Uh, we have...one."

"What's her cutie mark?" Sweetie inquired. "What's her talent? Because, we're gonna try it out tomorrow—it's a Friday tomorrow, and that means we have lots of free time—"

"Isn't it your school break already?" Windy asked, interrupting her flow of thought, catching Cookie's distressed eye signals.

Sweetie looked behind her.

"Ah, yes, Sweetie!" Cookie rubbed her mane. "She's a nice pony to talk to, but we were in the middle of our own talk—kinda' important, so it's best you go upstairs and read that letter!"

"Oh..."

Sweetie pouted.

Then, smiled.

"OK!"

The filly hopped off the chair and trotted to a door at the far end of the bakery.

Leaving the two mothers to resume their own talk.

Sweetie sat on the chair.

Pressed the button on the lamp.

Bright light shining on the surface.

She placed the letter under it.

Sweetie looked around.

Squalid walls, decrepit floor. A strong stench which could be detected despite the ample amount of perfume that had been sprayed over everything inside the bedroom. The bed itself was short, had one pillow and a big blanket. It was beside the sole window where Sweetie would sometimes see the avenue in overload—carriages at a standstill, drivers and passengers alike clamoring for their peers to move over or to do a u-turn or to try something else to abate the gridlock.

But, whatever the situation was outside, she did not know about it, since the windows were closed both by curtain and by panes.

With the letter unfolded and the envelope set aside, she read:
Dear Sweetie Belle,
This is Scootaloo writing now because it's my turn! So, how are you? Everything still OK there? Is Rarity still doing well? I hope your Dad's alive—I know how hard it is to not see him when you're also not sure if he's coming back.

Here's an update of everything that happened in Ponyville since Tuesday:

So, on Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. Cake finally had Sugarcube Corner fully renovated. It's now a boring old bread shop. I get it because just bread is cheaper to make and it fills stomachs like cakes and pies, but it won't ever replace the good things we used to have. I remember the last things we ordered that morning before it was complete: I had chocolate cake as usual while Apple Bloom had blueberry and strawberry pie (but Applejack doesn't know that yet because she only told her about the blueberry pie! Let's see how long we can keep this up! I'll also tell what Strawberry Sunrise will say about it when the secret's out; boy, will she be happy to hear that!)

Nothing else happened on Tuesday. We tried getting our cutie marks in shipbuilding and in paper plane flying, but it's too complicated to build ships and Cheerilee asked us what exactly would we do if we got a paper plane cutie mark. I told her that there's this pony out there who has a cutie mark for chewing gum, but Cheerilee shot that idea down.

Wednesday, Diamond Tiara was absent from school. Silver Spoon didn't wanna say anything, but we asked around, and we discovered that her Dad's in danger of going to jail because he sold weapons to the Crystal Empire without even knowing it. The only thing that'll guarantee his not-going-to-jail is if we find the scammers who scammed him which will be hard. Several guards from Canterlot are on the case and a few detectives, but we really don't know for sure.

You think that seeing Diamond Tiara get crushed like that would make us happy. Well, it doesn't. She may be a bully, but things like this...it reminds you that she has feelings. Silver Spoon said today that she's willing to go absent tomorrow if it's not yet solved in order to support her friend. I and Apple Bloom won't go absent, but (as much as we don't like saying it) we're going to help Diamond Tiara's Dad get out of trouble. Somehow. I don't know, but maybe we'll catch the criminals hanging around in Ponyville.

Today, this morning, Applejack got a big surprise from Big Mac. We got surprised, too, and we wanted to let you know right now that Big Mac has a crush on Cheerilee! And what's even better? Cheerilee has a crush on him, too! It turns out they've been in love for quite some time, but they kept it secret from even his own family! But, everypony in town knows now, and Mayor Mare's already asking when the marriage is gonna take place! I wish you could at least attend the wedding; he's Apple Bloom's brother, after all, and we don't want you to miss it!

And, I'm running out of space for this letter. I really should've asked for bigger paper, but I don't wanna rewrite all these words down again.

So, until we see you again! This is Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom is watching over me and we're both proud for Big Mac and Cheerilee!

Cutie Mark Crusaders forever!

Sweetie grinned.

Sweetie snored.

Lights were out.

She was fast asleep.

A creak.

Door open.

A pony tiphoofing her way to the bed.

Looked left.

Looked right.

Looked behind her.

Slowly, gently put something on the pillow, beside Sweetie's head.

The stranger tiphoofed her way back to the door and quietly closed it.

She trotted down the hallway and went to the next door.

Opened it.

Entered.

Turned on the lights.

It was the most gorgeous an apartment room could ever be with limited resources. Bouquets of flowers filled plenty of vases on the table, forming an olfactory concoction which had spread everywhere, an unprecedented smell to the nose. Paintings of ponies dressed in clothes marvelous and palatial hung on the walls, relaying wells of inspiration and chic genius in their attention to detail. Mannequins with actual haute couture in progress were laid out for all to see, gems and sequins being the finishing touches to all of these. Finally, the room's masterwork—the bed—was a simple bed.

Rarity sighed and wiped the sweat off of her forehead, then the dirt off of her face. She levitated a brush from the shelf and combed her worn out mane. "Well, things may be going slow, but at least we've got something done! Sweetie is going to have one big surprise when she wakes up!"

"Rarity!"

The pony in question smiled, standing at the bakery's counter dressed up in her work uniform: that same old utilitarian gray shirt, that same old utilitarian gray hat with a large ribbon on top. Her mane was back with those once familiar curls, and she patted them.

She looked upon the bakery's tables and chairs before her.

All empty.

The main door showed a morning early, the sky a merry blue. On the road, a few carriages—it was mostly free.

"What's the use of retaining my original style when it will be undone the moment I step in the mill?"

Her frown became a grimace.

"Beauty will not leave without a fight, I say!"

The door at the far end opened, revealing a happy Sweetie wearing a hat which brimmed with flowers. "Rarity!"

She galloped her way to her sister and hugged her.

Sweetie wearing a fancy hat, Rarity wearing a dismal cap.

"Where did you find the time to make it?!" Sweetie yelled, holding on to her hat. "I rarely see you come over in time to make a hat like this!"

Rarity's smile grew. "Darling, I didn't want to let my fashion skills go to waste, so I had to work on something other than one-off dresses and suits—and, I thought, why not give this one to my little sister, hm?"

"Aww!"

And, the two hugged each other again.

"Now, Sweetie Belle—go to school and show the education system that you can learn in style!"

Sweetie laughed. "Will do, Rarity!"

The filly ran out of the bakery.

Only ten seconds on the sidewalk and she skidded to a halt.

Having almost hit Babs Seed who was running the other way, toward the bakery.

Babs was gasping for breath, then spoke hurried and unnerved: "Sweetie Belle, I don't know how it happened—I know, but..."

"But, what?" Sweetie asked, her voice rising in anxiety. "What happened?"

"Taps got his cutie mark!"

"What?!"

Tender Taps

The school bell rang through its cavernous halls.

Echoing hoofsteps, past the lockers and doors, a motley throng of schoolponies in all shapes and sizes. Bags or no bags; some with glasses, others with hats. Here's a group about to set out on a musical spree, instruments on their backs; there's a crew anxiously discussing what is to come with the surprise quiz next week. Lagging behind, several ponies criticizing the food served in the cafeteria, especially the "horrible soup of the day! It tastes like somepony put mushroom powder and just added water!"

"I talked to Salted Bouillon, and he told me he sneaked to the kitchen just before magic classes were over."

"What did he say?"

"You're right!"

An outpour of laughs and roars, with one classmate rubbing his tongue clean of any residue from that "horrible soup of the day".

But, it is useless to dwell on soups and mushroom powder any longer, for, racing ahead at the front of the pack, was Sweetie Belle and Babs Seed.

Out the huge double doors, down the steps, on to the paved yard.

"What did they tell you?" Sweetie asked, running down the sidewalk and dodging passersby under the sunset sky. "And, why are we galloping all the way to Bridleway?"

"That's because they told me he's substitutin' for some tap dancer at one of those plays!" Babs replied, running out of breath.

Crossing the road, swerved around bustling crowds all before waiting carriages.

On to the other sidewalk.

The streetlights turned on, and several buildings automatically activated their lights.

"Which play?" Sweetie said, still galloping.

"Hoof of the Mountain!"

"What?!"

Babs blew the bangs off her face yet again, speeding at full tilt. "That's not good! We gotta hurry up! Show starts at seven, but, since you said it, there's gonna be a long line!"

"That's not what I'm talking about!"

Babs turned her head.

The two fillies galloping through, everything around them half a blur.

"Back Beat Slider's one of the main characters!" Sweetie yelled. "I haven't watched the musical because I wanted to watch it with Rarity, but he's the tap dancer in the play and I'm certain Tender Taps will play him! I think he's also a main character, and they need lots of practice and lots of preparation before the show starts! We can't just burst in and get him out of there!"

"We're gonna do it anyway!" Babs shouted.

"Do you want to go to jail?!"

Babs smirked, barreling with Sweetie to the next crossing. "Sounds like a better place than the stage, eh?"

They screeched to a halt.

Against the dark night sky, beside the avenues swamped with carriages, and under the glow of signs and colorful billboards proclaiming the name of the show and publicizing its major actors costumed in elaborate attire, a line of eager ponies—and some griffons, yaks, cats, and even a tiny party of breezies.

"We're not going to make it in time!" Sweetie yelled, noticing more ponies about to line up before them.

Babs stepped out of the line. "Not if I can help it! You better stay there and save my spot—let's see what I can do."

"Wait, Babs!"

But, she was already out of sight.

Babs ran to the front of the line, surging by the breezies and sending them off the line and making them roll and scream in the wind like weightless newspapers.

At the enclosed box office, an argument had ensued between the stallion first in line and the mare ahead of him—so far ahead of the line that she was inside the box office, wore a fancy tuxedo, and, due to her extreme advantage over even that first in line, was the very pony to receive the would-be audience's tickets, thus gaining the greatest theatrical honor of not watching the musical at all.

"What do you mean admission won't start until six-thirty?!" the miserable first in line asked, holding his hooves out to her as if he was in a drama of his own.

"That's the rule, sir," was the sublime reply of that esteemed mare.

But, in his capacity as first in line, the stallion did not want to be beaten, even if his foe is that revered and honored mare who would gladly not receive any part of the show for her own entertainment. "I was told by my friends on the inside that they're giving me special access. They told me I would meet and greet the entire troupe, and you're here to tell me otherwise!"

The distinguished and celebrated sole staff member of that important box office made her thoughts known via that stately, unequivocal gesture of her head: shaking it left to right. "I don't care who you are. Princess Cadance herself waited in line like the rest of us for a ticket, and if she's late, she never blamed anyone but herself, so who are you to get inside before six-thirty?"

Babs did not put on a face of dismay at this overwhelming challenge—in fact, it only emboldened her, if her sharp eyes were of any indication.

So, she stepped ahead of the stallion and raised her head toward the mare.

That mighty mare, the great ticket-collector of this prized theater.

Who smiled. "Oh, it's you! Where's Sweetie Belle? You should better hurry!"

"Wait one sec, Season Voucher!"

Babs ran out of the line, turned around.

Saw the long line and Sweetie Belle tilting her head to see her, that face like it was asking her something.

Babs nodded.

Sweetie ran to her.

The two fillies came up to the box.

"Ah, good!" Season Voucher said as they arrived, her cheery attitude still intact. "Your tickets?"

Babs drew up two tickets and hoofed them to the ticket-holder.

She received the tickets. "Alright! Have a good time and I hope you two and Taps get better, OK?"

The two fillies bumped their hooves and trotted toward the row of glass entrance doors, laughing happy.

"How were you able to pull that off, Babs?" Sweetie asked, dumbfounded.

Babs rolled her eyes, smiling. "You gotta know a thing or two in order to get by here. I've been tellin' you that for almost a year now."

The stallion, meanwhile, stammered, staring at Season Voucher with a horrified look. "Wh-Wh-Wh-What?! B-But, h-how?! Y-You—th-them—C-Cadance—are you trying to make me look bad?!"

She put on a firm, unfeeling face. Rested a foreleg on the counter. "Probably."

Ambitious was the Bridleway Theater.

The grass-scented theater house was packed with several series of open wooden benches where a dozen families could sit on one bench and not feel cramped and, therefore, would not be forced to watch standing on that soft and smooth red carpet. The one principal balcony contained its own lineup of benches, providing more seats and an elevated view of the stage.

Hanging from the ceiling were orange stained glass chandeliers, complementing the golden color of the walls with their hoofwriting-esque embellishments almost as tall as the theater itself. The modern lights were smaller and out of the way, nailed to the walls; these also served as spotlights.

Under those spotlights were little mini balconies of their own which could seat about ten ponies at best—the boxes in the theater house, which did not deserve the other word: "office". These were the most luxurious sites in the theater; the best seats in the house, actually. With a curtain as the door for each one, no wonder these were the envy of the high-class, as could be seen by that Canterlot couple over there in one of those spots—the husband examining the frilly chairs with his glasses, the wife whispering words into his ear and then ending them with a haughty giggle.

But, in a normal musical, no one would concentrate on their seats or on the lights. They would watch the actors and actresses on the stage.

This theater's stage was not exactly the biggest stage in all of Equestria, but it was big. Enough to have a backdrop the size of two average homes' walls and enough to hold about fifty ponies in both area and weight, this stage was a considerable platform to hold a fantastic musical on. Behind the huge red curtains, directions were given; conversations were held.

A side door opened and out went Sweetie, Babs, and Tender Taps himself, wearing a suit and a top hat.

"So, 'Back Beat Slider', huh?" Babs said, maintaining her rough attitude. "Kinda' great, considering this is only your second day having a cutie mark."

Taps winced and then glanced at his flank.

There, his cutie mark: a top hat and a ray of spotlight.

Sweetie frowned. "You now have your cutie mark, so..."

"So, what?" Taps asked.

"Well," Babs began, poking him on the chest, "what about you start with how you got yer' cutie mark in the first place? Your Mom and Dad would've told us, but we were already running late for school—which you didn't attend."

Taps gulped, eyes shaky.

They hopped up on a front row bench, stage right across.

Sweeite and Babs veered their heads a bit to listen.

Taps took in a breath.

"When I ran away from you girls back at the park, I...I danced my sorrows away."

Babs crossed her forelegs and snorted.

Sweetie tapped her on the shoulder and gave her a mean look.

"I went to a smaller park—one that had fewer ponies so I had less chances of being watched by a c-crowd. So, I danced...and I danced...and I danced some more. I closed my eyes, just letting it all out. I didn't realize there were ponies gathering around, seeing me dance. When I was done, I opened my eyes—and, I was surprised to see so many ponies—they just watched me dance and I didn't know it! One of them said that I just earned my cutie mark right there! I-I couldn't believe it, but when I looked, it was there!"

Sweetie smiled and patted him on the back.

"But, I'm sure you're wondering how I got here."

"Get to it, already!" Babs moaned.

Sweetie gave her another mean look.

Taps took in another breath. "So, I was at the park, looking at my cutie mark, when the Method Mares came up to me. On Stage told me that their chosen actor for Back Beat Slider, Swing Out, was down with the flu. He called my dancing skills incredible and he asked if he could get permission from my parents to let me fill up for Swing. I mean...I liked musicals and I watched Hoof of the Mountain myself, but to actually be Back Beat Slider and to be up for the job by tonight? That's less than twenty-four hours! Good thing I was a fan...and, it also turned out that my cutie mark could also stand for being good at theater in general! I was able to memorize practically the entire script by heart, I got along well with the other actors there, and rehearsals went off without much of a problem."

And, he smiled.

Sweetie had been gazing upon Taps this whole time with wonder and an open mouth.

Babs rolled her eyes again. "Sorta' sappy, but, hey, if it's true...." Shrugged her shoulders.

Then, Sweetie shook her head out of her daze of amazement. "But, Tender Taps...you got your cutie mark."

Taps nodded. "Yeah."

"And, we...still don't."

"What are you gettin' at?" Babs asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

Sweetie held a hoof up and looked at it. "Does this mean..."

She looked at a baffled Taps.

"Does it mean...you're not a Cutie Mark Crusader?"

Taps jumped out of the bench and stood in front of them, before the stage. "No! Why would I think of leaving you girls? You've supported me ever since we teamed up!"

"But, what are you going to do now that you have your cutie mark?" Sweetie asked. "I mean, you can't crusade for your cutie mark anymore because...you have it."

Babs said nothing, only watching Taps's terrified reaction.

"You're my best friends!" Taps said, reaching his hooves out to them. "Maybe there's another way I could do to help you out. I could still hang out with you—"

"Unlikely," Babs chimed in, crossing her forelegs again. "If you're playing the Back Beat Slider part here, you gotta play it until the real actor gets well—or, if you're that talented, you might stay here for good."

Taps sweated, slowly stepping away.

"Babs?" Sweetie said, prompting her. "This isn't the best time to think up worst-case scenarios."

"Y-You're right!" Taps blurted out, pointing at Babs with a trembling hoof. "What if I'm better than Swing Out? Then, they'll h-hire me—they won't pick me up full-time, but they'll ask me to do it some of the time! That means I have to skip classes, have to do more h-homework, pr-probably move to a homeschool program to make sure I get the parts and the scripts and the dances and the taps—"

Sweetie launched out of the bench.

Grabbed him and shook him.

"Taps! Don't let it get to you!"

His pupils shooting around his eyes from the dizziness like pinballs.

Recovered, stood up on his own. Rubbed his aching head.

"Tender Taps," Sweetie began, "we'll find a way to keep you a Cutie Mark Crusader. You may have your cutie mark, but that doesn't mean that your crusading stops there. You could tell your story about how you got it—" glanced at Babs "—well, it's not the best of stories, but it's a story and it's a real story!"

Babs looked annoyed. "What? I didn't say anything."

It was Sweetie who rolled her eyes. Looked at Taps again. "Taps, you could inspire other colts and fillies to do everything they could to get their cutie mark and find out their true talent—whether they exert all their effort at a few things or do what we did...really try out everything!"

"You think it's gonna work?" Taps asked.

"Yeah! It has to work. There's tons of ponies like us out there who don't know their true place in life—you're going to help out somepony."

Taps removed his top hat, uncovering his mulberry mane now gelled.

A smile broke out.

The side door opened.

A mare wearing a beret. "Taps? Are you almost done? It's five to half past six. They'll be coming here any moment."

Taps almost jumped.

He turned to his two best friends. "A-Are we done?"

Sweetie nodded.

Babs groaned, still seated at the bench.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes', Babs!" Taps said.

Ran off to the door and the mare.

"I'm not late for anything, right, Raspberry Beret?"

Then, he closed the door behind him.

Sweetie Belle and Babs Seed looked at the closed door for a while.

"This was an eventful night," Sweetie commented.

"Don't tell me you're gonna force me to watch the show for him."

Sweetie hopped on to the bench and smiled. "But, we have tickets. It won't do any good to just get out right now."

Babs grumbled, blowing her bangs out. "Fine."

Ten-thirty at night.

The doors to Bridleway Theater were engulfed with a satisfied audience, speaking highly of Hoof of the Mountain. Several ponies yet talked of watching it at least three more times within the coming weekend; most of the griffons in attendance were nodding to themselves, never saying a word yet silently affirming the quality of the musical; the few yaks who were there curtailed their stomping and smashing and mostly kept their endorsement of the show to mere shouts and yells.

Sweetie and Babs trotted out of the crowd, going ahead of them and walking under the flashy lights of the shops and diners they passed by.

"I can't believe I never watched it before!" Sweetie screamed to a Babs staunch enough to not snap at her. "I didn't watch it? Well, I watched it, and I regret never watching it before! Too bad Rarity didn't come, but...it's good! The cast was terrific, the backdrops were alluring, the lights and special effects were phenomenal, and the story was awesome! Did you see the scene where Obscura explodes Shutter Island? When Star Trail talked with the buffaloes while they're sailing in the middle of the Celestial Sea and they didn't know when help would arrive? What about how his family burned their entire farm to make sure Obscura couldn't get the secret recipe? And, when Blind Spot arrived in that alternate dimension? Oh! What did you think of the big reveal when it turns out the fictional Pullback Wing is actually real and the author of the book was him all along? And, let's not forget Taps and his great performance as Back Beat Slider from beginning to end!"

"I didn't forget," Babs answered deadpan. "I was there."

Sweetie covered her mouth, embarrassed. "Whoops! Sorry!"

"Look—you're happy, Taps is happy, I should be happy. The Manehattan CMC's are still together, and we might just be growin'."

"So—" Sweetie grinned "—does this mean you like musicals now?"

"It's alright," Babs replied, laid-back and looking indifferent. "I'm not used to singing everyday, but I can take one musical a month."

"But, next time, we'll have Rarity!"

Babs groaned louder than before. "I'm not letting her braid my mane."

Once again, Sweetie sat on the chair.

Back in her squalid, decrepit, now fragrant room.

The window was closed, the bed was fixed.

By the light of the lamp on the table, a piece of paper.

On her left, a box of quills and a box of inkwells.

"They're going to be jealous!" Sweetie said to herself. "When they realize that Tender Taps got his cutie mark, they're going to scream so loud, they'll break the clubhouse's windows! They're going to ask about everything!"

She tapped her chin with a quill.

"And, this might be what we need to get our cutie marks! If I ask Taps what he did right before he danced—maybe the conditions have to be right..."

She sat there, thinking.

"Eh. I'll let them ask."

So, Sweetie Belle wrote the letter under the lamp's light.

Against the dark of the night.

One Romance Here, One Romance There

And then, it was Sunday, 7:00 PM.

Dark outside, raining hard. The storm's whiplash captured Good Prospects, taking the town hostage with its never-ending torrents. Ponies sprinted to any building they could get into, to save themselves from being drenched further. Carriages were rare on the roads, the only ones dashing about splashing more water upon the sidewalk.

At the balcony of "Pizza for All!", sitting across each other, at a candlelit table with exquisite spinach and cream cheese pizza—here were Big McIntosh and Cheerilee.

They ignored the ruckus of what was going on at the ground floor with its gabby customers and their showy chefs. Who they focused on was each other.

"So...how...are you?" Cheerilee asked, not exactly putting her best hoof forward.

Big Mac looked up.

Closed his eyes.

"I'm good."

Cheerilee gulped. "OK..."

Both of them blinked.

"Big Mac...this is actually very fancy for a date..."

He nodded. "Eeyup."

"And, I know Ponyville is a few train stops away."

"Eeyup."

"So...it's...it's really nice of you to pay everything..."

Big Mac's smile grew. "E-Eeyup."

Cheerilee picked up a slice of her pizza. "It's not that cheap, though. Have you been saving up for this?"

He nodded, picking up a slice of his own.

"Wow...you're...you're quite nice, you know."

Big Mac blushed.

"An honest, hard-working stallion who doesn't think twice about sacrificing to his love," Cheerilee said.

Blushed, too.

"I...I don't deserve such a boyfriend, let alone have you as my future husband."

Took a bite of her pizza slice.

"You're honest and hard-working, too," Big Mac said.

Cheerilee gulped, looking surprised. "Uh-huh...? But, I just teach while you have to do strenuous work on the farm under the sweltering heat of the sun."

"But, you teach foals," Big Mac said, pointing at her with his free hoof. "Good character and good with children. A happy present and a happy future."

"Woah, Big Mac! I didn't know you were so...iambic."

"Not a poem."

Cheerilee blushed more. "I-I wasn't being literal! I was just being...uh, metaphorical?"

Big Mac laughed a bit.

Took out a guitar.

Cheerilee gasped, pushed her chair back. "Is that a..."

He nodded. "Eeyup!"

She grinned. "Let me guess: You'll sing for me."

"Eeyup."

Strummed the guitar.

Then, with a melody of chords, in a deep baritone:

"Alone at night,
By the apple fields,
There's you and me,
By the country yields.

"When we're gone,
Wandering out here,
There's you and me,
Smiling ear to ear.

"The look on your face,
Has that lovely tender grace.
And when I'm with you,
My joy becomes fresh anew.

"Alone at day,
By the apple fields,
There's you and me,
Hoof and hoof we wield."

A strumming flourish with the guitar.

Then, end.

Seconds of silence.

Cheerilee in silence, shocked silence.

She placed a hoof on her cheek. "Oh, Big Mac! If only..."

Gladmane, who had been standing by the corner and watching them all this time, groaned. "Could you get it over with? Your next order isn't coming until you're done with that pizza."

Big Mac stood up from his chair, put the guitar down, and turned around to face him.

With a mad face, a livid grimace. Punched his two forehooves together.

Gladmane gulped. "I-I take that back! You stay there and enjoy your date!"

And, down the stairs he ran.

Returning back to his mind, to his head, to his ears—the commotion, the tumult of pizza eaters and pizza makers and pizza deliverers. Good smells—a waiter just passed by him, leaving a whiff of that tasty and tempting pie.

Shook his head, almost bumped into a mare looking up.

He raised a brow and glanced at her, then gazed toward what she was looking at.

That charming couple by the candle light, giggling and eating pizza.

Gladmane walked past the onlooking mare.

Past Sugar Belle.

Sugar Belle exited the train with its radiant lights, stepping on to the station's platform.

A blank face on her. Drooping ears, sagging eyes.

Folded her umbrella, put it in her saddle bag.

The train whistled, reversed its course, and sped away from view.

A wretched little train station. One platform. One building as big as a large stall one would usually see in the marketplace.

A figure galloping straight to her, coming from the Town of Efficiency a bit ahead.

Dark outside. A bit blue.

Sugar Belle got off the station and on to the dry, barren ground. She walked to the approaching pony.

Starlight screeched to a stop.

Panting, breathing fast. "Sugar Belle...did you—"

"I've done what you told me to, Starlight," Sugar said, hoofing her several papers with both hoofwritten and typewritten text on them. "Good Propsects has...well, good prospects for us as a target. Mayor Bite Chew is a petty despot—the reason why it's prospering so well in the first place is because he pressured his own citizens to focus on wheat and pizza only. He conceded to build other attractions and landmarks, but only when they could band together, which isn't often."

Starlight nodded, grabbed the papers, bit her lip, and stuffed them back into Sugar's bag. "Y-Yes, yes, good, good! That's very good...but, it's not important now!"

Sugar made a strange face. "What's...going on?"

Starlight shifted her eyes left and right. "I want you to sleep!"

"Huh?" Starlight looked at her left forehoof to check her watch. Except she didn't have one. "Whatever time it is, it's past midnight."

Starlight wiped the sweat off of her face. "Alright...did you experience deja vu there?"

"Hmm." Starlight rubbed her chin. "Actually, I did have one—"

"Where and when and why?!" Starlight yelled, acting drastic.

She looked behind herself, at the town.

"We need to hurry back!" Starlight said, galloping forward.

Sugar followed her, galloping.

Kicking up dust.

Starlight locked the door with a metal lock.

Threw the key at her dining table where Sugar Belle was seated.

It was dark inside save for a candle there.

Starlight closed the window with her magic.

Galloped to the table.

Slipped, hit a chair, and fell to the floor with a thud.

"Starlight!"

Sugar got up and helped her up.

"No, no...I-I'm fine...I think I'm fine..."

Sugar got her down to another chair.

The two mares by the light of the candle, their faces bleak by the flickering fire.

"Starlight...y-you're scaring me...what's happening? Why are we here, talking in secret?"

Starlight slammed a hoof on the table, but not with anger—her eyes were wet. "Sugar Belle, where and when and why did you have deja vu in Good Prospects?"

"Is it bad for my health?" Sugar asked.

"Answer the question!"

Sugar shuddered. "I w-was at a pizza restaurant. 'Pizza for All!' It had nice food—too bad the source is poisoned at the root, but...it wasn't the pizza. There were two ponies in love on the second floor—mare and stallion. It's the stallion...I don't remember ever meeting him before, but it's like...we clicked in my head just for a second and—"

"Are you sure you never met him?" Starlight interrogated, her face becoming more contorted. "What about seeing him before? In a crowd? In the news? Somewhere?"

"I-I don't know!" Sugar looked terrified at the fearful mare before her. "I mean, maybe I saw him when I was passing by in a big city, but how am I supposed to know?!"

Starlight leaned closer.

Her eyes glimmering by the candle.

"Sugar Belle...this is very important..."

Sugar gulped.

"I want you to sleep now. Go to your house and sleep. I'll keep guard on you until you get there. If you don't feel sleepy, drink milk, trot around in your room, read a book—anything that will make you sleep sooner! When you wake up in the morning, run to me and tell me all about your dream!"

"Why?"

"I...I have a really bad feeling about...Sunburst sent a letter..."

Starlight stretched her mane, almost ripping it out.

Growling.

Grabbed Sugar by the head.

"Help the whole town, help Equestria by just obeying me right now and sleep!"

Sugar opened and closed her mouth, but did not say anything.

Frightened.

Sugar Belle stood there by her neat bed in her shadowy bedroom.

Looked out the window.

The shining moon with its shining stars over the vast canopy which was the night sky. Below, dirt roads and plenty of houses.

With their lights out.

Sugar sighed.

Went to her bed.

Slept.

Sugar stood in front of a line.

Before a table.

Under one light.

A dark room.

Behind the table was Starlight Glimmer with a bunned mane and an equal sign for a cutie mark. "Welcome, Sugar Belle! Welcome to our town!"

Sugar shivered, receiving the papers.

The whole house collapsed, and the rest of the ponies there disappeared.

Sugar whirled her head around, seeing the morning sky and that same dry ground of the town.

Saw Party Favor and Double Diamond, smiling.

With the same manestyles.

With the same equal sign cutie marks.

A voice from behind her:

"You will be welcome here in no time, Sugar Belle."

"Agh!"

Turned around.

Night Glider.

Who picked her up.

Sent her soaring to the sky.

Fell to the floor.

Felt the floor.

"Wh-What? Wasn't I just going u-up?"

Stood up.

Looked.

A shoddy, rancid basement with dusty barrels and crates. A flight of wooden stairs leading up to a lone door.

At the center, under one light: six ponies.

"H-Huh?"

She saw Party Favor and Night Glider walking toward them.

Sugar Belle stepped forward.

Tripped.

Fell.

To another floor.

Sugar stood up, walking forward and looking around again.

Counter, tables, baked goods on display.

That appetizing smell.

"My b-bakery! But...why here?"

Heard the a guitar's strum.

Turned around.

Sitting by many overflowing bushels of apples, there was a big red stallion playing the guitar for her.

Sugar screamed. "It's...it's you! That pony back in Good Prospects! Wh...What are y-you doing here?!"

Felt a tug on her tail.

Pulled out of the bakery.

Shrieking.

Touched the dry, rough ground.

Rocky. Pebbles. Stones.

Stood up.

Before her, a purple alicorn.

Looking upon her with wistful eyes.

"Wh-Who are you?" Sugar Belle asked her. "A-Are you...?"

Then, the alicorn was shot by a beam.

Fell to the ground.

Eyes closed.

Unmoving.

Sugar screamed.

Turned around.

Her horn glowing, Princess Luna. severe. "Come with me!"

Yanked a surprised Sugar by the hoof.

Flying away into the night sky.

Luna locked the doors of the cottage.

This one was less furnished. No carpets, no furniture, no shelves, no trinkets. Only baskets of lavender, a refrigerator, several beds strewn about, and bottles of milk.

Luna shut all the windows in sight with her magic.

Finally, she turned toward the five ponies in the room.

A shivering Starlight Glimmer, a confused Party Favor, a quivering Sugar Belle, a puzzled Double Diamond, and a panicky Sunburst constantly wiping his eyeglasses with a rag.

Luna looked upon them. "I do not have much time. Any animosity you have between yourselves, you must set aside."

Faced Starlight.

Who bowed before her.

"Starlight Glimmer, you are to remind Party Favor and Sugar Belle of all these dreams—they should obey you, for I trust that you have the wisdom and the insight to coordinate with Sunburst about what to do."

Faced Double Diamond.

"Double Diamond, it may be futile to convince you to do what I must say—for I can sense that your hatred runs deep—but, if you are willing, tell everypony the details of the attack you've made on Canterlot, specifically who inspired you to do so."

All eyes were on him.

"Princess Luna!" Double Diamond shouted, furious—gritted teeth, eyes aimed at the diarch.

Luna nodded. "I see you will not agree. I shall adapt—or, perhaps, you shall adapt, but I will see which is the better option."

Double Diamond held on to his head, feeling a headache.

Then, Luna took one step toward Sunburst.

"And Sunburst, it is up to you what you will do next. I wish I had the time to research upon this...anomaly in the dream realm, but it requires intense deliberation to obtain the explanation."

Sunburst nodded, shaky.

Raised his head.

"Your Highness?"

Everyone else looked at him.

"By 'intense deliberation', do you mean i-intense...study?"

Luna nodded. "Yes. It is merely a difference of words, not of meanings."

Sunburst took off his glasses. "What about...you ask...Twilight Sparkle herself to help us?"

Luna gasped.

Took a step back.

Recomposed herself, rubbed the dust off of her forelegs.

"I am considering that contingency, Sunburst."

Sunburst only trembled more.

Then, Luna levitated the baskets of lavender. "I shall take these away, and you shall awake. Do as you are told. As for me..."

A choke.

"There are many who suffer. All suffer. They seek rest in the night, only to be afflicted by nightmares of loss, of death, of everything reduced to nothing. I must hurry—only after this duty shall I rest."

Luna spread her wings.

Opened a window.

Flew out of the cottage.

Now, in the sky.

Turned her head down.

Clouds.

White clouds twinkling under the moon, the stars.

Funeral

Months later

A solemn night.

Open, clear skies.

The moon bright.

The stars bright.

Shining down on silhouettes clothed in black and white, standing near a dug hole in the dry desert ground.

Silence.

A coffin lowered into the hole.

Whimpers.

Stifled whimpers.

Sobs.

Flowers thrown for him.

Landed on the coffin.

After a while, the diggers took up their shovels.

The silhouettes walked away.

Those diggers alone the ones left.

Digging, heaping dirt upon the coffin.

Until the hole was filled.

Gone.

Not a trace of the burial.

One of them placed a tombstone there.

Diggers taking their hats off.

In respect.

They left, heading for the lonely settlement over there past the fields of apple trees.

"Shame, isn't it?" the deep voice of Sheriff Silverstar spoke.

To a haggard Braeburn sitting by the lantern on the table.

Facing the wall.

Eyes closed, hooves on his head.

Hat covering his face.

A cold, dry night descending outside the window.

"Died at the worst time: alone. Not a single Pear family member present on 'is deathbed—kicked the bucket right after they all left."

Braeburn was silent.

"I'm neither an Apple nor a Pear," the sheriff carried on. "I don't know what's with this silly little feud that's goin' on between you two. But...I heard the doctor's sayin' somethin' about stress an' depression on the heart."

Silent.

"It's bad enough he didn't tell 'is secret to Applejack an' her siblin's."

Gripped Braeburn on the shoulder.

"You gotta carry the secret straight to 'em as soon as possible. Reveal everythin', let it out."

Silent.

"Braeburn..."

And Braeburn took up his hat.

Stood up.

Put it on his head.

Dry eyes.

Red eyes.

The sheriff waved the train goodbye as it left the solitary train station, bringing up a little sandstorm.

In his eyes, it got smaller and smaller.

Disappeared in the horizon.

That one lonesome sheriff.

Outside, Appleloosa was empty. No one was trotting around on the streets, no one was hanging out by the storefronts, no one was doing anything in their dusty yards. No light except for a few lanterns illuminating the dirt streets but only barely.

A tumbleweed passed him by.

Rocking the rocking chair.

Silverstar sat on it, sweeping more than half of Appleloosa in his vision with a swing of his head.

The chair creaking with every rock.

Never noticing the mare who tiphoofed away, toward the apple fields.

The mare stood before the tombstone.

Around her, nothing but stale land, hard ground. Behind her was the sight of apple fields, but they were distant.

Near her, that tombstone.

"Grand Pear..."

A tear trickling down.

Dropped.

Splashed on the dirt.

Raised her hoof to take her hat off.

"I know I shouldn't drop in unannounced," a voice said.

Pear Puree turned around.

Saw a cloaked pony.

"Who are you?!" she yelled.

The cloaked pony merely laughed. "If you want to know my name...my name doesn't matter. If you want to know who I am as in...titles...then, we're getting somewhere."

Pear Puree lunged at her.

The stranger's horn glowed.

Encased Puree in a magical bubble.

Stopped her in mid-air.

The cloaked pony shook her head. "Ah, ah. Where are your manners?"

She walked to the bubble.

Popped it.

Puree fell to the ground.

Glowed and levitated back up on her four hooves.

The stranger's horn stopped glowing. "Now, we're on the same page."

Puree groaned, feeling the pain in her knees. "Who...who are you?"

"You never learn, do you?" she asked, smiling. "But, if I have to answer the latter while disregarding the former: I am the one who works behind the scenes, the one who pulls the strings. The Princesses are better than me, but only in raw power...and, perhaps, a solid moral foundation, but, eh..."

Puree narrowed her eyes at her. "Are you some sort of criminal?"

"'Criminal' is a misnomer. Everypony assumes that a criminal is evil, and why not? The law is established for our good, to institute order. But, when that law is incomplete and imperfect, a reformer can and will be branded as a criminal."

Puree spat on the ground. "I don't care about your philosophizin'! What do you want from me?!"

The stranger laughed again, her teeth shining in the dark. "I only want you to see and to hear...then again, you have no choice but to follow me. If you refuse to be useful to me, I will kill you and bury you with your father—I'll make it undetectable, so they'll just assume you've gone missng. I've seen enough of your hoofwriting to forge letters—if I do say so myself...."

Puree gasped. "You dare say such things?!"

A gust of wind came by, flapping their manes.

And her cloak.

"If something is regarded as garbage, then it is thrown away, never to be thought of again—and the machine still operates the way it does, if not much better. Lessen the waste...that's what you call cleaning!"

"Are you sayin' that I'm useless?!" Puree shouted over the howl of the wind. "I have pear fields back in the Grittish Isles, and I process 'em into pear jam for the soldiers across the sea to eat! My husband...he's a soldier himself an'—"

"Blah, blah, blah, I don't care. I have contacts with ponies in the field of robots and machinery. They're more than glad to take over your little farm and turn it into something more productive. Besides, aren't we supposed to be improving everything to make sure our troops stay nourished?"

"But, I'll b-be out of my job an'—"

"You could serve as a canner," the stranger broke in. "You get paid a good sum of bits for making sure each can of fruit is closed tight and shut."

The gust ended.

Still, silence.

"I'll cut to the chase, Puree: I got a train to catch and you're coming with me. I'm in the mood to show you a few things out in...say, Old Villa, give or take an hour or two."

Puree blinked. "That's pretty far East."

"You'd be on your way 'home' in the Isles, anyway," the stranger replied. "You wouldn't want to stay here because...well, the emotions are too much."

Puree gasped yet again. "How did you know?!"

The cloaked pony smirked. "Common sense. You're one of his children. You just attended his funeral at a town dominated by ponies who are on the other side of...tension. You have no friends here—the sheriff is your closest one, and that isn't saying much."

Puree shuddered.

Glanced at the tombstone.

Glanced back at her.

"What will I do, m-miss?"

"You're bad at short-term memory," the stranger said. "Didn't I just say that you only have to see and hear? You have to follow me in order to see and hear what I want you to see and hear, but...." Shook her head. "Never mind."

Puree shivered. "What will you show me? What is it?"

The stranger shook her head again. "It's a surprise. Nothing given, nothing taken—is that how the phrase goes? Well, that doesn't matter, too. Now, if you don't have any other questions...."

She turned around and walked toward Appleloosa.

"Wait!"

The stranger stopped, not turning her head. "It is a question you want to ask, then."

Puree galloped up to her.

Tried to examine her face.

Saw her green eyes in that light.

"Who do you work for, really? If I can't know who you are, then at least tell me who is it that got you to do this...thing."

The stranger slowly shoved her away and laughed.

Puree watched her continue with that soft laughter.

The stranger took a step forward.

"I work for the good of Equestria. I use all means necessary in order to bring it good. Some will say that the means disqualify themselves, but when its end is undeniably favorable for everypony, then the means remain and I use them. Because of that, some call me a traitor, others call me a terrorist, and there are those who say that I'm doing the dirty work of the Princesses. Or Sombra. Or the third-parties who profit from this war whichever way it goes."

She smiled.

"That's my way of saying...I work alone."

The strange looked up to the moon.

"Let's go, Puree," she said, getting to a trot. "We're on a strict schedule."

"We?" Puree repeated.

But, the stranger was getting farther away.

Gleaming under the night's moon.

Final Words

The two mares hopped out of the train, dashed out of the station, and landed on Old Villa soil.

The grass was browning, some blades even gray. A few public gardeners tended to the dying trees, their crumbling leaves falling every half an hour or so. Carriages pulling wagons of dead leaves whizzed by.

The whole scenery was that of a decaying town. Some factories were here, and some shops were open, but, in a morning so early the sun was not out yet, only public workers were up and about. Houses and stores had their windows shut, their front yards home to not much other than withering grass and fences in need of repair. Over there, near the intersection, was a collection of garbage cans and thrash bins where a few more ponies in green uniform were scavenging for recyclable materials—smiles appeared on their faces whenever they found a plastic bottle which they then lobbed into one of their bags.

The only thing that informed ponies of this town's name being, yes, Old Villa was a sign by the main road with those two words painted on it and nothing more.

Puree shivered in the cold.

The stranger laughed. "This is why I wear cloaks. Warm, fuzzy, and hides your identity."

She trotted on, staying away from the sidewalks and instead traveling on the back yards of homes, jumping over fences or going through holes and gaps wherever they were available.

Puree followed her, tiphoofing and moving quietly, too.

Heard the snores of various ponies inside one house.

Heard nothing in the next.

"Where are we going?" Puree whispered right after they got over another fence.

The stranger winced. "You're a curious pony, aren't you? Just follow me."

And the two went on, protecting themselves from the workers on the streets.

Reeked of smoke. Rang with the storm of clatters and buzzes and crashes.

Ponies occupied, working with power tools in a big open room cooled by a dozen industrial fans.

The storm echoing, ringing in their ears.

By their sides, groups of completed weapons: lances, bows, arrows, crossbows, cannons, grenades.

Suffering under the smoke, under the storm.

Walking past rows of them, three ponies. Two of them talking, Puree seeing and hearing.

"Will you show me the final result now?" the stranger asked the other pony.

The white, tall stallion nodded, his dirty blonde hair wavering. "Yes, ma'am."

That white unicorn turned right and opened the door.

Ushered the two mares inside.

Went in the room lit up by two lanterns.

Locked the room with ten locks and, for good measure, taped the locks together.

Muffled and muted was the storm of work outside.

Puree glanced at him. "Do I know you?"

He examined her face, but shook his head. "No, I do not, but you look rustic. 'Charmingly rustic', as a friend of mine used to say before his death."

Puree held a hoof to her cheek. "Oh...I'm so sorry."

The stranger tapped a hoof on the table. "Less talking, more working, so sit down."

All of them sat down on stools at the table.

On the table itself was a briefcase.

The stranger grinned. "This is it, then, Blueblood?"

Blueblood nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I don't know how you managed to get bomb experts here, but this is what we came up with."

The stranger snapped it open.

Inside was a deactivated timer, numerous colored wires and colored buttons.

"And emergency defusal instructions at hoof in a separate briefcase?"

He nodded.

"And nine identical dummy bombs?"

He nodded again.

"You made sure that you also made two back-up bombs for extreme situations?"

Nodded once more.

"Good. My visit has not been a waste, although...due to a change of plans, I'll have to take this one to an outside associate. She's at the border and she doesn't know that Sombra is planning a surprise attack on her home. Keeping her alive is essential."

Blueblood nodded yet again, watching her close the bomb then levitate it. "Yes, ma'am. Do you need anything else?"

The stranger stood up. "Only that you don't speak a word of this to anyone else other than me."

He nodded one last time. "I will keep my mouth shut as you wish, ma'am...but, if I may ask a question—"

"Make it quick."

Blueblood shivered, then looked at Puree. "Why is she here?"

"She is the latest step in the plan," the stranger said. "Nothing out of the ordinary for me."

Puree quivered and mouthed a "What?!" at her.

The stranger smiled. "Ah, classic me. Sometimes, I forget to tell them that they're part of my plan. When you have to keep track of so many things in your head, you slip up one in a million times. I try to hit the 999,999 other times in order—whoops! There's me going on other topics—we really have to go!"

She pulled up Puree with her magic, unlocked the door, and trotted out of the room with her.

Leaving Blueblood alone inside.

Puree squished her face at the train window, contemplating the murky landscape before her, of thin white outlines sketching out hills and mountains.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" the stranger said, sitting beside her.

Inside this train carriage of bright lights, only these two were present. The great majority of seats were vacant, giving them a wide albeit rocky view of the landscape through the other side.

"But, wh-where are we going next?" Puree asked

The stranger smiled. "A new friend of mine."

She laughed.

Scaring Puree off a bit as could be seen by her scooting away from her.

The stranger's laughter trailed off, and she breathed in. "Well...I'll keep it at that."

Under the night, they were alone in the desolate desert.

Not of sand, not of dirt, but of hard gray ground.

Wilting trees, scorched weeds—even these were sparser than last time.

Puree whimpered, taking every step with a shiver in her legs. "N-No! I-I don't want to go there! Please! H-How could you be friends with them?!"

The stranger laughed yet again.

Her laugh reverberating through the wasteland.

"Let me tell you something, Pear Puree," the stranger began. "When you make plans of this scale, you have to be sure that everyone involved is on board—either by pleasing them or by threatening them. I usually take the route of threats, but I find the value of hitting their good spots once in a while, making them smile when they have no idea what I'm really doing."

Puree gulped.

Saw dots shimmer in the dark sky, shimmering in the moonlight.

"And, if we're talking about working for the good of Equestria," the stranger continued, "you'll do some unconventional things. Granted, it may look weird to you at first, but I have it all planned out—and, if it doesn't work?"

Puree heard the buzzing sounds.

Getting closer.

"I have Plan B."

The changelings landed on the ground, surrounding them in a circle.

Puree screamed and hugged the stranger. "What have you gotten us into?! Are you insane?!"

"She is not insane," a voice announced.

Puree turned to the one who spoke.

And screamed some more at the sight of Chrysalis towering over her changeling slaves.

"She is the pony responsible for saving Pharynx from her own," Chrysalis said. "Not only that, she also brought a certain turncoat back to the hive."

She hissed.

"What makes it even better is that she works for us now. How ironic, isn't it?"

Steps closer to her.

Face against hers, snout touching snout.

Her green eyes against hers.

"That makes it even between me and her," Chrysalis said, smooth yet vile. "A traitor for a traitor, a betrayer for a betrayer."

Puree kept shuddering, feeling her knees about to buckle in.

"You don't need to scare her too much, Chrysalis," the stranger said without turning her back. "I only brought her with me to intimidate her."

Puree took a step back.

Heard the howls and hisses of the changelings behind her.

She clanged her teeth, afraid.

"In that case," Chrysalis resumed, facing the stranger, "you wrote that you had something important for me."

The cloaked pony nodded and brought out two suitcases.

Two changelings swooped in, grabbed them, and opened the bomb and the manual case.

They glared at her.

"Chrysalis?" the stranger said, motioning a hoof towards the bomb. "This is, magically speaking, a fission bomb."

The changeling queen cocked her head. "What does that mean? Do I get to use it?"

"It is a very dangerous bomb," the stranger replied, glaring at the changeling with the said weapon.

The changeling wore a sheepish smile and carefully placed the suitcase down on the ground.

"When it goes off, it would be enough to level your hive three times over."

"There is no catch, then?" Chrysalis asked.

The stranger smiled. "There is a catch. Do not use it against Equestria."

"What shall I use it for?" she prodded. "There is no other target to fire it on."

"Not yet," the stranger answered.

"Oh?"

Chrysalis approached the stranger.

Puree took a step forward.

A couple of changelings jumped in and growled at her.

"Eek!"

The stranger retained her smile in spite of the overbearing presence of the queen before her. "My sources tell me that Sombra plans to make a surprise attack on Equestria from the South-east via mass teleportation of a good portion of his forces. Judging from the general area of the teleportation's destination, he will encounter you and, knowing him, I have no reason to doubt that he will not stop to think about destroying you and enslaving your changelings along the way."

Chrysalis smiled back and picked up the bomb. "You're a good pony, aren't you? But, you haven't found a way of stopping it altogether?"

"I am only one pony, after all," the stranger said. "You should ask that question to the Equestrian Guard, not me."

Chrysalis moaned. "I shall settle for this. However, it is more than enough for us."

The stranger then picked up the other suitcase, the one with the manual. "And, don't forget this one. The bomb's on a short timer before it explodes, so you should read up on the manual and teach it to a few of your own."

Chrysalis patted the cloaked pony on the head, receiving the other suitcase. "I wish you were born a changeling. It is sad that a part of your intellect still stubbornly holds on to a love for Equestria."

"It's a love most Equestrians don't understand these days," the stranger said.

Chrysalis chuckled. "Tough love, hm?"

"Tough love, it is."

The stranger checked her watch on her hoof.

Faced Puree. "We're done here. We have to catch one of the next two trains to Chocstown."

The circle of changelings then gave way to the two mares hurrying out.

Into the distance under the night sky.

On hard, desolate ground.

They alighted on the boarding platform of Chocstown Train Station.

The terminal was hollow. Most of the benches had no ponies waiting for the next train. Instead, only the cold wind and the newspaper floating and flying through the air, swerving around lamp posts. They could see, farther inside, the hallways to the other terminals and to the main hub, supplemented with directions hanging from the ceiling for which hallway went to what.

Above, the sky was still a dark blue. Clouds shrouded the moon and the stars, leaving it blank.

As the train left, the stranger trotted to the nearest bench where two lanky stallions sat.

One sleeping, the other awake though with drained eyes.

Puree saw them and shrank away, almost tripping and falling to the rails. "Y-You're...y-you w-work with them?!"

Flim stood up to shake her hoof, taking a brief look at his sleeping mustached brother. "Miss, you're hard to work with considering your wonky schedule."

"It's only wonky to you," the stranger shot back, then glanced at the dozing Flam.

"I had to stay awake for him," Flim said. "But...are you sure that everything is ready for the big explosion by noon?"

The stranger nodded. "There have been no major changes to Ticker Tape's parade, so there won't be any major changes to your plans. Just follow the route, wait until it's almost over, and then..."

"Affirmative, miss," he said.

Looked over her shoulder.

Saw the petrified Puree. "Why, haven't I seen you before?"

The stranger nodded again. "Yes. You have seen her before."

"What're you doin'?!" Puree yelled, galloping up to the cloaked pony and then grabbing her by the neck.

The stranger smiled. "Send my regards to Curd Spread."

Levitated her above the ground.

Saw her struggle to get out.

Lifted her higher.

"You can't do this to me!" Puree shouted. "I thought you won't kill me!"

"If you refuse to be useful to me, I'll kill you," she said.

A smile cracked on her face.

"I never told you what I would do if you didn't refuse."

Puree gasped. "You're gonna kill me anyway!"

"Not me," she said.

Glanced at Flim.

"You know where the spare Crystal pony is?"

He nodded. "Stashed in the emergency closet over by Terminal Two."

The stranger grinned. "Is he armed?"

"With a bow and arrow."

She laughed.

Laughed.

Holding Puree high up.

Laughed.

Flam still sleeping.

The stranger turned back to Flim, still levitating an imperiled Puree. "Alright...you send her to him. Make sure you take a picture of the event like you just came here to visit a friend. Call the police, and take a breather. You got that?"

Flim nodded. "Will do, miss."

"Good."

The stranger took out two pairs of hoofcuffs and a roll of duct tape.

Puree, still floating above the platform, screamed. "Help! Help!"

Now lowered down.

Closer to the hoofcuffs, closer to the duct tape.

"We cannot have weaklings like you drag Equestria down," the stranger said. "I always knew you were a squeamish pony. You did do some good work for the nation, but it's nothing a factory can't replace and improve on a thousand times more."

Puree tried punching her.

Only to be levitated away.

The stranger smiled at Flim. "Good thing Ticker Tape likes the crowd. Panic won't stop him."

Cuffed Puree.

Covered her mouth with the tape.

Looked at Flim. "Get her to the Crystal now."

Flim nodded.

His own smile wavering.

Then, the stranger exited the terminal, disappearing behind a lit hallway.

Fly by Owl

As the train rolled on in the morning, those who had already escaped the last stage of sleep could see the rising sun, beaming its precious and warm light on to the plenty grass hills and crop fields. Abundant were the farms and their barns populating the scenery, flecked with farmers hard at harvest work—there's a wheat farmer talking with a squad of soldiers who had just stopped their carriage by grain territory.

Inside the train, passengers crowded the carriages with their baggage and themselves. Uneasy was the ambience here, for ponies did not talk for a long time without glancing past the window, expecting something to come but, at the same time, hoping it never will.

On a window seat was the stranger, wearing her cloak and now a pair of yellow goggles which covered her eyes. She was appreciating the beautiful morning outside with its peaceful scenery through the yellow tint.

Looked at her watch.

"I know you, miss!"

She gave a startle and whipped her head to the left.

Star Tracker and Silver Script sat down beside the stranger, letting their huge bags fall to the floor.

"You must be a Bridleway actress!" Star Tracker said, getting a piece of paper out. "A new one, but, if you just sign this autograph and tell me what your name is—"

"I'm not an actress," the stranger said, waving him away with a hoof. "You must've mistaken me for somepony else."

"Then, why the secret get-up?" Silver Script asked.

She looked back out the window. "I'm a reclusive pony. It's the best way to make sure you're not dead when this war ends."

The writer then scooted a little away from her, leaving Star Tracker with the stranger.

"So...what's your name?" Tracker asked. "Could I at least get that?"

"I'm not a famous pony at all," she replied, still not looking at him. "But, if you must know something about me...I'm a pony."

"Well, obviously!"

Tracker then rested on his seat, looking forward and seeing nothing but the back of the next seat and the manes of the passengers there.

"Psst!"

Tracker looked at Script.

Script had a tense expression on his face, his eyes staring at her—in turmoil, almost biting his hoof. He whispered to Tracker's ear, "I don't like the look of that mare."

"Me, too," Tracker said, keeping up a smile, "but, what if she's not that bad? Maybe she's only irritating because she had a bad morning. Ah...we'll miss the days when I had to drink three cups of coffee a day just to get through work—everypony lining up to buy snacks, and being able to rub shoulders with the rich and famous in Manehattan."

He raised his head and looked out the window, too.

"Goodbye, Manehattan! You've been good to me as my father, you've taken care of me as my mother, and you've made me happy as my friend. Until I see you again, stay awake in the light of liberty!"

"Hey!" the pony in the next seat yelled at him. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

"Agh!"

With that, he sat down.

"Nice try," Script said, a playful smile on his lips. "We made it so far, and you're going to ruin it because you're homesick within the first five minutes!"

"It's been hours if you don't count the entire city!" Tracker argued, though with a whimsical tone.

The stranger turned her head to the stallions. "You're really not afraid?"

Script and Tracker looked at her. "Well, not too afraid," Script said.

The stranger smirked. "Our forces are retreating on this very front, the Crystal pegasi are within striking range of the city, this very train is closer to them than Manehattan is...and, yet, you act so frivolously."

"Gotta keep looking at the bright side," Tracker said. "It's medically proven that smiles are better for your health than frowns, and not worrying a lot will lead to a longer life."

"So, you think ignorance leads to a longer life?" the stranger asked, raising a brow and smirking.

Tracker slowly nodded. "Yes?"

Script slapped him on the head.

"Ow!"

The stranger retained her smirk. "If I were a Manehattanite, I would gladly drink my dose of coffee every morning."

Script looked at her odd. "What? Why?"

"Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency," she counted on her two forehooves. "Instead of dawdling all day, working to keep Equestria safe every waking hour of the week is something to be proud of. If they write a biography of my life, then it would be filled with pages upon pages of my contributions to society, to this war, and how I had a significant hoof in preserving this kingdom."

Tracker tilted his head. "Aren't you tired?"

"There is no rest for the wizardly, as one Sunburst would like to say..."

"You mean the pony who made artillery?" Script asked, giving her a suspicious eye.

"Yes, Silver Script," the stranger said, smiling.

Script recoiled. "We never met before! How did you know my name?"

Tracker leaned his head toward her. "Does that mean you know my name, too?"

The stranger pushed his head out of the way.

"Ow, again!"

She groaned. "Yes, I do know your names."

Script checked the aisle behind him.

No one paying attention to them. All were busy with their conversations and their naps.

He looked at the stranger. "OK. I don't know who you are, but this is creepy. As far as I know, we never met and Tracker never met you, either."

Tracker nodded, a little alarmed. "It's true."

"So, what's your problem?" Script asked.

The stranger smiled again. "I do not contend with conscientious objectors, for it is impossible to be one."

Script growled, but held a hoof to his head—restraining himself. "Look, miss...do you wanna fight?"

"And then get arrested since you're the aggressor here?" she asked, calm.

Tracker tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, better keep a level head here! She might call the guards."

Script shoved him to the side, glaring at the stranger. "I cannot, with a good conscience, serve Equestria by killing ponies who can't do anything about fighting us. We have the E.U.P. Guard to protect us from harm, but it doesn't have to kill! Even the very same Sunburst you quoted isn't all so excited about the war—I've read the Canterlot Research issues he wrote for and not once did he stir ponies up to fight but, rather, he said it was a necessary evil he was working to end as quickly as possible."

"Then, you are not really a conscientious objector," the stranger said. "You just don't want to get out and fight."

"I would be stained with the act of violence, miss! A life cut short, and the fault is mine...how could I live with that?"

"Bah!" the stranger exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Do they deserve to live long, anyway?"

"Every life deserves a chance," Script said, standing up from his seat and facing her down. "There's such a thing as redemption. While not every life will get that second chance, once the mages finally break Sombra's spell over them, it will all be over and they will be welcomed to another shot at good times."

The stranger shook her head, smiling at him, her shadowed head standing stark against the sunny day outside flit by."How joyful are you, hm? Everything looks great for you, and, since you are a writer, you seek to show something past a story."

Script remained courageous. "I know what you mean. I do my best to show my values and beliefs through the stories I've written—through the minds of my characters, the conflicts of my setting, and the events of the story itself, even if it looks like a bunch of ponies shooting lasers and fighting over planets. There is a place for those who want to tell it as it is, and there are those who will have the ideas stuck in their readers' heads for decades to come through a good story...and, for me, that is my way of setting up the case for peace."

"Well, I don't care," the stranger said, still sitting down. "What use is a story like yours if I could prove that going against this war is a crime? Then, you will not only be a criminal, but you will be their boss as well—to be punished as he deserves."

"I've got my right to freedom, miss!" Script shouted. "I won't be punished for having free thought!"

A tap on his shoulder.

He turned around.

An armored Flash Sentry with two pairs of hoofcuffs. "Sir, you're under arrest for disturbing the peace."

"What?!" Script turned his head round to the stranger. "But, her!—you should arrest her for starting this in the first place!"

The stranger stood up and levitated a card to the guard. "Don't worry, officer. I didn't know who I was talking to."

Flash Sentry read the card, then hoofed it to the stranger. "Uh...yes, ma'am. He will only be in custody for the remainder of the trip."

Script opened his mouth, shocked at her. "Who are you?!"

The stranger trotted past him and past an astonished Tracker who had been quiet for the rest of the argument.

She gave Script a smirk. "A pony, duh."

The cloaked pony left the seat and trotted down the aisle.

Everyone else watching either her trot away or Silver Script getting arrested.

The stranger was alone in the dark storage room, feeling the rumble of the wheels and the sound of the train running.

She lit up her horn, illuminating the carriage.

Everywhere, piles and piles of baggage and luggage. Bags upon bags upon bags, making messy stacks and pyramids of containers containing many things beneath.

The stranger trod the metal floor, being careful to not step on any baggage. She levitated a few backpacks and several sacks.

She smiled.

Levitated a thick brown suitcase out of the pile.

Snapped it open.

Inside, a bunch of clothes and some books.

She levitated the clothes and books out.

Saw a little hole on the bottom.

Levitated a key out of her cloak.

She inserted the key into the hole.

Turned it.

It clicked.

The bottom of the suitcase opened.

Revealing a secret compartment underneath where, resting inside, a line of test tubes filled with fizzy, bubbly liquid was connected to several wires.

She grinned.

The stranger took out two random bags and opened them.

Saw the clothes inside them.

Got a few shirts and hats from those two bags.

Pressed a button on the suitcase with the test tubes.

Closed the secret compartment.

Crammed the new clothes inside the suitcase.

Closed the whole suitcase.

Distributed the first clothes equally into the two bags.

Zipped them up.

Levitated the books inside her cloak.

Lit her horn up more.

Glowing brighter.

Brighter.

Poof!

The stranger appeared on the crest of a hill, her cloak flapping in the wind.

Watching the train down there slow to a stop by the train station of a small farming village.

Checked her watch.

"Five...four...three..."

Heard the distant noise of train doors opening.

Saw the line of ponies on the wooden platform about to enter.

"Two..."

Ponies entering.

"One."

Boom!

She jumped to a nearby tree.

Hiding.

Heard screams.

Poked her head around the trunk.

The entire train in flames—a burning ruin. Ponies clambering out of the wreck, escaping the fires singed and scorched. An ambulance carriage was on the way down the main road, ponies who knew first aid brought stretchers and medical kits to the scene, other passengers carried helpless friends and unfamiliar persons out the shattered vehicle—some in pouring tears, others with closed eyes.

She could see the black smoke coming out of the broken train.

"How many warnings must I give you?" the stranger spoke. "Will you slumber to death? I shall not let it be, even if I must yank you out of your sleep, Equestria."

With that, she glowed her horn bright again.

Poof!

High up in the Spinning Mountains topped with snow stood one mountain. Neither the tallest nor the shortest in the group, this was Full Stop Mountain, straddling the border of the mountain range. Craggy with trees turning orange, it was a soaring mountain, complete with hazardous cliffs, too.

Tucked away in the deep forest was a cavern.

And in the cavern the stranger went.

Standing upon the rough, rugged surface, she glowed her horn.

In the light, she could see the many cave formations within. Sharp, pointed limestone straws and stalactites hung from above, sleek and blunt heaps of stalagmites rose from below.

Could hear the faint echo of pickaxes striking the cave walls.

Trotted farther.

Saw dim lights.

"Stop!"

It echoed.

The stranger stopped.

A flashlight turned on before her, blinding her.

Covered her eyes.

Felt the soft heat of the light.

"It's you! Sorry for the surprise, but we're getting short-staffed on security. Frost Work thought it was fun to chuck some spears over the border, and he's gone, too—it's just me on guard duty now."

The pony turned down his flashlight, letting the stranger get a better look of the stallion through her yellow goggles.

His shiny eyes, the polygonal sparkle in his eyes.

"You haven't changed much since I last saw you, Varado," the stranger said. "I thought the caves would do something to you, considering you're a Crystal pony in a cave, but...it turns out I'm wrong."

"Don't hold it against yourself," Varado said.

"So..." checked her watch, "what's the progress?"

"The base is in proper working order," Varado reported above the racket of pickaxes against stone. "We're able to raid more than a few Crystal scout squads—got their weapons and all. Armor's impossible, of course, but—" smiled "—here's something I've been waiting to show you."

He put on a black helmet.

Turned up his flashlight.

Aimed it at himself.

The stranger smiled, too. "A replica of Sombra's helmets! It has the mane, the spikes, the breather...everything."

"That's not all!" Varado said past his hefty headgear. "Watch this."

He twitched his left ear.

His eyes glowed a menacing green.

The stranger grinned. "A perfect replica."

"Indeed," Varado said with his glowing eyes. "That's the hard part over. We're currently working on the body armor, and when that's done, we'll be freeing our friends in no time!"

The stranger frowned. "What happened to your rage against the ponies who imprisoned Night Knight?"

Varado turned off his green eye glow and took off his helmet, showing an exhausted smile. "What can I do about it? I can't fight the very ponies who gave me a good place to live in, fed me with free food...yes, I'm still sour over what they did to Night Knight, but..." his ears drooped—that smile departed, "they sounded reasonable enough. I just wish he didn't fire those explosive arrows—none of this would've happened to us."

The stranger gripped him on the shoulder. "Crystal Varado, do you want to prove to Equestria that the Crystal ponies who did get away from Sombra aren't evil?"

Varado nodded, hesitating. "Certainly, but not—"

"Then, fight for Night Knight!" she ordered, her voice becoming a growl. "You say you want to free your friends. Well, start with the friend imprisoned on this side of the line!"

Varado shuddered, looking at his helmet. "But..."

"You aren't evil, but you've got to shape yourself up. You're not a pushover, Varado!"

The Crystal pony closed his mouth, tightened his jaw.

"I'll leave it up to you," the stranger said, turning away from him.

Closer to the surface, closer to the sunlight.

Then, she was outside, back in the deep forest.

Under the sunset sky, the Town of Efficiency shimmered with orange light glinting off the roofs. Ponies assigned to the agricultural institutes were just finishing up their work for the day, bundling up grain, potatoes, and cabbages on wagons set to haul for the "points of food collection and consumption".

Starlight trotted away from the block of farmland, wiping her face clean of sweat with a towel. "Whew! Wasn't that great? We're getting lots this season!"

Other ponies nodded in agreement with her. "Yeah! That's gonna show them!" a mare yelled in reply.

She walked to her house at one of the residential blocks.

Opened the door and walked inside.

Saw the same things under the rays of sunset through her windows: her living area with a its carpet, her dining area with its table, and the stairs to her bedroom.

Starlight noticed the piece of paper on the table.

"Sunburst?"

She galloped to the paper.

Floated it to her eyes.

"'If you are reading this, just remember: You will see me once after the sun. The next time you will see me is after the moon.

"'From, not Sunburst.'"

Starlight put the paper down.

"Unusual already," she murmured, looking out the window.

The sun was still up.

"Maybe it's Double Diamond," she said, trotting to the door. "Perhaps he's just outside, ready to tell me some kind of secret or whatever about that pony. As long as he's rational and I'm rational, we'll be fine."

She opened the door again.

Poked her head out of it.

Looked up.

The sun finally disappeared, plunging the sky back into its dark night color.

Looked to the left.

Saw a mysterious figure dash between the houses.

"Hey!"

Starlight galloped out of the house.

Chasing that stranger down.

On the dirt roads.

Out the dirt roads.

Darker, darker each step.

The cloaked stranger glowed her horn.

Disappeared with a poof.

Starlight panting. "This is not funny, whoever you are! You think you can prank us?!"

She grumbled as she trotted back to her town.

Now, it was night.

The lights were on in her town.

Sitting against the glare of the carriage's lights.

The stranger looked out the window, seeing the rush of towers and spires, the blur of buildings in classic and medieval styles.

In purple, yellow, and white.

The train stopped at the train station with its walls of windows, its waiting area of benches and clocks and desks plus their clerks.

The stranger stepped out of the train.

The only pony in that carriage.

Others exited the train in the other carriages while the ponies who had waited stepped inside for the trip farther North.

The cloaked pony stood on the platform and studied the view she had before her.

Stone roads in a fog, horse-drawn wagons and carriages wheeling around in a bumbling manner, lack of fashionable ponies on the sidewalks, stores almost vacant and without a flood of customers.

She could smell a weak scent of citrus cologne far-off somewhere.

It was a somber night for the city.

The stranger grinned.

"Canterlot. One more day for you, and then...I'll see..."

Daring Do

Sunset again over Canterlot.

Inside a damp, dirty alley with lots of trash cans, the stranger levitated an open suitcase bomb in front of a glasses-wearing unicorn.

"Let's go through this again," the stranger said, glancing briefly at the barricaded entrance to the alley, blocking any view of the outside—and blocking any view of the inside. "Golden Gavel, tell me what you see."

"Uh...I see a timer and—"

"In real life, you'd have three minutes or less, so speak faster!"

He gulped. "Wait...there are...there's seven wires here—"

"What are the colors of the wires?"

"Uh...um..."

"Three seconds wasted!"

"Can you give me a break?!"

"You'll get a break when you defuse the bomb!" she exclaimed. "What do you want? Don't you want them to restore all your belongings, all the honor you used to have? This might be your only chance—it's the only one I could think of."

Golden Gavel sighed. "OK...the wires are: blue, purple, yellow, red, red, black, and purple."

"So, which one will you cut?"

"The...the first one!"

She nodded. "Finally. What's the next step?"

"There's...I see another set of wires."

"What do they look like?"

He scratched his head, stretched the collar of his shirt. "I see various lights and stars on the wires—"

The stranger groaned and turned the briefcase around.

Saw what was inside.

Turned it back.

"You have to know the rules as well," she said. "When ponies gather around to see you defuse the bomb, you want to be seen as a genuine expert, not somepony who just happened to save the kingdom's capital."

"You're pressuring me!" Gavel complained, inspecting the bomb with distraught eyes and hooves. "Which...which one should I cut?"

"The rules! Remember them!"

Then, she covered his mouth.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered to his ear.

He cupped his ear toward the alley's exit.

Numbers of hoofsteps from the road.

"The buffaloes!" she muttered, surprised and looking at her watch. "They're coming back from their meeting with the Princess!"

She closed the suitcase and threw it at Gavel who staggered when he grabbed it.

"If all else fails," she said, faster, "I'll compensate somehow. I trust you with this important task!"

Gavel reached out to her. "But—"

And, she was out of the alley.

The stranger galloped down the road, running under the early night, passing by streetlights and lit house windows—she paid no mind to the carriages riding the streets. Dodging the lights, she remained in the dark as much as she could, jumping here and there, keeping her hoofsteps quiet.

She sprinted to a certain house, crouched under a window.

Stood a little up.

Peeked inside.

A cleaner living room.

Lights brightened the place, which only made what was missing and what was new all the more evident. The bookshelves looked abandoned with only a few books left, the potted plants had apparently multiplied by the looks of them packing the room with their leaves and stems—though they were trimmed and groomed—jars of preserved peas and beans filled up one of the tables, and the study table was rampant with papers and rulers and quills and inkwells and magnifying glasses all under the slipping control of a tired Moon Dancer wiping her glasses clean.

Lying on the couches were Minuette and Twinkleshine, bandaged and with casts.

Much of the wall had a new coat of orange paint—it still stank of that noxious odor, and resting by the side were three paint cans, one of them opened and with a paint brush dipped into it. The rest of the wall had that faded look but it was yet more flimsy—some of the old paint was peeling.

"I d-don't know about you," Minuette began from her couch, "but...this is getting boring."

"I'm not taking you outside that easy," Moon Dancer replied, focusing on her calculations. "It's amazing that all three of you survived the blast. If another incident like that happens again, you'd be dead."

Twinkleshine sat up on her sofa, fighting the pain on her joints and groaning along the way. "We can't just stay here forever. What's the point if we lie down here until next week? I'm getting tired of staring at the ceiling."

"Me, too!" Minuette whined.

Moon Dancer moaned and got up from her chair, facing her recovering friends. "Will you mind if Lemon Hearts chaperoned you to wherever you want to go, hm?"

"I don't mind!" Lemon Hearts shouted from the kitchen.

Moon Dancer tapped her hoof and faced Minuette and Twinkleshine, restless. "Tell me where you're heading. Not too far—surely not outside of Canterlot."

Twinkleshine shook her head at her. "Of course, not. We'll just go to the Canterlot Library to get our new Daring Do books signed."

Moon Dancer made a smile.

Suppressed it. "Only if you bring my copy, too. I can't attend." She floated a map of Equestria covered in lines and dashes and dots and arrows. "I have to figure out what's going on with the Crystal Empire. Is there a weakness? There must be a weakness somewhere...."

With that, she went back to her chair and back to her study, mumbling to herself as she ruffled papers, looking for something.

Lemon Hearts walked into the living room, holding a jar of frozen potato chips. She approached the two healing mares on their couches. "You ready for a short night out, girls?"

The three mares trotted down the sidewalk, seeing the peaceful sights of Canterlot. Serene parks with their glistening ponds, statues portraying historical personalities in their mostly intact state, a mare selling hats on a cart to visitors willing to shell out some extra cash for headwear.

They passed by a gray, gloomy bread shop where a huge wooden cutout of a bread loaf was its signage. Sitting on the steps to the entrance was Joe, resting his head on two hooves and on a heavy heart as could be seen by his frown.

Minuette gasped, did her best to run up to him without breaking her cast. "Joe! What happened—"

He turned his face away. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"We've been long-time customers and friends, Joe! Maybe there's a way—"

"Some other time, lady!"

Minuette gasped again, her lips faltering.

"Come on, Minuette," Lemon Hearts called out, dragging her back. "Leave him alone."

They were back to trotting down the sidewalk.

Leaving Joe alone on the steps.

Getting noisier.

The throng of ponies awaiting the famed A.K. Yearling.

Before the library with its stairway and its statues and its columns and its banners and its windows and its flags and its glass dome—

Before all of them, a table.

Reporters flocked to the entrance doors at the end of the stairway, talking with one another while jotting down scribbles on their notepads, glancing at their cameras once in a while—sometimes, one of them would take a picture of the rally of ponies below on the sidewalk.

While there was a clear line to the table, a lot more ponies had met around that line, chatting about Yearling, Daring Do, Ahuizotl, Doctor Caballeron, sapphire stones, goblets, rings, razors, treks, basins, volcanoes...the list continued endlessly as the excitement grew, each passing minute causing more heads to turn their way to the doors which were always closed when they looked. But, instead of disappointing the fans, those closed doors made them only became more eager for the appearance of Yearling, the return of Yearling—yes, the big arrival of that renowned writer herself.

Construction ponies set up lights by the sidewalk, further illuminating the place and the table where Yearling would soon sit at.

"I like it," Lemon Hearts said.

While being squished between those two enthusiastic, if not hysterical, mares holding on to their books, their copies of "Daring Do and the Shroud of Error". They smiled, they grinned, they prattled upon what might happen in the book—was Daring Do going to die this time? Will she get injured again? Will Doctor Caballeron fall once and for all?

Lemon Hearts did not know.

Then, commotion.

Cheers, stomps, roars, whoops, shouts.

As two guards escorted the shawled writer down the stairs, assaulted by news questions and camera flashes.

She stopped to fix her glasses.

Continued down.

Feeling the applause.

Enduring the applause.

Many faces, many books.

Many flashes.

Clung on to her neutral, blank face, appearing neither happy nor sad.

That famous indifference.

Finally, at the table.

Sat down on the chair.

Examined her table.

Quills and inkwells ready.

She coughed, cleared her throat, drank some water.

Put the water bottle down on the table.

A ringing silence.

Everyone observing her every move.

"Alright. Let's roll."

With a marvelous return to cheering and applause, the line moved.

First pony in line hoofed her book to her.

"Your books gave me the ability to cope with what's happening," the Crystal mare said to her, teary-eyed. "We were all so worried and distracted by the news of cities being taken over and ponies dying in battle, we didn't feel happiness for a long time—at least, not for more than a few minutes. Then, when we got into your books, things turned better—we got into fun discussions about what would happen next, why was this character like this, and other things like that. We can't shake the war completely off of our minds, but you made it much more bearable for us."

Yearling smiled, opening the book to the first page. "Glad to help, Rose Quartz."

She nodded. "Thank you for what you do!"

Yearling signed the book.

Hoofed it back to her.

"You're welcome."

And, Rose Quartz trotted away, book in hoof.

"Next!" Yearling said.

The second pony in line went forward.

An excitable Sunburst, his glasses cracked, his robe sloppy, and his mane unkempt. "Good evening, Yearling! I-I decided to take a t-temporary break from my work to say my w-words of congratulations for getting this f-far! Y-You are an important pony—i-important to all of us!"

Yearling sighed, yet smiled at him, too. "I just can't believe you found the time to get here in the first place!"

Some laughed at that.

Sunburst sweated. "Uh, y-yes! I-It's quite u-unbelievable, but I d-do have the time! I j-just cut my sleeping time in h-half and that would be a-all for me—plus the coffee and tea and energy drinks I drink in the morning and the afternoon and the evening and the night and during twilight also—"

Yearling snatched the book out of his hoof, signed it, and placed it back in his hoof.

"I know you too well to let you stay in line for long," she said, smirking at him. "Give the rest of them some time. They deserve it."

Sunburst nodded. "Y-Yes, A.K. Yearling!"

He walked away, almost tripped down.

"Next!"

Another mare walked up to her.

"So, A.K. Yearling," the pink pegasus began, placing the book down on the table, "I can't believe that I'm meeting you for the very first time!"

Yearling snorted as she signed the book. "I get that all the time, miss. What's your name?"

"Flower Flight!"

Yearling nodded her head. "Flower Flight. A lovely name."

Closed the book.

Gave it to her.

Flower Flight received it with her wing.

Opened it to the first page.

On it, the distinct and unique signature of A.K. Yearling.

"When I grow old, this is gonna be worth millions!" she shouted in her flight away.

Some in the line and in the surrounding crowd made comments against her, but the line went ahead as usual.

Yet another pegasus, this one wearing shades in spite of the dark.

Yearling smiled and took her copy. "And, what would your name be?"

She took off her shades, revealing her peach eyes. "My name's Sugar Apple, and I'm very honored to be right here...uh, talking to you."

Yearling rolled her eyes, smiling all the way. "It's OK. You don't need to act serious in front of me. I'm just a normal pony like everypony else."

"But, you make Daring Do so...cool, so above us! I wish we could have a go at adventures like that once a month!"

Yearling chuckled as she signed the copy. "Trust me, if Daring Do were here, she would advise you to not go off on adventures. I admit, I'm kind of stretching it a bit with how long she's survived."

Sugar Apple chuckled with her.

A piece of paper landed on the table.

Yearling picked it up, forgetting the pegasus who was taking her copy back. "Huh?"

She read it.

On the paper:

Daring Do,
This is the end.

Yearling gulped.

Sweating.

A guard stepped forward. "What's going on, Miss Yearling?"

"N-Nothing, sir," she replied, overlooking the fifth pony in line who was waiting for his book to be signed. "I was just surprised that this paper came here out of nowhere!"

"OK, then," and the guard stepped away.

Yearling breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Next!" she yelled.

The stallion next in line trotted to the table. "Hi, I would like—"

Lights went off.

Not completely dark, but not much could be seen as ponies talked, ponies panicked—some checked their belongings in their bags, a few already running away.

"Somepony unplugged the lights!" a construction pony shouted. "Hold on—let me see...where are those outlets?"

Yearling held on to her hat. "Don't worry, everypony! Everything is fine. It's just some malfunction—I'm sure that's what the trouble is all about—"

Was punched out of her chair.

Lights turned back on.

Revealing a cloaked pony fighting with Yearling.

Her green goggles glittering under the intense light.

Gasps, shouts, shrieks from the crowd.

"Where are the guards?!" a pony screamed.

Only for her friend to tap on her shoulder and point at the unconscious guards lying on the sidewalk.

The lights were on the writer and the stranger.

Pawing the pavement.

All watching them with bated breath.

"We finally meet," Yearling started. "Over a year of me searching for you, and you made the mistake of coming here."

"It's not a mistake, really," the stranger said, smirking. "In fact, you are the one who's making the mistake, trying to meddle in my affairs."

"What are you hiding?!" Yearling shouted. "I know some of it—your book, your magical ability...'Rivers and Streams'..."

The stranger laughed and walked forward to her.

Yearling walked closer as well.

Facing each other down to their noses.

"What is it?" Yearling whispered, eyebrows sharp, glowering with fierce eyes.

The stranger grinned. "What about you be the one to tell me—no, all of us what you're hiding from the world?"

Yearling gulped.

The cloaked pony turned to the audience before them, glowing her horn and levitating the piece of paper. "I would like to ask one of you to read me what's written on the paper!"

Yearling gasped.

The stranger flicked her head back, leering at a stallion over there. "Ah, you! You were about to have your book signed, correct?"

Those around him gave way, making him stick out in the crowd. "Uh, yes?"

"If you want to live," the stranger said, stepping toward him and floating the paper to his face, "then read what's written on that paper as loud as you possibly can. Shout it out, if you have to!"

Yearling shook her head at him, signalling him to do otherwise.

The stranger glanced at the writer. "Am I speaking to you?"

Then, hoofsteps from the road.

A squad of guards incoming, now galloping on the sidewalk.

Yearling chuckled and took out a card.

The guards approached her.

"Miss," one of them said, holding up two pairs of hoofcuffs, "you are under arrest for attacking a—"

She gave him the card.

The guard wobbled in place, then hoofed it back to the stranger. "Right...proceed with whatever you were authorized to do, miss."

That squad left the place, trotting back to their patrol routes.

The crowd backed away from her, already spreading rumors of that mysterious mare in hushed undertones.

The stallion with the unsigned book grabbed the paper, scared—his mouth was quivering, trembling.

"Read it!" that cloaked pony yelled.

He held it up to his hooves. "'Daring Do, this is the end.'"

The stranger broke out a smile across her face.

"But, she's not real!" a mare cried out.

The stranger laughed. "How naive you all are. She is real. And, to make it better, she's not just real—she's right here!"

Pointed at Yearling.

The writer gulped.

Pawed the ground.

"I've had enough!" Yearling roared.

Lunged at the stranger.

The stranger smirked, facing her.

Grabbed her.

Slammed her on the ground.

Concrete cracked.

Gasps and screams from the audience.

The stranger quickly put her back on her four hooves.

Yearling faltering, limping, barely able to stand.

"Mares and stallions!" the stranger declared. "This is...!"

Yearling's clothes glowed.

The stranger levitated her glasses out.

Then, her hat.

Finally, her shawl.

All gasped, staggered.

At the mare with the grayscale hair, with the green vest, an adventurer's pith helmet.

With the wings.

"Daring Do, everypony!" the stranger yelled, bowing down before the crowd.

She ran out of the lights, out of the scene, ditching Daring Do behind.

As ponies rushed to the adventurer.

Asking questions.

Flashing cameras.

Some expressing astonishment.

Others expressing indignation.

Shouts.

Yells.

Screams.

"Can you believe it?!" one of them yelped. "A.K. Yearling is Daring Do! Everything's true!"

Daring Do herself stood there, suffering the attention.

Noises around her, ponies running about, sights confusing and mixing with each other, questions and answers and accusations mingling to become incoherent to her ears.

Staggered back.

About to faint under the light.

The stranger galloped down the street, floating her green goggles away for red ones.

Put them on.

Breathing fast, panting.

Skidded by the intersection lit up by four streetlights.

Her red goggles shining under them.

She spotted the alley on the other side.

The cloaked pony stacked cardboard boxes on top of each other, obstructing the only exit out of the alley.

She turned around.

Down the dusty, grimy alley of garbage and filth, there stood an Abyssinian cat.

Sporting a black coat.

"Came here just in time," Capper said, striding his way to her. "I was actually getting used to this place, but you came along and had to ruin the fun."

The stranger took out a small bottle.

Capper grabbed it, scrutinized the blue liquid before him.

"That's the poison," the stranger said. "Too bad he didn't bring Sugar Belle, but we have to take every chance we got. Once I know you've successfully killed him off, we'll meet two days from now and I'll give you a huge sum of bits—enough to get you a good house by the countryside, but I know you're not that kind of cat."

"Well, there's the debt, for one—"

"What?!" The stranger looked at him from head to toe, raging. "You said you had no debt!"

"Technically, yes, but you asked if I had any debts to...what was it? Unscrupulous characters."

"You're in debt to legal ponies?!"

And, she smacked a hoof on her face.

"Ugh! OK...continue with the mission and go to The Tasty Treat—Party Favor's over there as we speak. Strike up a conversation, do something without making it obvious!"

"Alright, alright!" Capper said, backing off and holding up his two paws. "Just chill. I wanna get on your good side, OK? Just let me do my thing, and we'll meet, right?"

"Two days from now," the stranger repeated, turning back to the cut off exit.

"Yeah, two days...."

He put the poison inside his coat.

She levitated the cardboard boxes out of the way and cleared up the path.

The stranger jumped back to the sidewalk.

She trotted in the city under the shining moon.

Conscience

A river. A stream.

This pristine river glittered under the moonlight, those sparkly drops of pure light coming and going in the creek like diamonds or stars that twinkle.

A field of lavenders and bellflowers lay before it, taking the river captive with its luscious fragrance which could cause anypony to feel drowsy, and then to sleep soundly. They curled under the soft, cold wind, bending together in the night.

In the background, pine trees and peppermint flowers in the dark, barely visible by the mountains that surrounded this little patch of grass. Owls hooted, flew about in the darkness.

Overlooking the river and its flowers was a wooden bungalow, a measly cottage with only two windows—one by the front door, one by the back door facing the river.

This window was open.

Past the drawn out curtains was the cloaked pony sitting on a chair, leaning her weight on the window. Her face gleamed under the moon and the stars above, her eyes reflecting their glow.

On the small desk beside her were pairs of goggles and contact lenses of all colors, echoing the dim lamp over them.

Her eyes not of green, nor of yellow, nor of red, nor of magenta, nor of blue.

Under the moon and the stars above.

"It is four forty-seven in the morning," she muttered. "Less than nine hours to go before it kicks off. Everything's in their place, most of the outcomes are beneficial...all I have to do is be there, make sure nothing goes wrong, and, perhaps, this will be the final blow that will rouse all of Equestria to take away its trivial diversions of words and games. By noon, all will see, all will despair, and all will hate themselves for having wasted their time beforehoof."

Sweating.

She drew in breath.

"Have I...? No...it can't be. They will thank me, they shall recognize me as the one who brought the war to its end, and if not, there is always another plan, no matter what even the Princesses say. The lives I took—better they who are powerless, cowardly, ineffectual—better they who die and thus make the body stronger by cleansing it from disease and fat than they who are the muscles, the bones, the brains...the heart."

She placed a hoof to her head.

Headache.

"All is justified. Who could blame me when it was not I who influenced them to be lazy, to be wishy-washy when they know full well that a simple bomb from the other side would mean their end? What use is this talk of peace, of compromise, when the enemy sees no reason, when their leader is preposterous and senseless—when what he wants is not something complex or nuanced, but mere world domination? It's only fair that I take the weak out to give way to the strong so they won't be dragged down by the wants and needs of the feeble? Why spend resources on them when they are not willing to submit?"

She levitate a pair of goggles before her.

Rotating it around.

Those yellow lenses shimmering under the moon.

"Anyone would've done the same thing in my place. If they analyzed the effects of this war, the results of this conflict, than they will see that there is no choice but to give the Crystals all we got—nothing less. If they want to run around outside and chase each other, then they have to work for it—if they want to play, they must work for it. It's only common sense."

She placed it back on the desk.

"They shall ask me if I thought about their lives—if I, with my intellect, could've given them something better than death, something that would've helped. A life could think, a life could do, and, therefore, a life could always be helpful and never be useless—that's what they say. But, there are minds that are entrenched, minds that will never get out of the mire of selfishness—for them there is only one place they deserve to go and that is the grave. I am only doing them a good service."

Gripped the window with her forehooves.

"What if they bring me to court? If they find out the many crimes I've done in order to bring this plan about? I know the laws...I won't be sent to death, I would be sent to Tartarus. I know that...it would be horrible to stay there for an eternity. To face the humiliation, the disgrace of millions—the shame, the dishonor upon my name, though what I did was best for the Equestria I love!"

Sighed.

Closed her eyes.

Breathed in.

Breathed out.

Opened her eyes.

Looked out the window.

Saw the river, the flowers.

Felt the frigid wind.

"I still have time. There's still...time. Only if things get too bad, get too out of hoof. I still have a good plan, a good plan...yes, a good plan, a good plan! Everything's in their proper places, all I need is for the sun to rise and everything will fall apart accordingly."

She stood up.

Poked her head out the window.

Feeling the cool breeze.

"Many have died because of me, and many shall continue to die. No one had to catch a scent of my trail, no one had to know exactly what I was doing. Soon, the changelings will be gone, but at what cost? Islands, too, but...the ponies, the innocent...."

Her legs buckled.

Reeled her head back inside.

Teetered to the wall with a thump.

Held herself up.

Standing up.

"No...they are a part of the problem, too. They shouldn't...they shouldn't be interfering with Equestria. They aren't faithful to the cause, they aren't loyal—they only grab what they want for themselves. Greedy, narcissistic ponies—they don't even perform well when drafted to the cause, so killing them is the only way..."

She turned to the left.

Another desk.

A framed picture.

She choked.

Levitated the picture to her eyes.

Saw a loving family posing with smiles for the camera—with Princess Celestia herself. There was the father and the mother, both unicorns, then the big brother along with the babysitter. In front of them all was a unicorn filly.

All smiling.

A tear forming in the stranger's eyes.

"You've...you've been good to me...I'm sure you wouldn't want to see me...this...this evil..."

She closed her eyes.

Tears down her face.

Baring her teeth.

Gnashing her teeth.

Holding the picture closer.

"Mom...Dad..."

Whimpered.

Tears glimmering under the moon.

"Shining Armor...Cadance...Celestia..."

Sobbed.

More tears.

Trying to hold them back.

"Y-You've been good..."

Floating the picture past her.

Past her bed, past several bookshelves.

Flung to the fireplace.

The family picture burning, melting under the fire.

She closed the window.

Closed the curtains.

Trotted to her bed.

Lied down.

Covered her wet face with a pillow.

Cried.

Outside the cottage, standing by the side of this little bungalow, was Princess Luna.

Looking upon the house.

"Something is about to occur."

She spread her wings and took off from the grass fields.

Away to the night sky.

Luna landed on the balcony of the tower.

Celestia waiting for her there.

Below, a sweeping view of a sleeping Canterlot—most lights off.

"How is she?" Celestia asked, pained in her words. "Is she alright?"

Luna shook her head. "I heard her cry."

Celestia perked her ears up. "This is the first time she's cried in a long time. Could it be...?"

Luna shook her head again. "No. She is ready to go through with her plan of facilitating the attack on Canterlot."

Celestia looked away from her sister, avoiding her.

"This is not something we could debate about for a few hours!" Luna said, trotting up to her. "If her plans prevail, then Canterlot will be worse off than what happened with Starlight's supporters! Hundreds if not thousands of ponies will die if we remain unprepared."

Celestia sighed. "But...what if she's right?"

"You are biased!" Luna yelled, pointing at her. "She's been your protegé, your most faithful student, but do not let that blind you! She may be smart, maybe smarter than the two of us with our wisdom, but she is not good anymore! She is not a moral pony! She has become callous, cold-hearted—everyone who knows her knows that, you especially, but you refuse to accept the truth!"

Celestia backed away from her, retreating into the lavish guest bedroom of white walls and marble floor, then pointed at herself. "Me? Refusing to accept the truth?! What happened to believing anyone could be saved from evil whatever the difficulties we face?"

"You cannot be compassionate with her forever," Luna replied. "You have been her teacher—you must remember that a student needs discipline as well and, if she has done any wrong, that student also requires punishments."

"You can't be careless, too!" Celestia answered, stressed and gesturing her hooves about. "Have you forgotten that she has lots of power, knows lots of spells a normal unicorn could never even begin to conceive of learning? What if she defeats us in a fit of anger—I don't want to think of what she would do with the sun and the moon!"

"Then, we shall resort to the Elements of Harmony," Luna said, finality in her words.

Celestia raised her hoof, opened her mouth.

"And, before you speak, sister," Luna interrupted, walking up to her, "we have to use the Elements as early as possible. She already has knowledge of chrono spells—that is more than enough to devastate not only the world but all of reality along with it. She must be stopped!"

"The Elements are already fragile!" Celestia said. "I could sense it, you could sense it...if we use them on her, they might break and send Equestria into total chaos!"

"Might break," Luna replied. "Even without the Elements...I remember you saying something about Element-bearers—"

"What if we're wrong?! If we place them on the wrong ponies, the Elements might crack—"

"Might crack," Luna repeated. "If you don't want to risk anything, you might as well sleep in for the day and never come out of bed!"

Celestia widened her eyes open, backing her head up.

Both of them breathing, silent.

Staring at each other with troubled eyes.

Desperate sweat.

A tear rolling down Celestia's white cheeks, to her gritted teeth.

Tasting the harsh tear.

Outside, the night continued.

"So, Celestia...have you decided?"

She let out a sigh. "No..."

Luna closed her eyes. "What will you do?"

Celestia raised her head. "I will perform my royal duties without any changes. I will raise the sun, take care of our subjects, and, if the need arises, fly off to another combat zone."

Luna turned around, faced the moon. "As I feared."

"But, we will defend Canterlot," Celestia continued. "They're Crystal ponies. As long as Sombra isn't with them, then the city won't face massive damages."

Luna did not look at her sister, stepping onto the balcony. "And, in the off chance that Sombra is with them?"

"Then, we face him together."

Luna swung her head about. "You will not intervene in Twilight's plan?"

"I will not."

Silence.

As they stared at each other.

Luna opened her wings. "Anything else you must tell me? I know you are hiding one more thing from me."

Celestia walked to the doors at the end of the bedroom. "I will pay another visit to Sunset Shimmer. I worry that the Crystals might enter the castle and destroy the mirror. I would like to see her for what may be the last time."

Luna glanced outside, eyeing the moon. "That is commendable, but is it not too early for that?"

"Which is why I shall do it in the morning," Celestia said, opening the doors and showing a long hallway furbished with stained glass windows.

Luna nodded. "I hope you come back safe."

She flew out of the balcony, into the night sky.

Celestia saw her off, seeing her sister become smaller until she was indistinguishable from the night sky itself.

She trotted forward into the hallway, on to the red carpet.

Closed the doors.

With a smack.

A smack echoing throughout the hallway.

Celestia was alone.

With a carpet, with lavender flowers, with stained glass windows, with columns.

That sweet smell of lavenders.

She sniffled.

A tear went down.

Splashed on the carpet.

Under the night.

To Fog a Mirror

Morning in Canterlot. Up in the blue sky, the sun shining down on roads and cars traveling about.

By the river and near the bridge where a few outlying houses resided, several people were spending their time on the grass. Benches were occupied by those who talked about the fine weather, baskets sat upon red-white picnic mats where others relaxed and ate, and kites were flown by kite enthusiasts, decorating the sky with their colors and their shapes.

Over there, hanging out by the one and only table in the grassy vicinity, were five students without their books but with their cue cards, playing a silly game of charades. Right now, a pink woman with curly hair was wiggling her fingers while slowly raising them up—also making long shushing sounds.

"It's a bunch o' balloons!" Applejack yelled, confident and holding on to her hat, budging her rainbow-haired classmate beside her. "It's gotta be!"

Rainbow Dash, that classmate, crossed her arms. "Nah! You have to be crazier than that to beat Pinkie's charades."

"Why isn't she using the cards I provided?" complained Rarity in an exaggerated accent, the one with the curly purple hair. She lifted a hand to her forehead, as if about to faint. "Are they too easy?!"

Fluttershy, her long hair adorned with a butterfly-shaped hairpin, scratched her head, perplexed by Pinkie repeating the wiggling motion and the shushing sounds. "Is it a flock of birds?"

"I have it!" Rainbow yelled, raising her hand and showing off her rainbow wristbands. "It's cannons exploding confetti sailing in the air!"

Pinkie shook her head, wagging a finger at the incorrect guess. "Nope! Rarity, you're the tiebreaker!"

Rarity rolled her eyes. "This is the first round of charades. There's no one to tie with!"

Pinkie gasped. "Then, what did I bring this tie for?!"

Cue Pinkie Pie bringing out a silly tie.

Everyone at the table laughed.

Sitting on a faraway bench, at a place where they could see all of this activity without being watched, was Sunset Shimmer and Celestia.

Sunset scratched her chin with her hand, looking at the principal beside her. "What did you come here for?"

Celestia bowed her head. "I might not see you again."

Sunset scampered to the end of the bench, holding on to the armrest. "Why? Princess—ahem, Principal Celestia, why leave me now? I mean, I have friends here, but they're not the kind you would call 'best friends'! Besides, what if Equestrian magic spills in here after you're gone? I still haven't confronted the sirens—"

Celestia placed a hand on her shoulder.

Sunset looked up, looked at her face.

"I said 'might'," Celestia reassured. "That is because I am expecting something back at home."

Sunset brought a hand to her mouth. "N-No...it can't be!"

Celestia nodded. "Yes, it can be and it will be. I've received a report of a Crystal army moving in to invade our Canterlot. They will be coming..."

She turned her head up, seeing the vast sky.

And its sun.

"...any moment now."

Sunset grabbed Celestia by the shoulder, tugging her yellow suit. "Then, why are you here? Shouldn't you be back in Equestria, making sure everyone there's safe?"

Celestia scanned the little makeshift park before her, then looked at Sunset. "I'm here to give you what might be my last farewell to you."

Sunset almost stood up. "I know why! It's the mirror!"

Celestia nodded. "They will try to wipe out any magical advantage we have against them, and that includes magical items, weapons, artifacts, and...the very mirror connecting these two worlds."

Sunset completely stood up, her two shoed feet on the grass. "We have to get to the statue back at school right now! They're having a little fair or something there in fifteen minutes and we—"

Celestia grabbed her by the arm.

Stood up.

Looked at her.

Motioned a hand towards the little grass field and the river beside it.

Towards the flying kites, the picnic mats, the swelling life in it—talks and laughs, a game of charades never ending but in laughter and a group hug between those five students.

Those five friends.

Quiet river.

"Peace," Celestia uttered. "In this world, there is peace. No fighting, only petty quarrels here and there. No one dying, no one killing."

A heavy sigh.

Sunset wrapped an arm around her.

Celestia kept looking. "In this world, there is no war. Everyone can live free...as free as they want. They could stop and enjoy the small delights this city has to offer. The youth here have a future to hold on to, to look forward to, and it is any future they want."

She observed those five students continuing their charades, this time with Applejack as the actor and Pinkie joining the team of guessers.

"You're...you're Applejack!" Pinkie yelled, pointing at her.

Applejack her own face with her hat, and groaned.

Everyone else laughed again.

Saw some of them stand up from their benches and mats, getting up to leave.

Celestia watched it all. "Friendships like these...in this world, a weapon won't suddenly tear them apart, breaking people's hearts left and right. Here, they will live as long as they shall live, never robbed of their best friends."

Silence.

"I should know. I know too much."

Concealed her nose with a hand.

Turned her head away from them.

Sunset held on to her. "Come on. Let me lead you back to the mirror."

Celestia nodded, not saying a word.

She sniffed.

Princess and student left the grass and stepped on to the sidewalk.

"We brisk walked all the way!" Sunset said as they crossed the road, looking at Celestia as they hurried side-by-side. "We might just be able to beat preparations for the fair and—"

She looked in front of her.

"No!"

Before her, in front of the school's entrance, was the fair.

Striped huts, colorful stalls showing off their diverse wares. A flower stand had its vendor offering Vice-Principal Luna a bouquet of lavender flowers which she had taken a liking to; an ice cream man scooped out the delectable treat to everyone who passed him by, donning a happy attitude and a top hat taller than a few ice cream cones stacked on top of each other; and, by the entrance stairway, the popcorn stop sold popcorn in flavors of cheese, barbecue, mushroom, and chili, attracting the attention of the more high-strung students looking for a challenge in the form of chugging down a large sized bucket of chili popcorn without drinking water.

It should be noted that whoever was taking the challenge right now was being filmed via his friends' smartphones, having just pushed past half of the popcorn. Beside him, another friend teased the fiery contestant by inching a water bottle into view.

Celestia saw the fair and took a step back.

"How are we going to get you back in time without making any trouble?" Sunset asked.

Celestia scanned the fair.

Smiled.

"Let someone else make trouble, Sunset."

Sunset did a double take, looking at her teacher with shock, irises shrunk. "What?! I might be called by Luna and face detention or, worse, I could be expelled!"

Celestia chuckled, shaking her head. "I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about them."

Turned her head a little to the left.

Sunset followed her gaze.

Beside a set up furniture store finished up with a few chairs on the grass complete with price tags—beside it, three women in gaudy costumes were inspecting the goods.

Sunset took a step back, too. "The sirens! You want me to—"

"Talk to them," Celestia said, bringing up a phone and turning on her call app. "I'll handle the rest."

Sunset walked a little forward, then turned back to see Celestia.

Raising the phone to her ear.

"Are you calling the cops?" Sunset asked, unsure.

Celestia nodded. "Now, go. You don't have much time."

Sunset gulped and walked on.

Sunset Shimmer blended in with the crowd at the little school fair. She brushed past several of her classmates and schoolmates whose reactions varied from handwaves to just moving along. Traces of food from here and there wafted about, giving her a savory yet sweet smell of whatever was being cooked and served at the moment.

Behind her, the marble statue of a rearing horse.

Walked forward, closer to the three women.

"Who says we need chairs for the big concert?" she heard the yellow one speak, the one with bushy hair. "We've never sat down when we sang."

"Doesn't singing in the bus count?" the blue one asked, wearing a long ponytail over her striped hair.

"She means real singing, Sonata," replied the last woman who was violet, dressed up with a damaged vest over her shirt—gave her an evil look.

"So, we weren't really singing just a while ago, Aria?" Sonata asked. "It was fake singing?" She tapped her yellow friend on the shoulder. "Uh, Adagio? We were actually, really, genuinely singing back in the bus, right?"

Adagio pulled the ends of her own hair. "Argh! Does it matter?!"

Sonata backed away. "Oh, uh...probably? You said that we should practice all the time so that we'll be in top form when we, you know, unleash everything on the unwitting audience in this world and—"

"Shush!"

And Adagio covered her friend's mouth.

"You're about to blow our cover!" she whispered to Sonata's ear, fuming with rage—breathing slowly.

Adagio then noticed Sunset watching them a few feet away.

She shoved Sonata away, giving Sunset a mean glare. "What do you want, Sunset? Back with snooping on random people?"

Sunset crossed her arms and gave them a smirk. "Well, I was just wondering why you wanted to buy some furniture."

Adagio followed and crossed her arms as well. "And, why do you think you should step into our business? The furniture looks interesting, that's all. What next? You're going to say we plan to steal some gold trophies from your school because we bought a ream of paper?"

Sunset giggled. "Not exactly—"

Screams.

The four of them spun their heads towards the scene.

By the base of the statue, two armored people with glowing green eyes and black helmets stumbled around, dropping their bows and arrows.

"What are they?!" someone cried out.

"They came out of the statue!" another shouted.

"What's going on?!"

Sunset held on to her hair, lips trembling. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! This can't be...this can't be happening!"

Students, teachers, vendors—scrambling, shouting, running for cover, fleeing from those mysterious two trotting around on all fours like a horse, looking around them.

Sunset hiding behind the furniture stall.

The three "sirens" also beside her, with Sonata hugging Aria in fear.

"Hey, get out!" Aria shouted, driving her away.

Sunset leaned her head to see.

A crowd watching those two helpless armored people lumber around on the concrete then fall.

A few even laughed at the spectacle only to be silenced by scowls from their peers.

Tapped on the shoulder.

Sunset looked behind her.

Celestia, worried, glancing at the statue then back at Sunset. "Stay here! Do not follow me!"

Sunset flinched. "What are you going to do?!"

Celestia noticed the other three women watching her.

Faced Sunset with a firm lip.

And tender eyes.

"Be friends with them, OK?! Make sure the five ones you saw at the table stay friends, too! The Friendship Games are coming up—let them be friends with Twilight Sparkle, too!"

"Friends with her?" Adagio asked, surprised and pointing at Sunset.

Celestia tramped her way to Adagio and placed a finger on her head. "Listen! Who you just saw are dangerous people, and only I and my sister know how to take them out! It's for your good that you befriend Sunset!"

The Princess turned away, stomping past Sunset and Adagio with her friends.

Ran out to the statue.

Saw the trotting people with their black helmets and glowing eyes.

Grabbed them by the shoulder.

Knocked their heads against each other.

Knocked out.

Dropped them to the ground.

Looked around at the crowd.

Most of them standing up, treading back to the scene.

Some re-watched what had just happened on their phones. Others whispered to each other their fears, their anxieties. Still others speculated, theorized about who they were.

Celestia noticed Vice-Principal Luna running up to her, from the grass to the pavement. "Sister, are you sure they are unconscious?"

She nodded.

Luna turned round to the rest of the group, searching each student out from afar. "Everyone, line up properly and follow me into the school for an emergency meeting! We have to make sure no one is missing! Close all windows and doors as you pass by them!"

So, everyone lined up at the foot of the stairs, with Luna by the doors.

No murmurs, no whispers. Only silent obedience.

Celestia looked at the sky, towards the sun.

"Luna, please hurry!" she whispered.

Seconds passed.

Stragglers getting in line.

"OK, everyone!" Luna shouted, raising a hand to herself. "Follow me! Do not lose the persons in front of and behind you!"

Everyone went up the stairs and followed Luna down the hallways of the school, pelting the air with their footsteps.

Most disappeared inside.

Last of them, Sunset Shimmer.

Looking back at Celestia.

Staying behind by the door.

Sunset managed a smile. "See ya', Celestia."

The Princess smiled back, standing by the statue.

"Sunset Shimmer!" she heard Luna yell. "Get back here!"

Sunset then ran off, but not without one final look.

Celestia sighed.

Saw the two unconscious Crystal soldiers lying on the ground.

Picked them up.

Celestia looked behind her.

Right by her, the base of the statue.

"Goodbye, Sunset," Celestia murmured.

She turned around to face the marble wall.

Threw the two bodies at the wall.

They phased through it and disappeared.

Not a word.

Heard the sirens.

Blaring police sirens incoming.

Took one more look of the place.

Across the street were samey houses with trimmed lawns and calm front yards. The trees and the bushes had not a single fallen leaf, though they were yellowing. The vendor stalls, unharmed though left alone, had that vibrant hue, a sense of a time before.

Of smiles.

She looked up.

A blue sky. Some clouds fluttered about.

The sun shining.

"Goodbye, peaceful world."

Celestia placed a hand into the wall.

Closed her eyes.

Walked through it.

Gone.

Conscience Suppressed

Morning in Canterlot.

So read the clock shattered on the floor for it was seven in the morning. Its hands had stopped, so it was hard to tell what time it was right now.

But, it was morning in Canterlot.

Windows smashed, columns ruined. Shards scattered, and so were the bodies of pony soldiers Equestrian and Crystal. Yet, that did not stop those who were still alive and on the ground—or above it for the pegasi troopers—from continuing their fighting, whether with their spears and lancets, their bows and arrows, their mortars and cannons, or just their plain hooves.

Brawling in the hallway.

Groans, grunts, and chokes.

Dead bodies piling up.

And another one killed this morning in Canterlot, cast off to the side.

The white alicorn swung open the double doors to the hallway, and then, hovering high up and close to the ceiling, fired beams at the Crystals, neutralizing them.

Landed on the floor.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

Looked out the broken windows.

A clear view of chaos. In the sky, swarms of Crystal pegasi charging forward to the capital, facing stiff defense from their Equestrian counterparts as many were locked in battle hundreds of meters from the streets of Canterlot below.

Celestia could hear the shouts, the battle cries, the tearing up of buildings, the explosions.

The screams.

"Follow me!" she yelled, galloping down the hallway.

And all the guards followed her down.

It was morning in Canterlot.

At Restaurant Row, things were not faring any better.

Civilians cowered in their diners and eateries, crouching under tables and behind counters with customer and chef joined together, trying to survive.

Hearing more magical beams, more punches, more kicks.

And explosions, rocking the floors and causing more than a few to tumble out of their hiding places.

Glass shattering.

Screams, shouts.

On the road itself, the two Royal Sisters engaged in combat, jabbing at the Crystals and smacking them down to the ground, shooting beams at the Crystals and knocking them out, Celestia and Luna combining their magic by firing magic streams at each other and creating a clear fast-expanding dome, blowing the rest of the Crystals away.

And still, more soldiers coming in, fully equipped with weapons and armor.

As a figure rushed past the scene, escaping Restaurant Row with a turn at the crossroads.

Capper ran and leaped past burning houses and falling debris, swiftly avoiding yet another chunk of concrete hurtling down his way before it disintegrated with a crash. Trees and streetlights fell, soldiers duked it out on the road, and a volley of arrows would come by once in a while, taking out a random warrior, making him fall limp.

"She was right!" Capper blabbered, holding on to his black coat. "She wasn't jokin' when she said they were angry!"

Running down, focused straight ahead.

Saw a group of unicorns helping each other down some stairs from a house, one of them covered in casts and bandages—an IV pole attached to her, a syringe injected to her hoof.

Capper kept running.

Closer to them.

Ran past them.

"Do you know where the underground tunnels are?!" Lemon Hearts yelled at Moon Dancer as they, along with Minuette and Twinkleshine despite their own casts and bandages, levitated a frail and comatose Lyra down narrow, reeking alleyways—wheeling the IV pole with her.

"The Canterlot Caverns are by the castle!" Moon Dancer shouted, avoiding another muddy puddle and sprinting beside the wall.

"Do you know any secret passageways there?!"

"I have no idea!"

Approaching a main road, almost out of the alley.

Now blocked by two Crystal soldiers jumping into view.

"Agh!"

"Run back!" Lemon Hearts cried out.

And they, floating Lyra along, turned around and ran back.

Nearing the other main road, almost out of the tight path between the two buildings.

Now blocked by another pair of Crystal soldiers, these ones armed with lancets.

The unicorns looked back.

More Crystals closing in.

"This is really bad!" Minuette yelled, twitching her head back and forth, seeing Crystals on both sides. "I don't know any teleportation spells! I wish I took up Expert Studies in Magic!"

Moon Dancer held a hoof up. "Hold your ground, girls! This might get dirty!"

She glowed her horn, lighting up the alley in a faint pink.

They heard a yodel.

Looked to the right.

The Crystals, confused, also looked to the right.

Trenderhoof leaping forward and beating the Crystals up with bagpipes while also wearing a country hat.

Minuette and Twinkleshine formed a defensive magical barrier, blocking the other two Crystals.

"You go on!" Trenderhoof yelled, readying his unwieldy bagpipes. "Let me handle them! You're more important than some old traveler like me!"

They stared at him, the stallion with the weird get-up.

Lemon Hearts rolled her eyes. "Let's go, girls! We don't have much time! Lyra needs to get to safety right away!"

So, they ran, brushing past the blocked Crystals.

As they got up.

Four now surrounding him.

Trenderhoof cracked his neck, placed the chanter in front of his mouth.

"Let's dance!"

And played earsplitting melodies.

Causing the Crystals to cover their ears and fall to the floor, desperate and despondent to all senses.

Easy targets for the Equestrian Guard as they charged forward to take them down.

"Music!" Sunburst yelled from a nearby park, picking up the sound of bagpipes. "That's the cue, everypony!"

And, with that, everyone in the park pulled the strings.

Setting off the huge cannon at the middle which then fired multiple smaller cannons which then fired red rockets with flashing lights.

Rising up above the noise of battle all around, standing past the guards upholding a tenacious defense of the park against the invading Crystals both on ground and on air—Sunburst lifted a hoof to his glasses. "You'll see what happens when the rocket detects an enemy lifeform. It will target it and the rocket will lock on to the target until it hits the enemy—it's a ninety-percent chance of a fatal blow!"

Passing by the park in record speed was a loaded wagon pulled by an armored stallion and a pink alicorn galloping away, their manes caught up in the wind.

"This is the last one!" Shining Armor shouted, glowing his helmet and adjusting it. "Are you ready to do a sharp turn?!"

Princess Cadance nodded. "Ready as you are, Shiny!"

Coming up on a horde of Crystals robbing and looting a warehouse, tossing boxes and crates away and passing the job of destroying them to their comrades.

A messy spot on the road.

"Now!"

Turned left, skidding and screeching.

Wagon tipping.

Letting the bombs there spill to the road.

Boom!

The couple exited the intersection, still with wagon in tow.

It was empty.

They were panting for air, yet they galloped on.

Entering the downtown districts of Canterlot with their variety of stores and shops.

Seeing a pony on the road, bending down and fiddling with a briefcase.

"Golden Gavel?!" Cadance shouted, startled.

"Wait!" Shining shouted, about to bank right. "What is he doing?! Is that a bo—"

Ms. Harshwhinny, directing the line of ponies evacuating the hedge maze's statue garden, felt the ground quake.

Looked off to the distance.

In the horizon, billowing gray smoke.

"OK, everypony!" she roared, leering at the remaining ponies still within the garden premises. "We need you to get out quickly and orderly! Don't panic! You'll be fine!"

Hearing the terrified whispers of those passing her by, she glanced to the only two ponies staying behind.

Sitting at a table, by the statue of a draconequus.

"I don't want to argue or anything," Morning Roast said, sitting at the table by the statue of Discord and hearing the hurried hoofsteps of ponies bailing out, "but I thought about, maybe, um...destroying it once and for all so we don't have to think about it."

"You mean the statue?" asked the stallion across the table, Neon Lights. He looked at the statue for a second. "I mean, yeah, it'd be nice, but Princess Celestia likes being nice to everyone."

"Think practically," Morning Roast went on, gesturing about. "What happens if they get to us? Are we just gonna sit here and talk right before they tape our mouths and put us in cages? To be honest, I'm just hoping that one of them breaks the statue so we could blame them, not us."

Neon Lights shrugged his shoulders. "Not a bad idea."

A ruffle in the bushes.

They turned their heads there, getting a glimpse of the last ponies exiting the garden—Ms. Harshwhinny then finally leaving.

"Who's that?" the both of them asked together.

The enigmatic hatted figure jumped into another bush and dashed out of the garden.

"Don't say anything at all, Teddie Safari!" Daring Do yelled as they ran down the streets, avoiding fires and beams and soldiers, holding their balance despite rockets and boulders landing here and there and breaking more houses and stores. "It doesn't matter if you're excited right now that I'm Daring Do, because if you die, you die!"

Safari gulped in full gallop. "But, what was the big explosion—"

"Just heard that only three of our ponies got killed," Daring shot back, holding on to her pith helmet. "However, Shining Armor and Princess Cadance are injured, sent away from Canterlot to an undisclosed location."

"Why don't we go to undisclosed locations?!" Safari whined.

"Stop and just make sure you're not dead!" Daring shouted.

Faster, closer and closer to a junction.

The Canterlot Train Station where several Crystal soldiers were shooting arrows through broken window walls at the innocents running and jumping around inside as they did their best to not get hit, with some scurrying to the back door.

Daring grabbed her lasso, snagged a big wooden plank with it.

Threw it to the soldiers.

Taking them down all at once.

Heard hoofstomps.

Glanced behind her.

More Crystal troops arriving, trudging their way through the debris and the Equestrian Guard there.

Heard the train's whistle.

"Safari!" Daring shouted, running to the train station. "I have a plan!"

Teddi Safari looked behind her, seeing the flood of Crystals struggling to move toward the station. "What is it?!"

"There's a train coming!" she shouted. "I'll intercept it, see if I can make it stop here, then I'll send the train running back down to Ponyville. There's too many ponies to herd to the underground shelters in the open, so in the train they go!"

"Yes, Daring Do, but—"

Daring flew away, getting to the incoming train.

Safari opened the back door.

"Is everypony OK in there?!"

They all nodded, cramped and sweaty inside the dark storage room.

"Perfect!" she said, smiling. "Just stay there and don't get out until I say the word. Got it?"

They all nodded again.

Safari closed the door.

Turned around.

Inside the ransacked train station littered with glass shards, spilled dirt, chunks of concrete and pavement, and scattered trash.

Feeling the rumble of the slowing train.

Seeing the horde of Crystals charging and flying to the station, kicking up dust on the road.

Equestrians firing beams and arrows at them, but the Crystals rushed on.

Safari planted her four hooves on the ground.

Picked up a lancet lying about.

Gritted her teeth.

"I just need to buy some time," she said to herself, shaky voice.

Seeing them nearer.

They entered the station.

First one about to punch her.

Blocked by the lancet.

Another by her left.

Punched him down.

Kicked one at the back.

Hoof grabbed by a Crystal.

Punched with the other hoof.

Another grabbed her tail.

Kicked him on the face.

Heard the screeching by the front.

Past the many Crystals troops bursting into the station, the train standing still while spouting out smoke and Daring Do hovering over the train.

"Leave it to me!" Daring shouted, lassoing a few Crystals together and throwing them into another approaching group of troops, pounding them down to the floor. "You go help them to the train! It turns out the Guard's got a hold of it!"

Safari nodded and rushed to the back door.

With the train moving backwards and exiting the tunnel, it was a strangely serene trip downhill.

Below on one side, there was not much. Ponyville was not too far away there, intact but with several wooden barriers and some windows blocked here and there.

On the other side, there was only the rugged mountain side. A steep wall.

Past the carriages teeming with scared and frightened passengers holding on to their packed bags, there was one carraige where only a couple and another pony sat—at opposite ends of it.

The unicorn couple, Night Light and Twilight Velvet, sat by the door, the wife by the windowside.

Sniffling. "If only we could have our children with us. At least we'll be together in...death."

Night Light placed a hoof on her shoulder. "Don't worry. Shining's alright, and so is Cadance. Hurt, but not dead. Twilight...she's way back at home, far away from—"

A purple glow beside them.

The cloaked stranger appeared.

"Agh!" Velvet screamed, backing up to the window. "Who are you?!"

The stranger chuckled.

Took off the cloak.

Her purple face, her striped mane.

Her cutie mark of a purple star surrounded by five smaller white stars.

Her purple eyes.

"Twilight!" the parents cried out.

"I-It's you!" Velvet managed. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

Twilight smirked. "Making sure I have no one restraining me."

Night Light stood up, striving to make a firm face—yet shivering. "Wh-Why are you like that, Twilight?"

She stood up in return, giggling. "There's one thing you need to realize, and that's the thought of my family..."

The parents smiled, leaning closer to her.

"...it's holding me back."

Velvet blinked. "Holding you back from what? What's going on?"

Night Light looked at her dead on. "Twilight, what are you trying to say?"

Twilight kept smiling. "The thought of you, my brother, my babysitter, and Celestia, too...they torment me at night, meddling with my plans, making me too weak-hearted and feeble-willed to push through with my plans of ensuring Equestrian victory...it doesn't matter how, for I've assassinated many, hired expert killers, ruined whole cities, disrupted peace operations, and so much more."

Her smile grew.

"Yes, Mom and Dad, I'm the mastermare behind half of the things that 'went wrong' because, ultimately, they served to keep Equestria safe."

The parents held on to the wall.

Breathing faster.

Staring at their daughter.

Their smiling daughter.

Velvet shook her head, twisting her own striped mane. "No, no...we didn't raise you up to be like that!"

Night Light felt the sweat going down his blue face. "It's...it's true. You've gone down the deep end. You're insane."

Twilight grinned. "Insane?"

She cackled.

Laughed.

The two parents looking at each other, uneasy.

Scared.

Twilight's laugh trailed off.

"I'll just say the final word here, Twilight Velvet and Night Light, hm? This train is rigged to derail and fall off course, down to a quick death at the ground. I don't plan to kill off my brother—he is an important military pony, after all, so I only relocated him somewhere he can't interfere, and I've done that by something..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"...explosive."

Velvet gasped. "You hurt your own brother and the babysitter who took care of you?!"

Twilight nodded. "Cadance, too—I think she's important enough. Heh...useful until she's no longer needed, that is."

She snickered, levitating her cloak.

"But, you two? You only bring up in me a conscience I must suppress. As long as you are alive, you can indict me, accuse me—perhaps rightly so. But, when you're dead..."

She laughed.

Glowed her horn.

Smiled.

"The dead can't point their hooves at me."

Another purple poof.

She disappeared.

The two parents looked at each other.

Velvet felt the tears running on her cheeks. "Our Twilight...she's become a monster! H-How did this happen?!"

Night Light hugged her.

Hugged the grieving mare.

A sharp metal crack of the wheels.

Jolting, carriage bellowing.

Both of them hugged each other.

Velvet sobbing.

Howling.

Night Light hugged her tighter.

Felt his lips trembling.

Tears on him, too.

Then, falling.

Unsettled Dust

As the moon stayed above Ponyville—bringing upon the village its cold and dim light—the windows glimmered a soft white.

Well, some of the windows.

A lot of them were covered with wooden boards nailed to the frames—even then, about a dozen of them lay about unhinged and abandoned on the ground, the tips of their nails glimmering the moonlight, too, if only subtly, as they rested beneath empty timber squares and rectangles harboring sharp remnants of glass sticking out.

Lights did emanate from inside several houses, although only two of them had their light bulbs on. The rest had kerosene lamps or candles as their illumination this night, giving the town a dull odor of smoke, burning smoke.

On some roofs, holes showing the wooden frameworks holding the hay up.

The trees had shed most of their leaves, scarce a green color left on a hoofful of branches. Weeds had sprouted among the once-fresh, once-trimmed grass.

In Ponyville.

The cloaked stranger trotted up to a duo of guards standing by the door of a house with its lights on.

Tapped them on their shoulders.

They spun around. "Who's there?!" they both yelled.

The stranger gave them a scroll. "Read this. Approved by Princess Celestia herself."

Both of them lit up their horns, opened the scroll, and read it.

The first guard poked his buddy on the head. "Knock the door. See if Blossom Delight and the other florists are there."

His buddy nodded and knocked the door.

The stranger smiled. "Thank you very much."

She galloped away.

"Open up!" the second guard yelled. "We're not going to hurt you! We'll just have a nice and honest chat about something and that's gonna be all!"

"Don't make it sound suspicious, Civilic!" the first guard said, annoyed. "They'll think we're being sarcastic!"

"What do you know about sarcasm, Peeler?" Civilic responded, looking at him up and down. "You're so upfront about everything, you'd think cats and dogs are really falling from the sky."

"Sarcasm and metaphors are different things!" Peeler shouted before grunting and turning his head in a bout of pain. "Ugh! You're going to get the both of us killed in record time if you keep acting like this."

"I've been acting like that?" Civilic repeated, scratching his neck. "Really? Are you going to say that?" He rolled his eyes then turned to the door—knocked it again. "Hey! What's the hold up?!"

Peeler grabbed his buddy and turned him around. "We may be in a half-empty village in the middle of nowhere—"

"It's just like a few kilometers away from Canterlot—"

"Canterlot is in the middle of nowhere!" Peeler yelled. "We're not surrounded by barracks, forts, garrisons, bases—no, not even another big city. It's just this little, teeny tiny town and grass for all the eye can see!" He ended it by throwing his hoof about.

Civilic raised a foreleg, held his buddy on the shoulder. "Woah! Calm down! Let's look on the bright side, OK? Canterlot's safe—it's not the best right now, but it's safe. The Princesses are not dead, the Captain's not dead, and I still can't believe that we have less than ten civilian casualties."

Peeler leaned on the house's front wall. "Yeah, ten plus the number of our casualties." He sighed, shaking his head in disdain. "You know what? I may be glad that only seven non-combatants died, but...it felt like forever!"

"Good thing you got those spare arrows, huh?" Civilic said, a smile creeping up on his face.

Peeler curled his lips up. "Got out of this alive only to die tomorrow. I'm amazed with how we're still here...and we're, what, the second batch since it began? I'm less than thirty, but I already feel old."

Civilic sighed, leaning on the wall with him. "Yeah. Me, too."

Silence under the night, silence by the dirt and stone path.

"So," Peeler began, "what do you think about Spearhead's surprise news ten minutes ago?"

"About how we're at war with Sombra and Chrysalis now?" Civilic said. "I don't know. Scared? Afraid? My Dad's seen a few changeling raiders in his day, and those stories...I know they're true, that they can shapeshift and, if you place a changeling and a pony together, you can't tell the two apart...it's...it's..."

"Bizzare," Peeler suggested with another shake of his head. "Now what? Half of us might get shuffled to the Badlands Front, we'll stay there and fight for a few days, and then we'll get sabotaged by changelings who captured our friends when we weren't looking. If that's not cheating, then I don't know what is."

"Did Sunburst and his team say anything about it?" Civilic asked. "I remember them saying something about a changeling potion."

"If they can mass-produce it, then bring it on. If not, don't bother."

Silence again.

Lights still on inside the house.

"They're not out yet?" Peeler said, curious and looking at the window to his right. "Civilic, give them a final warning."

Civilic nodded, tilted his helmet straight, and knocked the door loud and clear. "Good evening! Please open up this door, or we will break it down! This is the E.U.P. Guard at your door!"

Whispers, words bouncing around from within.

Hoofsteps.

"What took them so long?" Peeler asked, getting back on his four hooves and trotting to the door.

Civilic shrugged his shoulders. "Let's find out."

As they stood by at the front door.

It opened.

A violet blue unicorn held the door. Behind her in the hallway were three more mares, these ones Earth ponies.

Civilic coughed. "Under orders from the Princess's Research Division, you shall transfer to your new living quarters in Canterlot to continue your work."

Blossom Delight, the unicorn before them, gasped. "Transfer?!"

Her friends gasped. "What are we going to do?" asked the red-maned one.

"Didn't you just hear it?" Civilic said, tougher. "You'll continue your work—your magic work, you know, with flowers and spells and trying to make potions for the cause."

Blossom Delight pressed her wrist.

Felt her heartbeat rising.

"I didn't receive letters!" she countered, shouting at them with narrowed eyes. "I wasn't notified at all by them, not even a single representative! They should've asked if we were OK with it, not put us in without a word at all!"

"That's not how it works now, ma'am," Civilic said. "It's either you obey or we'll actually call in a Research Division representative to tell you that this isn't a joke."

"But, Ponyville..." she sighed—"it's my home! It's where I was born, grew up in—at least let me work here and not over there!"

"You can take trips back home during your free time."

"It's not the same!" Blossom Delight yelled, standing up against him, stepping forward.

Civilic stepping backward. On him, an appalled face, looking at the courageous mare.

Stepping outside.

"Ponyville is where my friends live, where my family lives, where all of us live in harmony! It may be a small town to you, but I'm proud of it, anyway! I won't budge from this spot, even if you have to dig the ground I'm standing on!"

"Then, that means we'll shovel the spot you're standing on and carry you there," Civilic pointed out.

Blossom Delight looked surprised. "What? No!"

Peeler pulled out a shovel. "I can start right now, ma'am."

"What?!"

As the two guards escorted the four mares out—Blossom Delight being carried on the spot of ground now dug up and levitated—a patchy colt galloped past them.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Peeler shouted at him.

But, the colt did not listen nor did he pay attention to the command.

Instead, he ran.

Past the discarded homes, past the barricaded windows, past the clumps of fallen hay, past the infesting weeds and the dying trees, past the copses of more dying trees, past the metal entrance gleaming under the moonlight.

Under the night, he ran.

Past the well, past the stacks of barrels, past the big barn doors, past the heaps of crates under bright industrial lights.

Clangs, whistles, bangs whizzing around his ears.

Past the boxes of fresh apples, past the conveyor belts and their speeding cans, past the little wooden barrier separating work areas with their hay floors, past Big McIntosh reading some instructions by the conveyor belt.

Approached Applejack in full uniform—gray green overalls, hairnet on both her mane and her tail, tied up cap of the same drab color, and surgical mask covering her mouth and nose—busy with holding a lever and watching the amount oc rushed apples pouring into each passing can.

The colt looked up to her. "Applejack!"

Applejack turned round to him—surprised. "What're ya' doin' here, Pipsqueak?! This isn't a safe place for you!"

"Is Apple Bloom and Scootaloo at the clubhouse?!" he yelled.

Applejack nodded. "Yeah! They're there! Now, get outta' here before you get hurt!"

And, Pipsqueak ran back into the night and out of the barn.

Or the factory. It was getting hard to tell.

Pipsqueak ran.

Past the apple trees, the bushes.

On the wide fields of grass.

Then, there it was, at the huge apple tree.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders' clubhouse, still clean and tidy, now with their lights on, too, squinting past the closed windows.

Pipsqueak ran up the blue ramps to the top, to the balcony, to the door.

Knocked on it.

"Apple Bloom, Scootaloo!" he shouted. "Are you in there?!"

Hoofsteps.

Door opened.

Pulled inside.

Pipsqueak's eyes twirling around, dizzy—throbbing, hurt.

Helped up by Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, then stood on the wooden floor.

On its nailed and painted planks, under the gloomy glow of two lanterns hanging overhead.

Their faces glistening in stifled light.

"What's going on, Pipsqueak?" Scootaloo asked, putting down a book entitled "The Heart of War: Strategies and Tactics".

"Yeah, what's goin' on?" Apple Bloom repeated, lifting a hoof to her forehead. "This isn't your normal self!"

Pipsqueak, huffing fast—"I got bad news from an old friend who just escaped the Grittish Isles!"

"Just escaped?" Apple Bloom said again, withdrawing a little. "That doesn't sound good."

Pipsqueak closed his eyes. With a burst of breath:

"They blew up the Isles!"

The two fillies gulped.

"Yer' sure this isn't a trick?" Apple Bloom asked, rapid and unnerved. "He could be exaggeratin'—"

"Why would he?!" he yelled, flailing his hooves about. "He brought me to his family who barely escaped as well—his friends and strangers, too! He stopped by here to tell me before they moved on South to Lease County! They...they got on the last ship before it exploded—it sunk, and it's not on the map anymore and my parents...they were there, to get the rest of our things and move our relatives here, too, but..."

Scootaloo patted him on the head, faced Apple Bloom. "I don't like where this is going."

Pipsqueak rubbed his eyes. Sniffled, blubbering.

He cried out:

"I'm alone!"

Looked at his short white hooves.

"My mother and father—they didn't make it in time...my old friends back in Trottingham..."

Heaving out air, sweaty, each breath louder than the last.

Scootaloo felt a tear going down. "Nothing's left?"

"No one's left! It's all gone!"

Apple Bloom's eyes filled up with tears, seeing this colt collapsing—losing it.

"I-I'm...s-sorry for..." and Scootaloo breathed out, sniffling as well.

"I...I need a place to stay!" Pipsqueak's eyes darted back and forth. "H-How will I take care of myself in the h-house? It's j-just me...just me...."

Leaned on the wall, resting his head there.

Moaning, banging on the wall with his hooves.

Scootaloo trotted to his side. "What about you have a sleepover with us, right here in the clubhouse?"

Apple Bloom nodded, a smile returning. "I guess it'd be fine for tonight, to keep you OK."

Pipsqueak opened his reddened eyes, showed his soaked face to them. "Y-You...you'll let me sleep here?"

"Mm-hmm!" Scootaloo took out a sleeping bag from the cabinet. "You can't just go outside, especially right now, so it's best you stay here anyway. We'll see what we can do tomorrow."

Apple Bloom placed a hoof on his shoulder. "We're awfully sorry f-for what just happened. I...I lost my Mom an' Dad, too, early on—"

"But, they were supposed to live!" Pipsqueak shouted. "They were supposed to be alive! They're supposed to come back so I could see them, help me out, tell me this and love me—"

Stopped.

Trembling.

Went down on his knees.

Tried to speak.

Threw himself to the floor.

Trashing about.

Wailing, weeping.

Under that gloomy glow, that faint glistening.

Tears twinkling.

Grief.

Pipsqueak opened his eyes.

The ceiling above him.

Windows opened, letting in a chilling breeze.

Gray, cloudy skies.

Cold.

Felt the blanket, the pillow.

"Pipsqueak, you're awake," he heard Apple Bloom say, hearing her approach.

Saw her face lean into view.

"A-Are you OK?"

Pipsqueak sighed. "I...I-I don't know..."

Scootaloo's face leaned into view as well, sporting a distressed expression. "Is there anything we could do to help you?"

Pipsqueak shook his head. "I still don't know..."

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.

Wearing more than frowns.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders—or, rather, two of them—walked with a sullen, dour Pipsqueak and an Applejack without her mask but still in uniform. They passed by abandoned homes and stores which, under the daylight, took off all their mystery and replaced it with vacant misery, the windows laying out half-devastated rooms with nobody to inhabit them, nobody to give them a semblance of life and activity.

Another wooden board fell to the ground with a whack.

Only the gliding wind and the rustle of drifting leaves.

"I'm not gonna mince words here, Pipsqueak," Applejack said, turning up arid dust and dry dirt. "Yer' gonna have a hard time if you don't get yer'self somepony to watch over you. A colt like you can't make it on his own past Ponyville, not without serious support."

"So, what's y-your plan?" Pipsqueak asked, his voice still burdened with a lumpy throat.

Applejack paused in thought. "We've got two options. The first one's stayin' here with the Crusaders at the clubhouse. Bring your stuff from yer' home an' haul it over there—you'll be easy pickin' for enemy scouts out here. If it's too cramped in there, I'll see if I could build another treehouse nearby."

"But, what's the second option?" Apple Bloom asked.

Applejack looked away, seeing only the lonesome path before them. "The second option is to set yer'self up for adoption."

Scootaloo stopped, throwing up more dirt. "Wait, what?!"

"Pipsqueak can't move away!" Apple Bloom said, about to plead. "He's a good pony!"

"And I agree with them!" Pipsqueak declared, raising his voice.

"I know," Applejack replied, putting a hoof on his head and rustling his mane. "But, if you can't live safe here, you got to go for yer' own good, as much as all of us want you to stay." A pause as they moved along. "You said you have friends an' extended fam'ly seekin' shelter in Lease. Am I right?"

Pipsqueak nodded.

"Better be prepared. If Ponyville gets ransacked by Crystals, you gotta have yer' backpacks and follow the trainline all the way to Lease, especially if yer' alone. Once you're there, you're home free."

"But," Pipsqueak replied, slow and drawling, "it won't be the same as my home...here."

Bent his head down.

Seeing only gray and brown in this journey.

Applejack and the Crusaders sat by the river, by the tree.

There it streamed, rushing about. Its clear water coursing through, splashing against the stones only to gain speed and rush again. Fresh water, transparent—a treat to the eyes, a refreshment to parched throats, this river is. Was it able to induce ponies to sleep? That, too—at its quickest, its music was constant tranquil percussion, enough to soothe those at night to a peaceful slumber.

Above, that same gray and cloudy sky, altering the river to a color whiter than before.

Around them, stale grass losing their vibrant green, steadily replaced with a lackluster gray or brown.

Across the river, the town hall, that magnificent structure in few tatters. Windows were cracked, held up by yet more wooden boards nailed to the frames. Holes were few, too, but they were present in this grand building. Its flags continued to fly, but they seemed to fly too fast, as if they wanted to escape from their poles and truly fly away.

Away from Ponyville.

Away from here.

"Will we get out of it?" Apple Bloom asked.

"Out of what?" Applejack asked back.

She paused. "You just broke the news about the changelins' goin' to war over us last night. Pipsqueak told us the Grittish Isles were destroyed by the Crystals, and now...we're here."

Felt a tear fall.

"I miss the ol' days when we had school every weekday. We had good times with Miss Cheerilee, we learned an' played with our friends. I miss the ol' days when everypony was here, when nopony had to leave. Ponies like Lyra, Filthy Rich, Thunderlane, Rumble, Snips and Snails...then, there's Octavia, the Cakes, Bulk Biceps, Featherweight...we're now down to just the five of us at school: me, Scootaloo, Button Mash, Pipsqueak, and Silver Spoon. We don't even have classes for a full week sometime!"

Breathed in.

Paused.

"And, I m-miss...I miss Rarity and Sweetie Belle. To be honest with you, Applejack, they weren't so bad. I like fashion more than you do, but it's not just that. It's...well, without them, Ponyville just isn't the same." She shook her head, pouting. "It's not the same anymore! Equestria's not the same!"

"Hold up there, sugarcube," Applejack said, putting a hoof to her. "You better calm down and don't turn yourself up in a fit. We can't do anythin' about it—I'm not a Princess, so I can't do much other than to help out in the cause."

"But, we practic'ly gave up farmin'!" Apple Bloom exclaimed. "What happened to kickin' down apple trees together and just enjoyin' our work? What happened to pridin' ourselves in all-natural, quality produce?"

Applejack sighed again. "Those times ar' gone. These days, they don't care if we make the best apples in all of Equestria. What matters to them is that we make apples, period. Tryin' to save up costs, make everythin' efficient with machines—and, I admit, some machinery's fine, but too much of 'em and throwin' tradition out the door...it crushes my heart."

"Why don't you do something about it?!" Apple Bloom suggested—squealing, voice breaking in despair.

Scootaloo took a few steps away from them, avoiding the Apple ponies and clenching her jaw—afraid, hiding her uneasy hooves and wings.

"You're an honest pony, Applejack!" Apple Bloom shouted, pointing at her. "You're the loyalest of friends and the most dependable of ponies. I didn't think all of us would end up betrayin' the Apple family way...."

Applejack choked, clutched her head.

Paused.

Kept seeing the river, kept hearing the rushing river.

"It wasn't the mayor's fault," Applejack answered, quieter and weaker. "It wasn't the fault of those fancy ponies sellin' the fancy machines we have now."

"So, yer' saying that Sombra's responsible for turning Sweet Apple Acres into Sweet Apple Factory?"

Applejack sighed. "That is the truth."

Held up a hoof.

"Before you say I'm blamin' names...I don't think we could ever get by on our own. The Princesses want us to work as hard as we can to make sure we're still here and we're still fightin for our homes. These hooves, Apple Bloom?"

She held up her hooves, showing them to her.

"They can't beat the best cider squeezers, that's for sure."

Rested her face on her hooves.

Silence except for the rush of the river.

The wind.

"Apple Bloom?"

She looked up to Applejack.

Teary-eyed.

"I...I miss the ol' days, too."

Sniffed.

Still hearing the rush of the river.

"And, if there's one thing I could wish for so hard, so badly..."

The rush of the river.

As they sat on the grass under the gray cloudy sky, surrounded by abandoned homes and businesses, dying grass and trees.

"...I wish this war would end today."

Silence.

"But, you know it won't, Applejack," Apple Bloom said. "That's what makes you sad, isn't it? You know it won't...."

Applejack shook her head and sighed. "I know it won't."

The sisters wrapped an arm around each other, looking at the sky.

Scootaloo looking at them, sitting beside them there on the grass.

Looked up.

Saw a flock of birds.

Black crows cawing.

Cinders

Scootaloo sat alone by the train station.

The platform was a crippled, frail thing—holes, cracks, nails about to get loose. Before it was the railroad, still in good condition but it has seen better days as could be evidenced by the rust emerging, its shiny metal sheen fading and giving way to decay. Before that were the grass fields, fighting valiantly against disheartening resignation to the whims of the wind, against the coming of autumn.

It was windy, so it was cold.

Scootaloo shivered, hugged herself and clamped her teeth down.

Overheard a couple of ponies on the other side of the platform—the stallion carrying a ton of bags on his back, the mare fixing her glasses in front of him.

"Could you believe it, honey?" he said, tipping his hat to her as if by force of habit. "The changelings were overrun by the Crystals! Now, just how did they get there all of a sudden?"

"General Spearhead said they teleported in," she replied, now curling up her pink mane. "Huge teleportation skills. The hive didn't see it coming."

"Eh, what's the use of it to us?" he said, eyeing the wobbling stack of bags on himself. "It doesn't say much to me if they're changelings or ponies. All I want to do is rest—this is becoming a ghost town, and what shall I do? Pull out thorns? Become a full-time gardener?!"

"How stubborn the rest of them are, though. Just look at the ponies who insist on staying here in this dreadful place!"—eyeing Scootaloo.

"Now, now, don't you harp on with your insults and your depreciating words. They've had it as hard as it is—where else could they go?"

"Where we're going, Cut Check."

As the three of them felt the rumble of the platform.

Heard the whistle of an incoming train.

By a wayside diner at night, alone in yet more grass fields and howling gusts with pegasi operating the winds and clouds above, Cut Check sat with a hunched back, sitting on a chair that could not swivel, picking on his hayburger and fries.

The diner's aesthetic was classic but not classy. On the contrary, it was a run-of-the-mill kind of rustic with that all too familiar heat and smell of steam and smoke, of grilling fires over a checkered floor and under the glaring lights, all attended to by aproned cooks getting their folksy uniforms messy with splotches and stains.

Cut Check was overhearing the conversation of another customer like him and a waiter, the both of them a seat to his right.

"They're burning everything," the waiter reported. "It's wholesale burning—what they're doing. There's rumors and gossip, too, about them planting firebombs underground and it works like this," at which, he placed a hoof up in the air and moved it around, mimicking a march: "they step on it and blam!"

He wiggled it down below the counter.

"Up in flames they go, and there's upsurges of burn wards and ponies skilled in anti-fire defenses and what not. Gives them upper hooves in everything—first crystal walls, then ice arrows, then gas bombs, and now...firebombs. Or fire landmines. Yeah, that's the word...."

"A big scar on Equestria, isn't it?" the customer replied, showing off a geled mane, shining—perhaps shining too much and too bright. "What happens if they get me in high command? I'll show them all I could tell you!"

"Before they kick you out?" the waiter said, chuckling afterwards. "Why don't you ask to be made general over the Canterlot Front? They've been changing names left and right. Poke Nose won't last a month, and I'm betting on that."

The customer smiled. "How much are you willing to give up?"

The waiter felt his pockets. "Fifty bits."

"I'll double mine to a solid hundred! How many days left until it's a one-month tenure?"

The hapless waiter glanced at the calendar behind him. "Twelve days."

"Hah!" The customer took up his greasy paper bag and walked out of the diner, keeping an eye on him. "We'll see about your 'smart' betting in twelve days!"

And that bold better was off outside.

The other better, the waiter himself, shook his head, slumped on the counter, ignoring his fellow comrades who were whipping up fast food on plates faster than usual, and murmured, "What did I get myself into?"

Roasted Snow, the waiter, woke up to yet another day in Capriole. After doing the usual routine of dressing up for yet another day at work to meet and serve customers yet another time, he hurried out of his house, and passed over the trimmed grass of his lawn and that of his fellow Capriolians—which, on its own, was probably a pompous term to bestow on them for, according to the town sign by the bridge over the wide river sided by thick trees and wild shrubbery, Capriole only had a population of one hundred.

As he walked the bridge and crossed the river, he levitated a few things: a shaver for cleaning his stubble-ridden face, a toothbrush with corresponding toothpaste to freshen up his breath, a comb to revitalize his mane with a frosty style, and a mirror to visually confirm that he was putting his best hoof—and his best face—forward.

Coming into view, small in the horizon and growing bigger in his sight as it neared him, was a yellow taxi carriage pulled by a solitary driver.

He pulled up by the hygienic unicorn, swerving around in a u-turn—almost bumped the poor waiter out of the bridge and down the river.

"You need a ride?" the driver asked.

The carriage rolled on in the countryside. There was not much to see, but what was there was breathtaking in its own right. Countless hills with tons of flower fields to frolick upon, thickets of trees to have a picnic or take shelter under, brooks and creeks where fresh water cascaded in a seemingly infinite loop, a seemingly unending cycle of curing quenched throats.

All shining, even if just a little, under the manageable warmth of the morning sun.

"I'm glad you got me up," Roasted Snow said above the sound of ambling hoofsteps on the path, putting his toiletries into a small bag. "I usually come in late because the taxis are always late." Paused, bent a brow. "Is it true that the Guard's using up space at the station?"

Cheese Fly nodded, this driver enduring the heat of the day and the rough of the road—galloping on. "Sad, but true. Most of the surrounding towns and villages...whole area's caught up by the order."

"There's an order?"

"You haven't heard? Our side's making breakthroughs in the center every nine hours or so, so they're telling all the farmers and their factory counterparts to speed up food production—they also managed to get a hold of the Royal Sisters' approval."

Roasted Snow let out a little laugh. "Less than a week after the invasion, and we're chasing them out of here. A bit on a streak here, huh?"

"I expect that we'll keep hitting that streak until we hit a brick wall by the Crystal Mountains," Cheese Fly said. "Good news is we're getting a fourth of Equestria back from their grip. Bad news, it's not exactly a fourth."

"Because it's all ruined and destroyed by the Crystals, I guess."

"Well, there's that, but who's gonna live in them? You can bring back the mares and the foals, but the young stallions out there...that's something else..."

He galloped on, pulling the taxi carriage, leaving both Roasted Snow and himself in thought as they hastened past the fields.

Cheese Fly sat alone at a wooden table, eating corn and carrot soup at night.

It was a mild and humid outdoor dining area on the open grass in the park. Not so far from skyscrapers with their brilliant dazzling lights and the hubbub of carriages and wagons bouncing everywhere on the streets amidst the clatter of other carriages and wagons, the ponies eating out here were having a decent enough time, satisfying themselves to grilled fruits and vegetables on sticks—tasty onion and garlic topping the night off with a savory finish. A little farther to the left was a small parking lot where carriages lined up by hungry drivers out of shifts or on midnight break.

Despite the abundance of taxi drivers here, however, a few ponies not related to the transportation business of fares and meters were participating in the feast. In fact, they were welcomed by the regulars here and were encouraged with hoofbumps and cordial talk.

Overall, this park was a cheerful park, full of hard-working ponies filling up their stomachs with well-deserved food, chatting with each other as if they were the best of friends—and, usually, some of these were the best of friends.

Behind it all was Variety Spice, a bearded stallion wearing two aprons on top of each other, directing his subordinate cooks while grilling food sticks of his own over hot charcoal. Over the counter, he and a starving patron or two would exchange a few words and some laughs over a joke.

As he ended yet another bout of laughter, turning his head to the blazing grill, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Two taps.

Variety Spice trotted away from his grills and his chefs and his happy customers, away from the lights hanging over the tables, brought his bag, and trotted into the darkness of the park.

Variety Spice stood by several trees, their bark dark in the night. The lampposts were off, and the only light he felt was the glow of the moon above.

Then, that tap again.

Two taps.

He turned around, teeth shivering, backing away. "Miss! I didn't know you were coming at this time!"

The cloaked stranger tilted her head, smiling as her red goggles reflected the moonlight. "I have the element of surprise. It keeps my hired hooves in check—don't want them wandering off the plan, right?"

He nodded, blubbing a bit. "Wh-What do you want from me now?"

She levitated a sword. "Just one more thing from you, and you can conclude your business with me."

Spice eyed the weapon, jumping back. "What's that thing?!"

The stranger sighed. "It's a sword. Haven't seen one? Go read a dictionary!"

She glowed her horn.

A magical dome surrounded them.

"And, if you try to escape and call for help," she said, "well...too bad."

Spice touched the dome, knocked on it, struck it with his hooves.

Falling on his knees.

Failing.

"Somebody! Anybody!"

The stranger rolled her eyes. "Don't be so obnoxious, Variety Spice. I promise I won't give you an early death. Just do what I say, and you'll live out the rest of your life."

He turned round, gasping for air, seeing her smiling face. "Alright! What is it?!"

She chuckled. "Close up shop."

He nodded fast. "OK, miss! How long?"

"Forever."

"What?!"

The stranger hovered the sword forward, at the tip of his snout. "Do what I say, or else."

"But, why close up shop forever?!" He glanced back, at the faraway display of lights—hearing laughter and guffaws from the tables there past the dense trees.

"There are too many taxiponies and not enough warriors," she answered, putting a hoof to her head and within her cloak. "My contacts can pump out numerous vitamins and minerals to keep citizens healthy enough to not need taxis or any form of transportation within their cities. I wish that they would all either join or die, but, I have to get used to the second best."

He grunted, unzipping his bag at the blade of the sword.

She eyed the bag. "And, what would that be?"

"Argh!"

And his sword matched hers, clinking.

His under hooves' grasp, hers within horn's glow.

"It's useless," she said, smiling, holding on to her sword. "Even if you kill me, I've already urged Tipweight's mayor to call for an emergency draft by morning. Everyone will work for the cause, whether they like it or not—no more entertainment, no more fun and games. Only what can be done to let us win!"

"But, what are we ponies without happiness?!" he yelled back.

Swinging his sword at her.

Blocked.

Pushing each other, legs giving way and turning up dirt.

"I thought I could stand you, miss! I thought I could live without minding you, just doing this and that for you, hoping you'd leave me alone and out of your crazy plans! But, this is too far! I won't go down without a fight, for an Equestria I once knew!"

"Then, you're the crazy one!" she shouted, slowly turning his sword down with hers. "I'm fighting for an Equestria I once knew as well! An Equestria free from outside harm! Why do you think I resort to all sorts of ways to end this war soon?!"

"That's because I'm doing what's right no matter what!" he shouted.

Charged at her.

Bumped her off balance.

She fell.

Her sword fell.

Goggles knocked off.

Dome dissipated.

She bared her teeth in pain, hissing.

Her purple eyes under the moonlight.

Feeling the dirt and its grass.

A sword aimed at her, at the tip of her snout.

"This ends here!" he screamed. "The madness ends here! I don't care anymore if this war goes on until I die! I want to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I have done nothing wrong to help my dear Equestria!"

She groaned, winced.

Then, smiled.

Her horn glowed.

Levitated a button out of her cloak.

Blasted him with a beam.

He fell down.

His sword fell.

Twilight pressed the button.

Boom!

Felt the earthquake rattling the ground.

Leaves falling, rustling out.

Saw the park light up in yellow.

Above the thick foliage, above the trees, a mushroom cloud.

Dust hurtling in, smashing against the two ponies on the ground.

Felt the heat of the flames.

Twilight Sparkle moaned, stood up against the dust and the heat.

Picked up her goggles.

Wore them.

Levitated her sword.

Placed it right before his face.

His shivering, tear-drenched face. "Y-You...what...did...you do?"

Heard the screams and shrieks.

Twilight smiled. "Made sure you'll live out the rest of your life."

Turned the sword around.

Pummeled him on the head with its grip.

Beat him up on the chest.

Kicked him down.

His whole body fell.

She waited.

Hearing again the screams not so far away.

Leaned to lift up a lifeless hoof, checked his pulse.

No pulse.

She smiled, giggling.

Levitated him.

Threw him far above the trees, towards where the explosion had been.

"And I didn't tell him that all of them will survive," she said, grinning. "They outlive him. Funny."

She looked at a dark lamppost by the path.

Glowed her horn.

Turned it on.

"That's better!"

Dusted herself off.

Twilight trotted away, leaving the outdoors establishment in a smoldering wreck as ambulance carriages and medical ponies hurried to get the injured out of the burning scene—tables broken and blackened, food splattered around, bodies strewn about with some lying on the tables and others by the grass—scars, scabs, wounds, burns—sirens and policeponies galloping—civilians watching, some trotting to help—others with eyes closed, unconscious—shouts, screams, words.

As the night continued.

Bread and Butter

Cheese Fly had bandages and syringes applied to him, lying on a sofa in that fine living room of paintings, pottery, and literal peanut galleries where individual specimens of peanuts were put on pedestals and under roasting lights, to be endlessly exhibited to all who would gaze their eyes upon this marvel of Equestrian ingenuity.

Or just plain boredom.

But, back to more serious matters—a doctor and a nurse propped him up on the sofa, the former putting a stethoscope on his chest for the fifth time and the latter asking him a barrage of questions to which Cheese Fly responded with a nod or a shake of his head.

Outside the glass door, right at the street, was a group of armored soldiers and a double-decked wagon with a lot more—the recruitment officer, distinguished by his blue star cap covering his face from the blinding sun, impatiently tapped his hoof on the sidewalk, directing his view towards the recovering stallion.

A pegasus mare walked into view, coming in from a darkened hallway with some stairs, putting on a hat graced with flowers on its thin brim. Nervous eyes, a tense accent: "I-Is he alright?"

The doctor took out his stethoscope, looked over the patient's shoulder. "He's alright. Mostly unscathed, actually. But, as you know, he's next on the list of draftees."

She bit her hoof.

He took off his glasses and faced her straight. "Butterbread, none of us can do anything but obey the Princesses. He has to go to war. Comfort yourself with the thought of him becoming a national hero."

The mare pawed her hoof on the carpet. "And then what will I do if he comes here dead?!"

"There's nothing complicated about it," the doctor replied. "We're not fighting those who may or may not be evil. We're fighting those who are definitely evil."

"Why can't Celestia just use the sun against them?!" Butterbread shouted. "Not a single one of us has to die!"

"I've heard it a thousand times, ma'am," the doctor went on, rolling his eyes, "but the consequences are dangerous. She doesn't want to rule out of fear, and she wants to play by the rules of war."

"What rules?!"

"Never shoot a medic, never harm a noncombatant, take good care of POW's—"

"I don't want rules if it means suffering!"

Treading her way to the doctor.

The nurse eyeing her, rickety in her limbs.

Cheese Fly turned round to look at her with his face in bandages.

Butterbread stopped.

The couple looking at each other.

Medical ponies slowly moving away from the scene.

"I'm sorry," he began, "but, what can I do? I can't dodge this one. It'd be unlawful for me."

She shivered.

Took off her flowery hat.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Butterbread said. "It'd be horrible to see you go, much more if we hear of you dying out there."

He made a smile which stood out against his bandages, against his injured face. "I must obey. If I die there for Equestria...wouldn't that be a good story to tell our kids?"

She avoided his stare.

Looking away.

Trying to see what's outside.

Yet the soldiers by the road stood in the way.

Butterbread sat alone by the fireplace, brushing her yellow mane and warming her hooves.

At night, the living room was an impeccable modesty. Excepting the paintings, pottery, and peanut galleries—also the usual furniture—it was bare, giving more emphasis to the selection of carpets and rugs burying the floor underneath, sprucing up the space with pretty arrangements and shapes to trot upon with clean hooves. The aroma of burning wood wafted up and throughout, the brown walls daintily reflecting the fiery glow of the fire.

Her shadow flickering on those walls.

"Ma'?"

She whirled her head around, seeing a colt and a filly standing by the door to the kitchen.

"Why is Daddy not home yet?" the filly asked, her mane tied up in a bun.

"It's ten o' clock, and he's still not here," the colt stated, his mouth messy with biscuit crumbs.

Butterbread gulped.

Put on a smile.

"Why, he just had o-overtime! He wrote me a letter just a few minutes ago that you should eat your milk and cookies before you go to bed. I-I'll read you a bedtime story tonight if he hasn't arrived yet."

"Where's the letter?" her daughter asked, trotting up to Butterbread with her brother. "I wanna see it!"

Their mother gulped again. "Well, I accidentally burned it! You know me—slippery hooves and all! Clumsy me!" She motioned towards the fireplace. "It's over there, b-burning. Can't read it now!"

"Aww!" the two foals yelled out.

"But, I wanna read it!" the colt shouted.

She leaned her head a bit at them. "Leaping Heart and Mean Keen, you know you can't read ashes. Now, go upstairs and let Momma be. She's very busy."

The two foals nodded, saying their "Yes, Ma'," and ran out the living room.

Butterbread heard the hoofsteps, their trudging upstairs.

A door opened.

A door closed.

She looked back at the cackling fire.

Let out a sigh.

Continued brushing her mane by the fireplace.

The avenues were barren, too, for the most part. Sparse were the carriages roaming around, and scarce were the ponies on the sidewalks. So few were they that a pony on one side of the road could, with strained ears, get more than half the words and almost all the meaning of chatter carried out on the other side.

Such was the case of Tipweight today as the skyscrapers stood high but stood alone, their magnanimous heights and designs left unappreciated before sidewalks mostly devoid of passers-by.

Over here, by more skyscrapers, was Butterbread and her two children, accompanied by none but two other ponies walking the same way, minding their own business.

Walking by an almost empty road save for the parked carriages.

"Ma'!" Leaping Heart, the filly, shouted, pulling her mother's leg. "I wanna buy those fancy hats!"

Butterbread nodded. "Don't worry. When we get to the mall, I'll get you fancy hats."

"It's a waste of money!" countered Mean Keen, the colt. "I can't eat a hat!"

Butterbread gasped. "But, Mean Keen, you must know that life's more than just eating. There's also clothes to wear for different occasions. Your sister here sees lots in it—she never misses a day in playing dress-up, you know."

"Can't eat 'em," was Mean Keen's simple reply.

Leaping Heart punched him on the cheek. "You take that back, meanie!"

"I'll take it back when you wear canned beans on your head, fancy-schmancy!"

"You take those hurtful words back right now, or I'll call the police!"

"I'll call the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police of the police!"

"No, I'll call the police of the police of the police—"

A brown hoof cut between them.

"Stop it!" Butterbread ordered. "You're not getting anywhere with arguments!"

The three of them stopping right at the intersection, letting the two other ponies cross ahead of them.

Faced Mean Keen as he cowered before his mother's angry growl.

"You were the first one to hurt somepony's feelings. You say 'sorry' to your sister!"

Mean Keen sighed, looked at Leaping Heart. In a glum voice: "I'm sorry, and I mean it."

Butterbread faced Leaping Heart who also cowered before her.

"Your brother may have started it, but it's no excuse to fight back with quarreling. You say 'sorry' to your brother!"

Leaping Heart sighed, too, and looked at Mean Keen. In a doleful tone: "I'm also sorry."

Butterbread smiled, putting the two of them closer together. "Now that you're fairish with each other, let's get some fancy hats, shall we?"

The filly jumped about, a gleeful grin on her. "Yipee!"

The colt, meanwhile, groaned.

As they crossed the street.

They stepped on to the new sidewalk and walked to the glass doors of the mall.

Only to be stopped short by a police officer who was not the police of the police of the police....

Butterbread raised her head, looked around. "Uh, what's going on? Isn't the mall supposed to be open on Saturdays?"

The officer held up her hoof, biting on a whistle. "Not anymore. Good Deals Mall is closed until further notice."

"Oh, so that means on Sunday we'll—"

"'Until further notice' means it's closed indefinitely."

Butterbread shook her head dismayed, glancing at her wondering foals. "But, what's the matter? Was there a fire or a plumbing disaster or—"

"Mayor Giftaway said he's received a royal proclamation for the city that he close down all major shopping businesses until further notice due to the war effort. Even if I let you in, you won't find much—the staff's gone out to fight or work for the cause, and the mayor sent out a team before sun-up to grab as many items as they could get for recycling purposes."

Leaping Heart whimpered. "Does th-that mean...no more fancy hats?"

The officer bent down to her level. "Sorry, little one. No more fancy hats, at least for now."

Butterbread hugged her daughter.

Feeling her about to cry.

"'Canterlot Front's Record Gains! Is the War Nearing Its End?!'"

That was the headline of "The Tipweight Daily's" nightly edition on this Monday.

As Butterbread sat on her recliner by the fireplace, away from the floor, she continued reading what lay there.

"The Equestrian Guard made record gains over the past weekend in Central and Northern Equestria, taking back cities like Lighthoof, Cornhusker, Sir Chef, Bowed Tendons, Crowhop—as far as freezing Snowrolls.

"The recent successes have been commonly attributed to the rigid and strict discipline of the military, the influx of conscripts from all around Equestria, the utilization of all forms of weaponry, and the constant food supply from the homefront outpacing that of the Crystals.

"Various war analysts have given estimates as to the end of the war, with their most conservative estimate being mid-to-late winter this year.

"According to Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard, 'I'm surprised that, despite having multiple fronts now, we're making good progress. Our troops down South fighting the Crystals in the Badlands are doing a terrific job at holding them back, capable of holding McIntosh Hills despite staggering losses.'

"Currently, only a scant number of refugees have been recovered, with the majority of them transported deeper into Crystal territory."

As Butterbread trotted past the park, carrying her bag of groceries with one wing, she spotted a small crowd forming at the park, all gathering around an Earth pony mare atop a soapbox.

Butterbread hesitated for a moment, hearing her words in slight gibberish.

She entered the park, traveling the stone path and then on to the grass.

As the mare's words became clearer.

"...away from this beloved city, that we face absolutely no risk of invasion! We have all the reason to join our fellow ponies at the front and fight until the end! I fear that the recent attack on our fair Tipweight was because of our slack and laziness to rise from our slump, to rise from our sleep! Whether you believe it was secretly done by the government or by outside rebels—let's ignore that for now and focus on what will preserve us!"

"No way!" a heckling stallion within the crowd cried out, holding up a picket sign with the words "I have the right!" painted on it. "You're not scaring me outta' my house!"

The orating mare tapped on the soapbox, making loud thumps, trying to grab the attention of her impromptu audience. "I have to scare you out of your comfort zone lest more of us die without having done anything! That's how it is, that's the pattern—whoever's perpetrating the attacks see a city with lots of ponies just like us milling around and doing nothing. Then, they send a message by exploding bombs, opening gas containers—anything that'll kill!"

"If you're so excited about going to war," another pony, a mare, interrupted, "why don't you be the first to go out with all your uniforms and weapons?!"

"I have to stay here to warn everyone left in Tipweight!" the orator answered in a shout.

"Hypocrite!"

And she threw tomatoes at the soapbox mare.

Splatting her with red.

"Out with the imposter!" still another pony from the crowd roared, holding her own tomatoes in her hooves.

"Fake!"

"Phony bigot!"

"Let's see you die at the front—see how you like it!"

A shower of tomatoes raining on the mare.

The screaming mare, bombarded with tomatoes and contempt.

Butterbread felt the grocery bag slipping away, seeing the tomatoes float away from her. "Hey! Those are my tomatoes!"

The unicorn who had levitated them shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't bring mine!"

And he threw Butterbread's tomatoes at the speaker.

"Your incitin' made me lose my family!"

"My son could've been at my side by now! He was supposed to be on leave today, but he's dead!"

"I'm not falling for your tricks, missie! My cousin's sent them out, and now he's the only cousin I have!"

Butterbread was in a daze, becoming dizzy—disoriented.

Holding on to her bag of groceries, she dashed out of the park.

Saturday.

It was early morning. The sun was not out yet, though the sky was a kindling purple.

Butterbread trotted down the stairway, holding a cup of coffee with her wing.

Yawned.

Trotted through the dark hallway of paintings and portraits.

Portraits of a smiling family. The father, the mother, the son, the daughter. In some, just standing there. Others, in action—here's a photo of Cheese Fly playing catch with Mean Keen by the hillside, there's an image of Butterbread and Leaping Heart putting make up on each other. Here, another picture, this one of Butterbread and Mean Keen trying out dresses and suits for a formal party with the colt visibly displeased with his disposition; there, another picture, that one of Cheese Fly and Leaping Heart playing with some dolls on the floor.

Butterbread walked to the dining room, to the small table, put down the coffee cup.

Went to the light switch, turned on the lights there.

Trotted to the chair.

Pulled it out, sat down.

Stared at her coffee cup resting idly on the flat surface.

Examined her table.

A wooden table.

Studied the refrigerator at the far end of the dining area.

Still functioning.

Finally, looked at the chair across.

The empty chair.

She smiled. "Hello, Cheesewing. Sorry for the nickname, but...Leaping Heart made that one up. You should blame her, not me."

Giggled.

The empty chair did not do anything.

"So, how's the taxing last night? Uh, no, I meant taxiing—but it's a strange word. There's, you know, two i's on it, together. So unnatural! But, hey...when will you upgrade to riding the long taxis? The limousines? Ah, we'd be rich in a jiffy, seeing big names, not seeing them stumble off and die alone—"

Coughed.

Took a gulp of the coffee.

Slammed it back down.

"I mean, I'm...I'm doing good. The kids were behaved as usual yesterday, but...Tway Box gave our daughter his whole lunchbox! I know gestures could just be gestures—maybe he had a double breakfast that morning—but, well, this sounds a lot like he has a crush on her! And, did you know what she told me last night before she slept? She told me that she had a crush on him!"

Placed a hoof to her cheek, facing the empty chair in emotion.

"Well, kids these days! We've had crushes, too—of course, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for our own crushes for each other!" Giggled again, gazing dreamily upon the unconcerned chair. "But, how far they will go to tell everypony about their crush today! Ah, but it'll just be a fleeting love. Tway Box and our girl will surely drift apart as time goes on, you know."

Doorbell ringing.

Across the house.

To her ears.

She flew out of the chair, almost spilling her coffee—rushed to the door.

"This isn't g-good," she whispered as she approached the door. "Nopony visits this early! This is impossible!"

Got to the door.

Opened it.

A yellow pegasus guard in armor, standing on the sidewalk.

"Agh!" was Butterbread's answer to his presence. "What're you doing here?!"

Flash Sentry lowered his head. "I'm sorry to tell you this, ma'am, but..."

"He's dead isn't he?"

Sentry blinked.

Was grabbed by the throat, eyes glaring at him, a mouth about to splash rage.

"You don't have to tell me!" she roared, floating above him and looking down on the poor guard. "Cheese Fly's dead! I don't have to guess, either! Crystals raided the barracks he was training in, didn't they?!"

Sentry's lips quivered. "Why, yes, ma'am, but—"

"If it weren't illegal for me to hurt soldiers like you, then you would face no end to your hardship!"

Sentry shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger! I didn't kill him, I didn't want your spouse to die!"

Butterbread flapped back down to the ground, closing her wings.

Breathing slowly.

Sentry patting her on the head as Butterbread slowly took in refreshing air.

She Perked up. "Sir, could you do me a favor?"

Sentry looked confused. "What?"

"Help me pack up everything in the house," she said, glancing at the door. "I'm bringing the kids to Aunt Snapjoke!"

"Just the kids?" Sentry asked, wondering, seeing her shuffle inside. "What about you?"

She turned her head back to him. "I'm volunteering!"

Sentry took a step back, placed a hoof to his chest. "But, you said you have kids! They don't have a Dad, and they won't have a Mom if you go!"

"It's serving at the front or suffering endlessly without my love!" she yelled.

Sentry flew up to her. "Butterbread, please consider what you're doing! They can't go on without a parent—"

"I become a soldier or I suffer!"

Sentry shuddered, flinched.

Caught air in his throat.

"Th...Then....where shall we start packing?"

On top of a hill was a lonely wooden cottage with a chimney, overlooking the city of Tipweight. Its flowers and trees brought to it a kind visage, a lovely countenance. Birds chirped overhead, singing their melodies replete with harmonic, symphonic chirps joined together to form organic music for all to enjoy.

At the door, Butterbread and Flash Sentry put down the two children on the ground as they carried heavy bags, Leaping Heart levitating hers.

"What's going on, Ma'?" Mean Keen asked, looking up to his mother. "Why are you dropping us off at Aunt's?"

"Is she having another birthday party?" Leaping Heart asked. "We're getting to sleepover here this time?"

Butterbread nodded, hugging the both of them in succession. "Now, you two be a good boy and a good girl while Mommy's away. She's off to do some errands outside the city. I'll do my best to write letters to you!"

Sentry winced at that.

"But, why is Daddy not home yet?" the filly asked.

Butterbread gasped.

Covered her mouth quickly.

Looked up to the sky.

"Well, he's stuck in a jam in Manehattan and—"

"That's so far away!" Mean Keen exclaimed. "What's he doing there?"

"Oh, some mishaps, some mistakes—thought he was going to this place, when, really, he ended up there. But, he'll be back, he will be back and, uh, I will be back, too, you know!"

Sentry budged her with an elbow.

Butterbread glared at him.

Sentry looked away.

The mother kissed her kids on the cheeks.

As she heard the hoofsteps of Aunt Snapjoke coming down, she looked at them with a tender face.

Eyes wet.

With a tender face.

Remembering the kisses.

Looking away to the sky.

The wagon bumped and she almost fell over to the floor.

Sat back up, regained her composure.

Looking back to herself.

Held her hooves up.

Sleeves of gray.

Metal armor, metal helmet—bulky armor.

Around her, a mix of mares and stallions, of Earth ponies and pegasi and unicorns—all wearing the same uniforms.

As they passed by a wretched landscape of dirt, weeds, and craters.

Felt the damp air.

"Focus," the stallion beside her said, his once-combed mane now shaved short, still brown.

Butterbread sighed.

"So, how long 'till we get to the base?" asked Hoops, that muscular pegasus beside the first stallion.

Davenport shook his head. "Haven't kept track."

Leaving Butterbread on her own.

On her way to the front.

A Mare's Quiet

Months later

Dark inside, save for a lantern on the dining table.

Windows closed, door shut.

Under the glow of the lantern could be seen the pale outlines of cabinets, of shelves—of the fridge, too.

Fragrant with a whiff of roses.

Sitting at the table over scrolls, Starlight Glimmer and Sunburst sitting beside each other.

However, it was not a romantic dinner—for, one thing, there was no dinner to begin with.

Another thing was Sunburst's appearance since, now, his mane was more worn and sapped than before, and his glasses had heaps of cracks upon it, fracturing his vision.

"OK, I still don't get how you can see with that thing," Starlight commented, rubbing her chin and scrutinizing the glasses, "but, what's so urgent, you had to come here right before Hearth's Warming morning?"

Sunburst's horn glowed.

All the scrolls unfolded open on the table.

He let out a short, surprised cry. "Long story short, Twilight Sparkle's coming here and it's not good!"

Starlight backed her head up a bit. "Slow down, Sunburst! That's a lot of news to take in! I still don't have much of an idea of who this Twilight Sparkle is, and I don't see why it's not good—or, at least, not that bad."

Sunburst panted for breath—sweating. "I can't tell you all the details—I don't know all the details, that's why—but...this Twilight pony...Twilight actually used to be Princess Celestia's chosen pupil, personally taking her up and guiding her during her foalhood at the School for Gifted Unicorns. But, for some reason, Twilight left Celestia, her own family...and her current residence—nopony knows where it is!"

Starlight half-closed her eyes, curious. "Why did she leave her? Isn't it a unicorn's dream to be personally taught by Princess Celestia herself in her school?"

"I don't know why!" Sunburst said, the sweat doubling on his face. "But what I know is, after she left...that's when her descent began. She cut off ties with all but those closest to her, and even those ponies only get letters from her like every few months or so—no actual visits. She hoarded books and more books, practiced her magic skills, and...well, I managed to grab hold of this."

She pushed a letter to Starlight.

Starlight levitated it and read it under the lantern light.

"Hmm...'Dear Princess Celestia...chrono magic...Canterlot Archives...non-branchable...causality...conclusive evidence...tampering with reality itself...precarious...what must be done to preserve Equestria and what we believe in...my parents...Shining Armor...last word to them.

"'From Twilight Sparkle.'"

Starlight put the letter down on the table, by the lantern.

"That's over a year ago," Sunburst said, nervously tapping on the table with his hoof, now bending his hoof about. "I won't be surprised if she'd use chrono magic against you."

"Me?!" She pointed at herself, then at Sunburst. "Why do you think she wants to go against me? Didn't you say she cut off all ties with the outside world?"

"Well, not exactly that way..."

Starlight shook her head. "Please, Sunburst. Don't hide anything from me. What is Twilight planning?"

Sunburst shot his head up, staring at Starlight. "She...she roams around Equestria, disguised as somepony else with cloak and goggles. She wants to make sure Equestria wins, but...I don't like the way she does it."

Starlight remained silent, ears listening.

"I could only get this from snooping around—I almost got killed more times than I could remember—but she manipulates everypony to do what she thinks will make Equestria better at war. She has no qualms about killing honest ponies, tearing families and friendships apart, breaking laws and traditions—" burred "—she's so pragmatic, it's scary!"

Starlight blinked, a little silent. "How come you didn't tell me Twilight was like that?! And she's coming here to fight me?! I may be proficient at magic, but controlling time itself?! That's impossible!"

"Well, it's possible since Twilight says she could do it."

Starlight placed a hoof on her head, uncertain, looking to the side. "This is bad. Really bad. If Twilight is as powerful as you say she is, then...what're we going to do about her?!"

Sunburst gawked crazed at the door. "I don't know! I was coming here to ask you the same question!"

Huffing and puffing out air.

Starlight grabbed his head, pulled him closer.

Shielding him from the lantern, plunging him into her home's darkness.

"OK. As long as we're not dead, we have a shot at her. So, do you have any idea when she's coming?"

Sunburst laughed nervously, adjusted his broken glasses. "Uh, about that...."

Starlight let out an exasperated sigh. "She's just outside town, isn't she?"

Bang!

They tumbled out of their chairs.

Ground shaking.

Items falling off shelves, breaking to pieces.

Battle cries from the outside.

Starlight and Sunburst looking around in the dark, Sunburst holding the lantern. "Let's, uh, stay here and hide! I've heard stories of ponies surviving because they hid and—"

Saw Starlight trotting to the door.

"Where are you going?!" Sunburst yelled.

Bang!

They teetered about, yet stood their ground with their four hooves.

Heard yelps, wails outside.

Starlight placed a hoof on the door.

Hesitating.

Seeing Sunburst by the light, that mild yellow light of the lantern.

"Sunburst, those are my friends out there! Many days ago, they came out with me to this empty land and turned it into an organized utopia where everypony is equal...I would be going back on my promises and their trust if I hide in here and let them die without my help!"

Sunburst crouched down, scampered under the table with the lantern. "That's good! You're a good pony, a good mare! Thing is, I don't have those responsibilities, so I'll stay here and I hope you come back—"

Bang!

Crash!

A ray of light breaking through the hole in the ceiling.

Smashing through, cracking the table, dust and smoke outwards and blinding Starlight's eyes; she staggered, fell—

Starlight shot her head up, breathing heavy.

Blurry dark sky.

Chilly. Freezing.

She hugged herself, clattered her teeth.

Looked left and right.

Bars.

Cage bars.

Vision clearing up.

Around her, cage bars.

Tried to place a hoof past them.

Too many, too narrow.

Hooves stuck inside the cage.

She gasped. "Wh-Where am I?!"

Raised her head, took a look outside.

Her hearing coming back.

Hearing the noise of battle upon her burning town, upon that Town of Efficiency.

Buildings crumbling under the fire, structures succumbing to the artillery's shells. Ponies on the ground, on the streets, fighting and descending to hoof-to-hoof combat in the cold and on the snow, their black silhouettes wavering before spontaneous fires. Armored ponies versus those with no metal upon their coats, only make-do helmets. Arrows injuring, arrows killing—spears and lancets injuring, spears and lancets killing. Over there, another shell drove snow-covered dirt high into the air, leaving a fresh crater where a good bakery used to be.

As more soldiers charged into the town, swarming it with their numbers.

Starlight placed her hooves on the cage, seeing her town die.

Eyes wide open.

In the cold, under the dying night.

Murmured, "No!"

Closed her mouth hard, gulping down a rising lump—only to force it out in a gravelly breath.

And somepony else chuckling.

Starlight turned around inside the cage.

To see, accompanied by a few armored ponies of her own as they stood outside the wagon that cage was on—to see that cloaked stranger with her red goggles.

Twilight smiled, her goggles reflecting the moon in its last hour. "The figurehead of so-called peace, now at my mercy."

The pony to her left poked her on the shoulder. "Does that mean we get to kill her now?"

Twilight growled at the inquiring pony.

She shrunk back.

"Let me have my moment!" Twilight commanded. "You'll have yours."

Faced Starlight.

As they stood around her wagon on a snowy hill surrounded by a snowy landscape, the forests farther back now filled with dead trees and clear branches.

"I do my best not to lie," Twilight began, slowly pacing around the trapped Starlight who followed the cloaked pony with her eyes. "But, situations and circumstances brought me a bit too early, for you've seen me again but the moon is still up."

"What do you mean?!" Starlight yelled, enraged. "You're...you're not the pony I was hoping for! I thought you were the key to averting a big disaster that would befall Equestria, but you're the exact opposite! You are the disaster!"

Twilight giggled, continued with her pacing. "So, what? No pain, no gain—as many ponies will gladly tell you. Staying put, staying still...it will never do. A life sheltered from pain, from discipline and the results of wrongdoing—that's a life not worth living."

Starlight placed her two hooves on the cage's wall, begging her with downcast eyes and swelling tears.

"You know yourself too well, Starlight. You're fighting a futile fight. Sombra wants nothing but to take over the world—there is no use in trying to reason with his slaves. Ponies have followed you, have blindly accepted your propositions, and look where they've gone! They either do nothing or take your principles to such extremes, they end up killing other ponies who don't agree with them."

"That's not true!" Starlight shouted from within her cage. "I may look like I'm the leader of everypony pacifist, and...OK, maybe that's very true, but I am not a pacifist first! You know it as much as I do that I don't let this war take over me!"

Twilight rolled her eyes.

"I established this town as a way of life—a different way of life. We wanted to live free from the evils of the Canterlot aristocracy, to be able to do what is wise in the eyes of the people, for the people do see and the people do know—together, we could realize what would serve all without heaping favor upon anypony!

"Yes, I do admit that we weren't in the best of straits—how can one possibly argue against war if the enemy wants nothing but world domination? But, I've...I've grown to accept the war as a fact, to only despise how it's being done. The soldiers are too happy with their 'achievements' in taking away lives who can't resist Sombra's mind control, the recruiters and drafters produce lies that make war look so nice and fun to ponies who don't know any better, the generals up in high command consciously censor this and that out and make the press spit out half-truths and whole lies, and the average citizen isn't allowed to ask too many questions unless he wants to go to jail for probably being a Crystal spy!"

Twilight smacked the cage, rattling Starlight inside. "That kind of thinking will only delay the end of the war. More ponies would die, and isn't it a passion of yours to make sure nobody has to die?"

Starlight grunted, struggling to stand back up. "Yes, it is a passion of mine, but could I live with the guilt, the thought of ending the war by evil means—no, could you live with the guilt?!"

Pointed at Twilight.

Twilight looked her over, incredulity seen through her open mouth.

Then, she smiled.

"Starlight, you're too naive. The world isn't as black and white as you think. There will be times when the choices you must make depend on how many benefit from it, among other variables and such. Dead ponies won't speak against me, and their friends will not say a thing if they see their dead under a bad light. For example, there's...Sunburst, hm?"

Starlight gasped. "No, you didn't!"

Twilight chuckled, looking off to the ongoing battle—the fire having spread to all of the town, the village's inhabitants retreating to a road leading away from home. "The great mind behind artillery, destroyed by the very thing he created. He wanted to hasten peace with his contraption, but look where that has gotten us—the Crystals stole the idea, used their own artillery against us, and the war prolongs itself."

A flick of her mane.

"We found his body and we got confirmation that, yes, it was a shell that killed him."

She leaned closer to the cage, her smile growing as she saw a Starlight blubbering.

Starlight gasping for air, holding on to her chest—thrusting air out, seizing air in. "S-S-Sunburst?!"

As the sound of fires burning, of shells smashing, of screams rising—

Twilight flicked her mane again. "No war in history was ever won by a completely virtuous side, for each side has their selfish and sinful motives. It's not black and white. It's gray."

Starlight was silent.

Before the cloaked pony and her escort of guards staring her down.

She put on a smile of her own, a fervent smile to rival Twilight's.

In a rising, rousing voice:

"The world may look gray to you, but isn't gray only a mixture of black and white? Things may look fuzzy at first, but, behind it all, wrong is wrong and right is right—and I'll do what's right until the end!"

With everyone there looking at her, dumbfounded.

Twilight's smile disappeared.

She cringed, took a step back.

Glanced at the armored pony who had shrunk away. "Chink Cling? Open the cage."

She shuddered and ran to the wagon.

Opened the lock, opened the cage.

Starlight had an open mouth.

Watching Twilight looking at her.

She smiled at Starlight.

"Agh!"

Levitated her out of the cage.

Slammed her to the snow-laced ground.

Lifted her up.

Hurled her back down.

Glowed her horn.

Charged it.

Closed her eyes.

Gritted her teeth.

Shot a magical beam at her.

Throwing her high to the air.

Starlight landed on the ground with a thud.

A cry from one of Twilight's guards.

They waited.

Staring at that motionless body laying on chunks of bleak, rough snow.

Twilight ran to her.

Picked up a hoof.

Checked her pulse.

Let it drop.

Lifeless, to the ground with the rest of the corpse.

"You told us you'd let us kill her!" she heard one of her escorts yell at her.

Twilight turned around, gave them a smile, trotting her way to them while levitating Starlight's corpse to the wagon. "Too bad. My emotions got the better of me. Hey—" floated several bags of bits to them "—here's some of the money I'd said you'll receive for your services. Obviously, I can't give all of it to you while your brave friends are fighting below, so meet me at Neighagra Falls when night comes again."

All the guards there nodded and all but one galloped to the burning town, bringing out their weapons in full tilt.

The remaining guard, the one who had both shrunk away from Twilight and let out a cry at the fate of Starlight, stepped forward.

Shivering in the cold.

"What is it?" Twilight said, irritated and checking her watch. "The schedule must be followed to the millisecond."

Chink Cling coughed, a frosty mist twinkling into view. "I-It's hard to ask you of this, b-but...when we're d-done with the Crystal Empire, could you find a way to let Equestria expand farther? Perhaps, all the way to Basalt Beach?"

Twilight grinned. "You are an ambitious pony, but there is good in that. There will always be threats to Equestria from both without and within, so constantly tackling the former is a step in the right direction."

She gave the guard a quiver full of arrows.

Chink Cling rotated it around, then stared at Twilight—stumped.

"But, first...no survivors from the town."

She glowed her horn.

Poof.

Twilight was gone.

Leaving Chink Cling alone on the snow, clutching the quiver in her grip and viewing the blazing scene below.

The Town of Efficiency burning on under the cold night.

Check is in the Mail

The window in the room was partly open, so, rising above the clatter of plates and silverware, the music continued to waft outside, bringing its sweet joy to everypony there.

Or, rather, to the one pony who was there.

Special Delivery had dropped his bag and his cap right beneath the window, and was in the middle of picking them up and putting them back on himself. In the cold night, he looked up and saw where the music was coming from—that window showing a little glimpse of a room radiating with pleasant words and mirthful laughter.

He looked back down, let out a sigh, opened his wings.

The mailpony was then in flight, taking leave of Manehattan, soaring higher than those supertowers.

Back in the Cloudsdale Post Office, those big lights were on again, flooding the facility with their brightness.

Perhaps it was too bright, since Special Delivery covered his eyes at almost being blinded by shiny metal tables. "Who turned up the lights?!"

"You want me to turn it down?!" he heard a co-worker shout out, not able to see her.

"Yeah, turn it down!"

"Oh, OK!"

He heard a few wing flaps.

Felt and saw the red in his blocked vision cooled and curbed.

Removed the hooves from his eyes.

Seeing everything inside better—the white walls, the tall and many windows, the mail trays, bags and sacks, and more mail and packages for sorting and delivery. He could also breathe easier, remembering that recognizable scent of the post office—the scent of fresh papers.

He saw Helia, that fellow freckled mailmare in her blue postal uniform, standing by the light dial.

It was still nighttime as the two lone mailponies sorted a mess of mail on the table, arranging and disarranging and re-arranging the various letters and packages into this or that pocket or opening in differently marked bags. One was marked "Mail Zone 1", another was marked "Mail Zone 2", and so on.

Through the windows was a vista of Cloudsdale at night. The buildings around them were sleep, tucked in the darkness of their rooms and the gentle glow of the rare streetlight. No one was walking on or flying above the streets—not a single pony to acknowledge these diligent postal workers. Hollow was the outside.

As the racket of papers striking each other in sorting confusion reverberated a bit throughout the open, spacious room.

"You know what?" Special Delivery spoke, looking at Helia working beside him.

Helia turned her head, her blue eyes meeting his green. "What?"

He looked back at the mass of mail before him. "Derpy."

Helia paused, touching her tidy golden mane as her smile flew away. "You miss her, don't you?"

Special Delivery nodded. "I do miss her. She's a mare unlike any other...the only mare I would ever want to the spend the rest of my life with."

Helia did her best to cover up a giggle. "Really, now? I knew you became best friends, but I didn't know you fell in love with Derpy!" She rested a hoof on her cheek, eyeing the stallion with more curiosity than before. "This is all of a sudden!...unless you two have been hiding it!" and pointed at him with a hoof implicating him with that serious act of infatuation.

He nodded again. "But, it's true. Even after the mix-up when she became a soldier by an accident from the office...she's never lost that bubbly personality, especially with this demanding war going on." Cracked a smile. "She's quite the rarity."

Helia failed to stifle her next giggle. "I'm assuming you just got back from sending mail to another rarity, hm?"

Special Delivery rolled his eyes, keeping calm. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But, Rarity aside...Derpy always smiles, always has that look in her eyes that tells you everything's going to be alright."

Helia sighed though happy. "Good for her. I wish we could all be like her—optimistic all the way."

The two now half-finished with sorting, the mass now a little smaller and the bags a little fatter.

"Yeah, I wish we were," said Special Delivery.

"Do you also wish you were together?" Helia asked, teasing.

He lightly shoved her away. "Come on, Helia! Don't be like that to me!"

"What am I gonna do, Special Delivery? Just stand here and do nothing about what you revealed tonight?" Laughed at it while putting another letter into another bag's pocket. "You know how Cloudsdale sees her and romantic interests—she's pretty much not the type. Once they figure out her secret lover, the whole town will be twice as ready for the new year! They'll be clamoring to get her back and put her on leave just to see the two of you—"

"Don't say it!" Special Delivery yelled with a touch of laughter. "Don't you say it, Helia!"

Helia snorted, concealed her nose but not her growing grin. "When they see the two of you...kiss!"

Special Delivery shouted and smiled, close to throwing the mail down to the floor.

Helia placed a hoof up to her chin, watching him act immature. "Aww! You look so adorable when you're so glad thinking of her! Just you wait! I'll tell everypony in the morning, and they'll bring Derpy back! When she sees you...!"

Special Delivery then picked himself up—faced Helia straight at the eyes. "I shouldn't have done that! Why did I let my guard down, let myself slip like that?!"

"It's better they know right away!"

Special Delivery groaned and covered his face with his two hooves, yet still smiling.

"Or, wait...what about a last-minute surprise? Like, thirty minutes before midnight, I'll bring Derpy to the park! She's scheduled to be on leave today anyway, and she'll be on her way at about ten in the evening, so..."

Helia smirked.

Special Delivery shook his head. "Don't do this to me, Helia!"

Leaving the mail a bit behind schedule, having rested on that table for a minute too many.

A cloud park was like a park except it was made out of clouds.

Among the several cloud parks in Cloudsdale, this one looked typical. Trimmed clouds substituted for trimmed grass, cloud paths took the place of dirt paths. There were no cloud trees here, though—a sampling of real trees were present, growing on special cloud soil along with several regular flowers like dandelions and roses which ended up submerging the park into a fragrant atmosphere. Over there was a clean pond, its blue color blending in with the slight blue tint of the clouds surrounding it. Add the benches and tables, the columns and pillars, the fountains as well, and one would get a good picture of this lovely cloud park.

But, it was New Year's Eve. No matter how well groomed the park was for the great moment, for that grand moment to kick off the new year, nopony really minded the park's beautification. Instead, they merely crowded together at the park, briefly admiring the streamers and balloons and confetti around them before turning to their own attractions and amusements.

Here, a small team of pegasus chefs mustered up bowls of food, pouring them out to huge plastic containers on a long table where hungry ponies would fly in line and take up their servings to their plates. There, a group was setting up the fireworks display, cautioning the curious to stay away from the dangerous rockets and bombs marked with stripes and polka dots. By the fountain, a band performed a variety of songs for the audience either dancing around to the beat or just within the vicinity—guitars, drum, bass and triangle mixing well to provide much-needed entertainment.

As Special Delivery and Helia flew beside each other to the park, they could see a number of interesting characters there. At one of the dining tables ate Spitfire and her parents, chowing down on carrot and tomato salad doused in vinegar—most of the other Wonderbolts having a full table to themselves and not in uniform, with Soarin chomping his pie very loudly and very impolitely to the abashment of his buddies while wearing a thin shirt sporting leafy designs. Near each other by the trees were Mr. and Mrs. Shy, the father single-hoofedly flattening the cloudy ground of the park to make the entire environs flat and even, and the mother tending to the flowers there with the assistance of a helpful Sunshower and a whiny Fluffy Clouds who kept ranting about how he "should be paid back for all the service I've done to the Wonderbolts, but, no, I think there's something political about it—yes, definitely something political about it! Is it because I'm thinner than the rest of them? They're so vain! Look, I'll show them vain when I do loops in the air while wearing a blazer! And then..."

Needless to say, Mrs. Shy and Sunshower were more than irked by his behavior, so they carried themselves and the flowers to another spot while he was not looking.

Speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Shy—back to the dining area, there were some Wonderbolts aside from Spitfire who were not present at the Wonderbolt table. One of them was Rainbow Dash who had a table and several plates to herself along with Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Maud Pie with their own food. In the face of squalls, sputters, singing—despite all of that, the four of them got into conversation under the night, under the moon's last run for the year.

"So, Rainbow Dash," Fluttershy spoke, nervous while wearing a couple first aid bags slung around her, "wh-what really happened back in Manehattan earlier with y-you and the Pies?" Then, nervously studied the two Earth ponies present with their ruffled manes and their healing facial scars.

Rainbow brought out a mini-broom and cleaned her mechanical wing that way with a hoof. "Well, it started when Pinkie suggested we go to a bakery and buy lots of sweets for dessert tonight. It went along just fine for a while, but then her daughters went down and that's when the trouble started."

Maud blinked.

"You see, Fluttershy, it turns out that Maud here—" motioned a hoof to her "—apparently used force on one of them a while back, and that didn't go so well for her sister. She tried to hurt Maud, then had to stay the rest of the morning in Juveniles' Penitentiary. It doesn't take a genius to figure out...what's her name?" Tapped her chin in thought. "Right—Maud hurt Rarity a while back when Radar was still alive. The baker got very nervous, Rarity's Dad was scared of us, and Rarity herself...well, she was just silent." She scratched her head. "She's only a uniform pony, working at Seamstress Factory down the street."

"W-Was she nice to you?" Fluttershy asked, stammering.

Rainbow twirled a hoof around. "She's nice enough. Has a very fancy accent—didn't expect that from a menial worker."

"I imagine we'd be the best of friends!" Pinkie said, raising a mug of orange juice to the air. "Me and Rarity...the dynamic duo!"

"Uh, a-aren't you and Rainbow Dash the d-dynamic duo?" Fluttershy pointed out in worry, shifting looks between the two of them.

"No, silly!" She grabbed Maud and Rainbow by the necks pulling them over the table and their plates. "We're the dynamic trio!"

Maud expressed a dull "Ow" at the pull.

Rainbow flapped her wings and hovered out of Pinkie's grip, floated back to her seat.

The band still playing, the food still sizzling, the spectacle still in preparation.

Pinkie, Maud, and Rainbow resumed chowing down on their food which included topping-filled pizza, creamy churros, crunchy pecan pies, sweet berry salads, hot cinnamon rolls, scrumptious hayburgers, garnished carrot dogs, and smooth pudding of either chocolate or vanilla.

With Fluttershy using her fork to pick on her food, chaos continuing around her as ponies chatted in line, as pegasi flew overhead, and as latecomers greeted their friends and family with warm greetings and hugs.

Rainbow stopped, gave Fluttershy a look. "You better eat your food. Everypony here saved up for this very night! After this, it's back to the rations for them and back to the front for us."

Fluttershy gulped. "Oh, uh, s-sorry, Dash. It's just..."

"Spit it out, Fluttershy," Rainbow said, scowling at her. "Don't keep me waiting."

Fluttershy's lips trembled, letting out a quiet burr. "W-Well...when I think of...everything—" shuddered, trying to hide half of her face behind her long mane "—it's t-terrifying! Seeing them h-hurt each other like that...it's w-worse when y-you're right there! I-If only we c-could find a way to stop and talk about it over some t-tea—"

"There you go again with your dreaming, Flutters," Rainbow said, gruff, putting down her fork. "You know it doesn't work like that and you've known it for months—you're just repeating the same things over and over again. Be proud you're not killing anypony already."

"B-But, it consumes me, Rainbow," Fluttershy said, clasping her head and rocking herself about. "I help a poor soldier back up on his hooves, and he takes down a few more Crystals." Paused, eyes wide open as if staring at a million miles. "D-Did I just become...an accomplice to murder?"

Rainbow stretched a hoof to her shoulder. "Fluttershy, I know what we do isn't exactly good, but what else can we do? We can't just sit here and let a dictator rule over Equestria. We gotta do what we gotta do."

"But, I don't like what we...gotta do."

"So do I," Rainbow replied, pointing to herself, "but you don't see me complaining."

"B-But—"

"We'd be here all night if you keep telling me excuses, Fluttershy," Rainbow broke in, irritated. "You better enjoy your meal because this might be your last one at home."

Fluttershy gasped. "My last?! You think I'm going to die out there?!"

Rainbow rolled her eyes. "You asked that question a hundred times, and the answer is 'Maybe'."

Pinkie grabbed Fluttershy by the neck, smiling at her. "But, with us, you're guaranteed to not die! At least, not dying alone!"

Rainbow let out a chuckle, seeing shivering Fluttershy's morbid expression. "If there's one thing going for us, it's that if we die, we'll die together as friends!"

Pinkie grinned. "What she said!"

Fluttershy gulped. "I hope I could patch all of us in time if we do get hurt."

"We will get hurt!" Rainbow said.

Pinkie sighed. "Not this again."

Maud continued eating her food.

Then, from outside the park, a shout:

"It's your love, Special Delivery! Hey! She's here!"

"Are you trying to embarrass me in front of Cloudsdale, Helia?!"

All eyes turned their way to the park's entrance.

Over there, by the sidewalk separating road from grass—or just more clouds as the case may be—Helia pulled Special Delivery right before Derpy.

Derpy, that blonde mare without a smidge of conflict on her figure, wearing a mailbag like Special Delivery's.

The two of them looking at each other, right in front of each other.

Special Delivery blushing, eyes flitting as they gazed upon her.

Derpy giggled, looking at him with her uneven yellow eyes. "It's so nice of you to tell everypony right before the new year! It's very romantic!"

Most of the crowd there gathered closer, closer to the romantic pair beside a Helia trying to cover up her snickering, much of the noise dying down and reduced to mere rumors barely audible to the mailponies themselves.

Special Delivery gulped again, facing a drawn audience.

"The two of you are lovers?!" a voice cried out from the crowd.

Rainbow laughed, flapping above the crowd with both wings. "Wow! I didn't expect Derpy to have a crush on anypony! Makes sense 'cause you're both mailponies."

Special Delivery held up his hooves, casting a furious glance at Helia before turning back to the crowd. "Look, everypony! I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!"

Derpy hugged him.

He froze right there. Petrified.

"Aww! You're so cute when you try to keep all of it a secret!" Derpy said in her delicate voice. "But, it's not a secret anymore—I don't like hiding it, really, so it's good!"

The crowd erupted into cheer and applause at Derpy's confession.

Special Delivery gulped a third time, blushing redder, facing everyone with sweaty cheeks.

Seething, gritting his teeth.

Tearing at his mane.

"What's the use of keeping the disguise up?!" he shouted.

Faced Derpy.

Smiled.

Both of them smiling.

Under the moon, under the lights of the park.

"Derpy," he began in a shaky yet tender tone, "we...we've been doing this for a long time now...giving each other gifts, hanging out with each other while making sure no one was watching, even resorting to burning our love letters when ponies started getting suspicious. But...I should learn to be thankful for letting a certain other mailmare let this happen—" giving her a short, easy-to-miss glower before turning back to Derpy with those whimsical eyes "—to let Cloudsdale finally realize that...we're in a relationship, hopefully one that will last until our deaths do us part."

Everypony else gasped, even Helia who put her wing to her mouth in shock.

Special Delivery held Derpy's face with his wing.

Derpy held his face with her wing.

Their smiles becoming ever dreamier, their eyes becoming ever shinier.

Under the moon, under the park lights.

As a guitarist strummed a soft romantic melody.

"That's...that's very kind of you!" Derpy said, beaming, her eyes focused on him. "I enjoyed the time we spent by real lakes and not fake ones! And how I had to carry you back home when you slept all of a sudden!"

Special Delivery blushed as he was assailed by good-natured laughter from the side.

"You're a stallion with hooves always on the ground...down-to-earth, even though you're a pegasus. I can't count how many times you did your best to protect me from doing dangerous things...and, I really miss you!"

The crowd let out a resounding "Aww!" at that, with Helia joining in as if to jokingly spite that stallion now on quite the hot seat.

"When I was over there, I did my job, but it was hard to not think about you, Special Delivery. It was terrible out there—all that fighting and waiting and fighting again! I couldn't stand it, but I knew, as long as you were your good old mailpony self, then I figured the time would fly by very fast. And, time flew and it's already..."

Derpy glanced at the crowd.

Who looked back at her odd.

"Uh, what time is it?"

Pinkie ran out of the audience, took out a pocket watch, and opened it up.

Screamed.

Causing some to plug their ears.

"It's one minute 'till the new year!" Pinkie declared, getting her hooves up and running. "Time waits for no pony!"

And Pinkie went, appeared by the rockets and the other fireworks, tied them up together to one fuse, lit it up, and let the spark zoom through.

The crowd scattered to and fro, here and there throughout the park—yes, even the chefs, the pyrotechnicians, and the band—with some sitting down and others standing up, talking in whispers as they waited with bated breath for the sky to light up.

"Pinkie!" Rainbow yelled, flying and then landing right beside her. "Are you out of your mind?! You're supposed to let the fireworks crew—"

"Nah!" Pinkie said with a wave of her hoof. "They're totally harmless! I read the safety warnings, memorized all firework handling precautions beforehoof, and even got my own safety glasses!"

Pinkie then put on her thick safety glasses.

Took out her pocket watch.

Hearing the crowd restless.

"Can we do a countdown?!" she heard someone cry out.

Pinkie's ears perked up at that. "Why, yes, stranger! We should do that! We're at...twelve seconds in, so—ten! Nine!"

As ponies stood straight up, more than a few anxiously watching the spark rush through the absurdly long fuse, following along with Pinkie's countdown.

"Eight! Seven! Six! Five!"

As more and more joined in, as more and more raised their voice and their volume.

"Four! Three! Two!"

The spark split up into multiple sparks, each going to their respective fireworks.

All looking up toward the sky.

"One!"

Boom!

What a spectacle it was up there in the sky, to see such a parade of lights flash through the dark night and break the gloom of the time. Cracks and cackles, pops and fizzles, bursts and snaps and whacks—a jumble of explosions, stormy explosions that shook the cloudy ground the ponies stood on. Everything below became a battle between light and dark, where bright and shade challenged each other and fell to second-long scuffles as colors changed from blue to red, from red to green, from green to yellow, from yellow to a mix of other colors which became confused with yet more and yet less—and thus, all of Cloudsdale became a little home of silhouettes dancing in the night, figures of ponies flickering in and out of view before another firework would set them back into vision, back into the light.

If one would cast a quick look by the park's entrance in this brilliant anarchy of celebration, one would see, before this batch of fireworks dissolved, Derpy and Special Delivery embracing each other, speaking enchanting inanities into their ears as they drowned in the commotion of lights, colors, and blasts.

So began another new year.

Fried Dough

A week later

"Hey."

Special Delivery looked up at the night sky.

"Hey."

Kept looking up there.

"Hey. Hello?"

Still looking up, putting on a dreamy grin.

"Hey!"

The mailpony snapped out of it, tore his head back down, faced the lanky mare before him as they stood before a small bungalow within the city.

A cold winter night. Snowing, crickets chirping, road lacking in vehicles in this hour.

"Are you trying to annoy me or what?!" she shouted at him, forming a snowball from her own front yard. "Because if you are, you're not gonna like what's happenin' next!"

Special Delivery gulped.

Slammed the letter inside the mailbox.

Took off and was gone.

The mare smiled. "That's better."

Looking off to the narrow, quiet road before her where other houses and a little store resided.

The mare trotted back inside her house, letter in mouth.

The first thing she saw was the dining room. Besides the familiar wooden table and the chairs, there were saws hanging on the walls. Normal saws, vintage saws, artistic saws with colorful handles—these had the spotlight, glimmering under the lamps hanging still above them. Sawdust littered about on the floor, coating the tiles in a thin, dusty coat of timber residue.

Sat down on the chair, unfolded the letter, and brushed away her double-ponytailed blue mane out of the table so she could see the contents of the letter without it being smothered by her hair.

She read.

"'Dear Crosscut McColt, how're you doing, you backstabber? We're writing to you from the Dragon Lands. That's right! We may have had to stay at the port for months, but it was worth it! Now, we're getting along just fine, me and Ma Hooffield! There is absolutely no fighting going on right now, not as I'm writing this inside my cozy cottage while eating fresh pumpkins farmed by the Hooffields. In fact, we're not just helping each other; the dragons enlisted us to give them extra food, and by 'food', they meant gems, and they were willing to give us a spare few in return! You were impatient and behold how that's worked out for you! Living in the city, trying to run away from your family...that ain't gonna work out in a few more years! You'll wish you'd gone with us and crossed the ocean!

"'From somepony who isn't your daddy anymore,

"'Big Daddy McColt.'"

Crosscut blew her mane away, hissing at the letter.

Turned it over.

Spotted the writing on the back of the paper.

"'P.S. This is Ma Hooffield. Half of what your Pa's saying isn't true. We're still fighting, the dragons are about to enslave us, and I still hate him and his family, but I can't help but take pity on you, youngin'. If you're wondering, I wrote this while your Pa wasn't looking. Whatever you're doing, do it well; it's best you stay out of this.'"

Crosscut looked at it.

Put the letter down.

Walked out of the chair.

Trotted to the open windows.

Closed the curtains.

Turned off the lights.

The next night, Crosscut found herself in a newspaper bar by the Thoroughbred Metro Station Hub. Outside was heavy traffic with carriages stuck in their lanes and drivers blaming each other in loud voices over who was the cause of this trouble. Of note was a stallion carrying a bag of snowballs which, when interviewed by police when his carriage was pulled over to the side, was claimed to be "for emergencies only". Although it was not exactly known by many what those specific emergencies were, it was well known that snowballs were nothing to sneeze at if used as a weapon on an unprotected and unsuspecting civilian, so he was detained and brought to the nearest police station.

Inside the newspaper bar, bright white bulbs in the ceiling drowned the establishment in enough light to ease proper reading. Newspaper clippings were taped or tacked to the walls, together serving as a wallpaper collage unveiling tidbits of history from decades ago all the way to the present—now, a cook was cutting out the headline of this Saturday's edition of the 'Moment's Notice' which read: "Appleloosa Falls! Fronts to Converge!" By those walls were racks and shelves of all kinds of newspapers, from the critical and rational "Equestrian Thought" to the sensational and dramatic "Style Eight".

The customers talked freely, half of them holding on to a newspaper or a magazine with a hoof or with a wing or by their magic. Some rose to debate and dispute, threatening to overturn the whole diner into a shouting match arena, but a sharp glare from one of the cooks proved sufficient to quell potential brawls.

Crosscut, donned in a fixed blue shirt complementing her blue coat and her blue hair, sat on the cushioned seats by the window side, reading a copy of that newspaper before a talking mare—both of them Earth ponies.

"...you have the pinnacle of frontier towns down and out, so what's next?" Raspberry Vignette went on with her scruffy pink mane. "It's not going to be long for them to take the rest of the desert and creep up on us."

Crosscut put down her newspaper beside two plates of donuts and coffee, showing off her freckles underneath her thick-browed eyes. "South is where most of the hard-workin' ponies are. They'll hold the line well."

Raspberry sighed. "I wish you're right, but we don't know what the situation is down there. Supply lines are up and running, so there's that...."

Crosscut leaned to the newspaper, scanned for something else.

Pulled her head back, laid a hoof on another picture. "'Torch refuses Princess Celestia's plea to join the war for the twelfth time.'"

The picture itself showed a vicious Torch negotiating with Princess Celestia at the bleak and dark Dragon Lands under an overcast sky mingled with clouds and smoke, both of them standing by the precipice of a rocky, yawning cliff.

"What about something on the lighter side?" Raspberry asked, curious and leaning forward to the newspaper, too.

"Hmm...."

As Crosscut's hoof raced through words and pictures and the occasional advertisement to buy a refreshing softdrink to ward off the heat despite it being chilly both outside and inside.

"We got...'the Princesses with record high approval ratings despite war'...'Steer Straight of the Crystal Pony Complex having early retirement'...'proposed national curfew considered by the Princesses'...'Mayor of Baltimare's been kicked out and replaced yet another time'..."

Raspberry yanked the newspaper out of her hooves. "Let me handle this, Crosscut."

She flipped the pages, placed it back flat on the table by their plates.

"They just updated the list of dates when Winter-Wrap Up will take place where," Raspberry said, pointing to said list which had a picture of a snowflake on it. "If you're tired of the cold, you could go to Metis Cotter. They'll be having it a full week and a half ahead on average."

"Except Metis Cotter is only seven miles away from Appleloosa," Crosscut mentioned.

Raspberry blinked. "Oh. Right."

Scrambled back to scanning the newspaper on the table.

"There's a cloud sale tomorrow in the classifieds and another one at the market. Seventy percent off. Do you, uh, want a cloud?".

Crosscut crossed her forelegs and cut Raspberry a glance. "What will I do with a cloud?"

Raspberry looked up, thinking. "Decorate it? Play with it? Show it off to your friends?"

"Sounds boring."

Raspberry sighed, flipping another page of the newspaper.

"What about sports?" Raspberry suggested. "Buckball's looking..." saw the appropriate section on the paper, "dry today."

Looking at a very blank sports section, seeing a few statistics, a few sportsponies, and a tiny article about how buckball player Time Out got an injury and would not be able to play for his hometown of Monacolt for a month or so.

Raspberry gulped. "Too bad. Did I miss anything?"

Crosscut said nothing, took a sip of her coffee.

It was morning the next day.

"Get yer' clouds here!"

Crosscut walked through the marketplace, encountering again the stalls that stood between her and the open paved path. Store buildings ranked in the background as stands and stalls had been set up in front of them, much to the annoyance of retail owners who wanted some exposure in a busy place where many ponies frequented.

But, today, there was not much to complain about when it came to frequent shoppers, for, other than Crosscut, there were only about a dozen or so buyers milling around. This prompted the sellers to scream all the louder, competing for time, attention, and money from who might be the last customers of the day despite it not being noon. Inventory and stocks were, according to traditional wisdom, reduced, so this marketplace looked less like a lively market and more like a dingy shopping venue with barely enough products to be considered a market.

Only casual hoofsteps crunching the snow, and vendors shouting, among other things:

"Get yer' clouds here!"

Crosscut's ears perked up again. Her eyes darted round until they landed on a peculiar stand gilded with clouds on almost every detail—including the wheels.

The pegasus there was blocking the way to a fast food chain, busy in the act of feverish discussion with his burger-and-fries counterpart.

"Buddy," the pegasus shouted, taking away his cloud-lined glasses, "I was here first! Woke up an hour before sunrise, made sure everything was in order, and my business was open right before everyone else was awake!"

"I don't care if you're early or late!" the fast food pony shouted back, wearing a purple apron stained with ketchup and sprinkles. "You're blocking the way, and I want you to move!"

"This is the most prominent place in the area!" the cloud-shop owner yelled. "I can't let an opportunity like this pass! What would I do then? I would have to close up shop!"

"Well, we serve food to everypony!" roared the fast food pony, straightening his apron as if threatening to pummel the pegasus down with it. "You're selling niche novelties! I could just ask a friend to go get a cloud for me!"

"But these are pampered clouds!" He grabbed one of the clouds and showed it to him. "They're of a vastly different quality than everyday 'cluds'."

The fast food pony spat on the ground. "Yeah, and I could pamper my friend's clouds with a comb and some scissors like a barber!"

The pegasus recoiled. "You dare insult my line of work, my occupation, my very source of livelihood?!"

"There's open space if you open your eyes!" Pointed to various open spaces around the marketplace, on the empty, snow-laden pavement. "What about you move for a change and give me something good for once?!"

"I shall stand my ground and have this argument a thousand times if it means keeping my lucrative position here!"

He stomped a hoof on the ground beside his cloud stall, signifying his "lucrative position".

The fast food pony grunted, shot him a mean look, and trotted back inside the fast food chain.

Joe took off the purple apron and put it on the hanger by the door. Trotted past the walls, past the clock, past the fridge. Plopped himself on the sofa which faced the window.

In his apartment room which smelled of scented honey glaze.

Leaning on the window was a broom and a mop. Hanging on the walls beside the clock were photos of himself in his white uniform, serving donuts with happy smiles on both him and the customer. A few culinary awards and ribbons, too.

Besides the sofa—a small carpet, a hanging light, a ukulele.

A bed by the door.

Joe looked past the window, gazed off to the distance, saw Thoroughbred itself in the night—its rising skyscrapers bright, its empty roads no longer a blight. He could see cranes and other construction machinery dismantle the stadium by one of the main avenues; over there, a house stood on its own against the forces of development and progress, existing precariously on a mound of dirt while frameworks of taller structures ascended at its sluggish pace.

Joe watched it unfold.

The next day was a Sunday, so Joe did not have to go to work.

Instead, he was inside an elevator with an operator inside.

Cramped yet stylish was the elevator, its fifty buttons indicating almost fifty floors for this high-rise. Shiny metal walls, floor painted white.

The number on the screen above slowly rising.

No sound but the hum of the elevator, the hum of wires and wheels rolling them upwards.

"You're in on the secret?" the operator asked, turning his red head slowly to him.

Joe shook his head. "What secret?"

The operator turned away, back to staring at the buttons. "The Majestic Tower is virtually abandoned. Less than ten ponies live and work here."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "But, the lights are always on. It's the tallest building in the city."

Without looking at him: "Have you ever wondered why it's closed for thirty minutes after sunset? And why it's always the last building to light up every night?"

Joe cocked his head a bit. "Maintenance?"

The operator shook his head. "I'm the one who runs around, turning on half the lights here. I have to do it—maintain the facade, so to speak. Otherwise, they'll start getting uneasy. A big building with no lights on it in the night? That's going to raise some rumors and gossips around. Good thing I never miss a night."

Joe nodded and looked up to the display.

Floor 28.

"You know how it goes around here. It's a story I'm sure you've heard too many times. This place used to be thriving with life, and we used to host the biggest parties, the largest meetings. We had big names come by here—Princess Luna herself came by to honor our 50th anniversary. Then, the Crystal Empire came, Sombra sent his troops across the border, and everyone became a lot more cautious. Even the ponies who still wanted to party or hold those meetings...their friends and co-workers had to go. The parties and meetings shrunk, leaving us janitors, guards, and operators to languish here because it's a safe job that pays the bills."

Joe kept silent.

Looked up again.

Floor 41.

"Both of my parents went off to be soldiers. My mother's dead; my father's alive, but...you never know if you'll get the letter first thing in the morning." Sighed. "Rest of our family was quite big. Seven siblings, not including me. Eight of us. All of them soldiers, too, or, if not that, in some kind of military capacity. I'm the only one who's here."

Floor 45.

Rumbling, shaking.

The two ponies were rocked off their balance, falling to the floor.

Joe looked up from his lying position.

Floor 45.

"What's going on?" Joe asked, anxious.

The operator coughed, struggling to get up. "Don't worry. It does that all the time. Management hasn't bothered to fix up the mechanism—getting a bit rusty there."

He stood up, pressed a button.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a hallway with the number "45" painted on in massive size.

He pressed another button.

The elevator doors closed.

Joe looked up.

Floor 45.

Floor 46.

"And that would be all, really," the operator said, without looking at him again.

Floor 47.

The doors opened.

Showing a similar looking hallway but with the number "47" instead of "45" on the wall.

"I'll be waiting for you here," the operator said as Joe walked away. "I don't expect anyone to call me down anytime soon—I once had a full week where I just sat here on the ground floor with nopony to talk to."

Joe trotted down to the end of that carpeted, polished hallway of plush offices. He was approaching the end of it where a glass door was, leading the way to a balcony where a good view of the entire city could be had and enjoyed.

Except he froze right before that glass door.

Joe blinked, took in his surroundings again.

Sensing the nauseating perfume sprayed on the walls.

Trotted back to the elevator.

The operator looked at him weird. "What's going on? Aren't you going to spend some time—"

Joe pressed the button labeled "G".

Doors slid closed.

He rested his head on the metal doors.

As he felt light-headed.

Looked up to the display.

Floor 45.

"What am I doing with my life?" Joe murmured, leg on the door and above his face. "First the donut shop had to change, then I had to move away from my home, and now...this."

The operator surveyed the flustered stallion, remaining silent.

Joe turned his head to him. "Do you have any good donut flavors in mind?"

The operator replied with a shake of his head. "Uh...maybe?"

Press Release

Over a month later

Joe, the bulky unicorn donned in his gray uniform and gray hat—his cutie mark covered by the overalls—floated a plate of bread and soup to Press Release.

"Thanks," she said, grabbing the only slice of bread there, sitting and eating at the counter.

On display near the end of the counter was bread. Just bread.

Moving on.

The floor retained its checkered pattern, and it was the only part of this building that survived unchanged. The pink tables and the stools in pink fabric were gone, replaced by other ones untarnished and mundane with no paint, no cloth—only brown and gray. The place was indeed full, but what the rest of the ponies there ate were the same two things: bread and soup, specifically onion soup.

Did it smell good? Yes, it did. It had that appetizing scent to it.

The tall windows had been remodeled into thin slits, so gone, also, was a nice view of the street outside. The lights hanging above were changed out for brighter bulbs, but it was morning outside, so they were not on.

Then again, it was hard to tell if it was morning outside if it were not for the cold winds breezing inside.

"You look familiar," Joe said, eyeing Press Release and her fedora. "Have you been here before?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Last time I ate here was two years ago...and, to the very day, huh?"

Joe tapped his chin. "Yeah. Now I remember—the day when this war started, when Sombra declared war on us."

Press Release tilted her head a bit. "Didn't you use to sell donuts here? I remember eating donuts here last time."

Joe moaned, slumping on the counter. "Renovations. They told me, 'Why waste sugar on us when the soldiers need it? They need the carbo.' Didn't give me time to do a soft closing. Just straight up telling me to let them fix it. I got kicked out, drifted around Equestria looking for a job—finally landed in Thoroughbred, but didn't last three weeks before I got framed."

Sighed.

"Now, I'm here. My sentence is working from six to ten and going back to my cell when my shift's done."

The two of them alone at the counter, hearing the occasional shuffling of plates and spoons and hoofsteps.

"I'm not the only one," Joe said. "Where do I get my onions? From an onion family over at Ambling. Whole family's hired an army of their own—you see this big brick building with a dozen chimneys. Everypony in that town coughs a hundred times a day, but their onions are food and it's good food for the troops. But, they work long, too—heard a few stories about how the parents worked almost a full day once a month."

Press Release glowed her horn, grabbing her notepad.

Stopped and put it under her hat.

"And, that's it, really," he said with a given sigh. "Princess Celestia will be giving a speech at sunset, just like last year and the year before. At least she's honest about everything, hiding almost nothing."

She raised her head a bit.

"Almost nothing, miss."

Press Release looked at him. Took a spoonful of the onion soup. Looked at him again.

Joe noticed the empty seat on Press's right. "What happened to the guy? Your reporter friend, that white pegasus?"

Her ears perked up. In a doleful tone: "Eff Stop's missing. He was last seen at the New Front, flying in the Badlands to get a picture of the battle before he got shot down."

Joe lowered his head.

Silence.

Press Release stirred her soup with the spoon, watching it become a savory maelstrom.

"I didn't know, miss," Joe whispered, before turning away.

She sighed.

Continued to eat her simple meal.

Press Release sat by the steps to Canterlot Castle.

The entrance was indeed foreboding, but, under the sunlight, it was merely a big fancy castle with nothing scary about it. Dozens of guards stood in the towers, at the doors, on the balconies—several pegasi flew about it, covering the whole area around the castle like vigilant eagles.

By the steps leading to the grand double-door entrance, two guards were talking.

"I've been hearing rumors about the Princess going to another dimension recently," said Securus, the guard closer to the Press's bench.

Depth Defense, his friend and soldiery chum, yanked him by the neck. "Do you want us to get imprisoned again?!" he confided to his ear. "It's a secret, and it's horrible it's leaked out!"

"But, I heard there's civilization in the other dimension," Securus said. "If there's civilization, they have weapons—maybe even better weapons, weapons that none of us ever dreamed of. If the Princesses ask for some—"

"Sharp Fence said the other dimension has no magic," Depth Defense said. "We can't defend ourselves with magicless weapons."

Securus gasped. "I thought you said you don't like rumors!"

"It's hard to not know them when they sneak up on you and whisper secrets without permission."

Then, Depth flicked his head away from him.

"Wanna bet?" he offered Securus, not looking at him and staring out to the open road.

Securus scratched his head. "What do you mean?"

"That it will end by this Hearth's Warming?" Depth asked.

Securus rubbed his cheeks. "I...don't know. I've lost the last two bets, and I'm on a shoestring budget now."

Securus sat down, looking at his hunched up hindlegs.

"What will I do, Depth, when we're done fighting and we win? Wake up, exercise, fight, go to bed. Rinse and repeat. It's the same thing, the same cycle. I've...I've never done..."

Depth trotted up to him. "Never done what?"

He looked up. "You've only seen my cutie mark once like...five years ago, when we first got in the E.U.P., right?"

Depth smiled a bit. "So long ago. I don't even know what it is anymore. Good thing I still remember mine."

Securus sighed. "A spotlight."

Depth nodded. "Oh, now I remember! You wanted to be a great actor someday!"

Securus smiled, nodded, too. "Yeah. I explicitly told you on the first day that I wanted to serve a few years in the army to toughen up, see some things and maybe get acting wisdom somehow. They called me mad, but now...I probably was mad because I'm stuck here."

Depth looked at him.

Sat down.

Those two guards protecting the castle in their seated positions.

"Then, you wanna bet that we'll win before Hearth's Warming? See Sombra get killed?"

Securus shook his head. "I'd rather let him suffer. Suffer a lot for a long time, or forever!"

Depth grinned. "The sooner, the better. Bereaved souls here are crying out for revenge. It'll be the day of reckoning when the Empire falls."

Press Release stood up from her bench, levitating her notepad.

"Hey!" Depth shouted, quickly standing up and pointing at her. "You better not be recording confidential information! You hear me?!"

Press galloped away from the two guards.

Press Release stood on the platform at the train station, looking left and right.

No train in sight.

Waiting there in the morning.

Seeing the road of deserted shops and houses, splendid enterprises and mansions with naught but themselves, no one tending to their care.

An orange filly coming by on a scooter.

Press squinted her eyes.

She could discern a few things about her: the filly was a pegasus, had a dark helmet on, and was carrying two saddle bags.

Scootaloo jumped out of her scooter.

Caught it with her hoof.

Landed on the platform, right in front of Press.

"Did you like it?" Scootaloo asked, looking up to the mare.

Press was about to take a step back. Smiled. "Yeah. It was cool. Scooters aren't that common from where I come from."

"Really?!"

Press nodded. "Nothing to rave about." Eyed the saddle bags. "So, what are you doing? Are you going to visit your family far North?"

Scootaloo shook her head, laughing. "No, silly! I'm going to volunteer!"

Press choked, almost dropped her hat. "You said what now?!"

Scootaloo nodded. "I thought about it for a very long time with my good friend Apple Bloom, and I decided that I was good enough to serve at the front!"

Press did a double take. "Woah, woah! Trust me, you don't want to go there. I don't know who this Apple Bloom of yours is, but she's either joking or out of her mind!"

"Actually, she didn't want me to go," Scootaloo said. "But...so what? I don't plan to stay over there for the rest of my life! That's where ponies face the trials of their lives and survive, becoming better ponies, and I'm a hundred percent sure I'll be a better pony! I don't want to be namby-pamby—Namby Pamby herself works at the huge food processing plant in Manehattan with her folks!"

"And you think that's good?" Press asked, horrified.

Scootaloo nodded.

The shrill of the whistle.

"Ooh!" She jumped, flapping her wings and hovering a bit before she fell down. "That's my cue!" Faced Press with excitement, unable to contain her grin. "When I come back, I'll tell you so many stories about my adventures!"

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Press asked in an uneasy voice.

Scootaloo nodded. "Sure thing!"

Press ran to the other side of the platform, took out her hat, saw her notepad and quill inside.

Breathing fast.

"I-Is this what we've b-become?" Press asked, airy—closing her eyes, placing her hooves on her eyelids. "N-No...Eff, p-please help her!"

Not noticing the butterfly that had landed on Scootaloo's snout, playing with her as it flapped its wings and amazed the filly.

Then, the butterfly flew away, out of the station and into the air, above the buildings of Canterlot and high up in the sky.

Looking Back

The butterfly flew about, fluttering its way outside of Canterlot and over tremendous fields of grass, trees, and flowers—over rivers and by hasty waterfalls. It flew past ponies conversing in dark tones, most of them clothed in gray green clothes making them blend in with the environment. Wagons, carts, carriages holding boxes, crates, sacks, and more ponies.

It flapped its wings, flitting about for as long as it could.

After a trip down the mountains, the butterfly reached the town of Ponyville.

A broken Ponyville.

The butterfly flew past boarded up houses and shops, all bearing the stench of dust and the lack of anyone. Weeds had overgrown, flowers had withered—a boring brown, a drying gray.

The butterfly traveled far, and it rested upon a bush by the fence of Sweet Apple Acres.

Which was currently not in operation. Not a single whir of a machine, not a single puff of smoke coming out of the smokestacks, no barrels were out in the open today.

For Applejack, without her work uniform and wearing her country hat, sat on a chair in a little pond of chairs, surrounded by few.

In attendance: Apple Bloom, wearing her big ribbon on her mane and a sad face drenched in tears on her head; Pipsqueak, sitting beside her, holding a wet hankerchief and reddened eyes; Silver Spoon, with her braided mane and her glasses and her solemn look with only an open mouth; Golden Harvest, with brushed caramel hair and a couple of tissues; Mayor Mare, forehead creased and with a wilting red tie.

The mayor stood up, seeing the couple standing before the chairs.

Big McIntosh, the groom. Clothed with his yoke, his burly figure towering his love.

Cheerilee, the bride. Dressed with a white hat, her graceful figure sweetening the air.

Mayor Mare smiled.

Walked up to the couple.

As the audience of five watched.

Big Mac choked up, holding Cheerile's hoof.

"Y-Yes—uh, I mean...I, Big McIntosh, do take you, Cheerilee, as my wife, but not just my wife. I do take you as my life-long friend, my forever partner, the provider for our children in the future. I love you for who you are, and I do anticipate the rest of our years together, loving you more each day until death do us part."

Mayor Mare nodded, book in hoof, and faced Cheerilee. "And, do you, Cheerilee, take Big McIntosh as your husband?"

Cheerilee nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Faced Big Mac.

"I, Cheerilee, do take you, Big McIntosh, as my husband, but not just my husband. I do take you as my companion always, my lover enduringly, the provider for our family in the future. I love you no matter what, and I do anticipate the rest of our years together, my love for you never abating until death do us part."

The mayor nodded. "I pronounce you...husband and wife."

A feeble cheer came from the five seated ponies. Applejack and Apple Bloom shouted the loudest for the groom, while Pipsqueak and Silver Spoon yelled the noisiest for the bride. Only Golden Harvest remained subdued in her applause, looking upon them with mournful eyes.

Big Mcintosh and Cheerilee...

Into a kiss.

As the cheers continued, surrounding them in an expanse of love.

Applejack sighed, looking beyond.

Out the window, the barren hills. Over there, the town of Ponyville, destitute and desolate—a somber feel descending over it like a flock of invisible vultures. Not a single light was on. The guards hovered about the town, protecting it and defending merely with their presence.

Applejack sighed.

She turned around and saw her bedroom, the same it ever was. That neat bed, fixed up; the night stand with a lamp; the painting of a pony frolicking in the flower fields hanging over her pillows; lassos and hat hanging on long nails; a narrow shelf of books and flower vases; and, of course, the basket of apples at the end of the room.

Creak.

She turned to the door.

Saw a faint ray of light, the figure of Apple Bloom. "Granny's gotten worse. Do you think we need to give her another drop?"

Applejack nodded. "Go. I...I need some 'lone time."

Apple Bloom cringed. "A-Are you sure?"

Nodded again. "Go."

Apple Bloom scurried off and closed the door with a bang.

Applejack sighed.

Faced the window.

Faced the outside.

The cold, chilling, freezing spring night outside.

She looked at the table.

There, a photo.

On the photo, there she was along with her family: Apple Bloom, Big McIntosh, Granny Smith. But, a great many were there, too, including Golden Harvest, Mayor Mare, Lyra Heartstrings, Diamond Tiara, Filthy and Spoiled Rich, Thunderlane, Rumble, Toe-Tapper, Sandbar, Blossom Delight, Crusoe, Mr. and Mrs. Cake, Davenport, Octavia, Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, Rarity....

All standing before the town hall, smiling for the camera.

Applejack snorted, looking cross. "It just ain't the same anymore, isn't it? Almost everypony I know an' love's gone, some of them good as dead, an' I'll never see 'em again!"

A tear forming, welling up.

"Leavin' us here, to suffer, to writhe in pain an' agony! Everypony's dyin', and nothing's goin' but back an' forth!"

Heaving.

"Let this end now!" she screamed. "If not me, then give Apple Bloom a good life! Don't let it consume her, don't let it make her mad—spare her, you monster—you evil monster!"

As the tears flowed down her cheeks.

Baring her teeth.

Barely holding her chokes.

Lowered her head by the window.

Howled into the night.

Closed eye, flooded with tears.

Looked up.

Misty, blurry-eyed, yet she could see, up there, the moon.

Looking upon that same moon was Fine Print, a dashing stallion with scruffy mane and a disheveled scarf around his neck. Sitting on a taxi carriage stumbling away from Ponyville, he groaned.

"I shouldn't have let the poor colt go there!" he said in a twangy, urban voice. "You know him, don't you, sir?"

The driver rolled his eyes. "Can you make it quick? I'm trying to focus."

"Oh, ah, he's an orange colt—yeah, he's orange—and...oh, why do I forget his name so often? He's always on the list, but...yeah, yeah! I got it! New Record—that's what his name was. You know him, you really do know him!"

"Uh, why?" the driver asked, confused. "I've never seen him before."

"Ah, 'cause, you see, he's the colt our boss sent around when we got word of the war the night before. He started in Canterlot, then to Ponyville, then went as far as Light Doze—all before the morning was over! Always shouting, 'Extra! Extra! War is ahoof!' But, yesterday...shouldn't have let him snuck out on his own, trying to join his father."

"Sneaking out to the military, huh?" the driver said. "Have I seen my share of sneak-outs before...."

"Well, that's the answer to those questions the posters are postin'," Fine Print said. "The Princesses wanted effective propaganda, they got effective propaganda. Too effective—even the kids are gobbling it up! Soon, we'll have no kids, no parents, nopony to talk to but you and me against the world. The two of us, the final rebels, the last survivors of Equestria!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," the driver warned. "I'll be going underground. I heard they're making a whole system of underground passageways in case Sombra wins. That way, our resistance will continue."

"Good, good!" Fine Print said, pointing at him as if he won a contest. "Too bad I already wrote an article about it! Got them through reliable sources, great sources!"

The driver shook his head. "You Manehattanites...."

"Hey!" Fine Print glared at him. "I know a thing or two about self-defense!"

"I'm not even fighting you!" the driver said. "You're getting aggressive on me."

"Aggressive?" Fine Print said. "Why, I'll show you what aggressive is—"

A swash.

The driver stopped.

With Fine Print yanking ahead, almost falling off his seat.

"Hey, hey, sir! What's goin' on?!"

The driver shook his head. "Pegasus couple tryin' to relive their honeymoon days." Looked at the two quivering pegasi on the dirt road. "Aren't you supposed to be flying? Leave us non-wings alone! We're trying to get on with our business!"

Mr. and Mrs. Shy shuddered. "N-No, wait!" Mrs. Shy said, raising her voice above a whisper. "W-We can explain!"

Mr. Shy took out a picture of a blue pegasus—their son. "We haven't heard from Zephyr for a long time! He's our son, so c-can you please help us—that is, if you've seen him, and if not, I'm sorry—"

"Hold on!" Fine Print shouted.

Leaped out of the carriage and on to the dirt road.

Took the picture out of Mr. Shy's hooves.

Examined it. Rotated it. Turned it around, upside-down, sideways, flipped it like a coin, then placed it back on its normal orientation.

Hoofed it back to the father.

"You're very close!" Fine Print declared. "I was just at the new Mazory base near the Crystal Mountains last morning, and I saw that exact same pony over there! Must've run away from you—sad, isn't it?"

Got up to the carriage.

"But, I'm terribly sorry for having to go!" he said. "Print Run needs me at six o' clock sharp—that's when the sun rises today, right? Well, nevermind!" Faced the driver. "Onward, dear sir!"

The driver winced, gave the Shy's a pitying look, and galloped onward.

Leaving the two Shy's alone under the moonlight.

The two of them silent.

Then, Mrs. Shy patting him on the head.

As they looked up to the night sky.

Morning Calm

"I have trouble sleeping, OK?!" Zephyr yelled as he was dragged out of the sleeping hall in Mazory Base. Two burly officers hauled him away, but not before placing duct tape on his mouth, rendering mute the whining pony.

Inside the sleeping hall were sleeping ponies, most of them slumbering silently and soundly with not a snore in the slightest—well, for most of them. Less than ten rocked the hall in a mini-symphony of snores and wheezes. In spite of that, a lot of them continued their sleep, the snores, perhaps, a recurring comfort.

There was one stallion who was awake, though.

On his bed was his name carved out on the wooden frame: "Cucumber Cool".

By the candlelight, he wrote a letter on his bed, sitting on the floor.

Everyone.
I know this will be hard for you to swallow, but I don't think I'll make it tomorrow. This is the closest we've gotten to the Crystal Empire since Day One, but everything's iffy. The general's crazy, his officers don't care much about big losses, Captain Shining Armor and the rest will realize it too late, and a host of other issues. We're tired, our food's inadequate for the offensive, our weapons are dented and rusty—everything points to total failure.

Before you think otherwise, I'm not considering desertion, nor will I pretend to be mentally unstable and get out the easy way—it's impossible, anyhow, ever since Bean Hill disallowed insane soldiers to get out. Not to mention the stain it will put on me and on all of you for "rearing a traitor".

Yes, I truly believe I'll die in about six hours, right when the sun rises. I've stayed up long enough to overhear reports of mysterious movements past the mountains. The Crystals have spotted us, and every minute they stay their hoof, the more I wonder since we're very vulnerable. Is it a cruel mercy, to let us have a good night's sleep only to wake up to death moments later?

It's hard. I joined up, thinking that these guys were easy to beat. The Guard hasn't done much fighting over the past hundred years or so, but they knew what they were doing—so I thought. Maybe it might last a month or two; worst case, end of fall. Everypony in my battalion talked about it like it was a little trip, a short journey. How wrong we were.

I don't need to retrace what happened after that. I've already written half of my military life in these letters, so, if you want to read something, there's my letters. But, I'm tempted to repeat a lot, to retell everything, because, any second now, they might crash through the windows and seize us. They're not here yet, though, so I'm making up the best of my last waking moments.

I've seen so many things. Then, I've seen those same things again and again, only the little details were different—the ponies, the places, the times, the numbers. For every victory we make, there would be another defeat, another town in exile, another group of ponies in desperate need of help—if they don't get raided midway.

I've seen ponies starving. I've seen conflicts rise between the refugees and the natives because no one could agree on what to do—schedule? rations? living spaces? It's all a mess.

I feel alone. I'm writing this surrounded by many of my sleeping comrades, but I feel alone. There's no one to help us—all the other kingdoms and empires either refuse our plea for help or have already been conquered by Sombra himself. The griffons got it better—they'll be wiped out in four months and they have no future to worry about. Us? I know what Sombra does to his captives.

I can't reminisce without thinking of death. So much death. Death everywhere you go. If not death, then pain. To see these soldiers who traveled far and wide, to distance themselves from their loved ones, only to die; it distresses me. We're sending good young stallions and mares to death, and our officers treat it like it's no big deal. I wish the Princesses would teach them a lesson or two about life.

But, what can I do? I can't complain. They'll accuse me of treason if I tell them that a Crystal attack is incoming. Everyone's disciplined to follow the leader, and if the leader kicks me out, then they'll kick me out, too. I'll only be believed when the Crystals invade our base in the morning.

Cucumber Cool blinked. Tilted his head. Continued writing.

I forgot something. Since you'll probably see this letter by noon, I'll be dead by the time you read this.

He stared at it.
Kept writing.

You can mourn for me. I think it is good to mourn for those who die for their homeland, for their loved ones, for harmony and friendship. I will be gone, but don't be dismayed. I've done my part in bringing the end of the war closer. You'll be the ones to see its end, to live when they raise a white flag over the Crystal Empire. And, even if you lose and go into hiding from Crystal authorities, keep fighting. Do everything you can to keep Equestria alive. Evil may reign for a time, but good shall triumph.

I miss all of you. Mom, Dad, Running Days, Murgese, North Folk, Muster Roundup, and many others back in Leftlead.

Signing off for the very last time,

Cucumber Cool

He sighed.

Looked at the letter.

Turned the paper over.

Saw that blank side.

Wrote.

It's good that we remain
To tell you of our train.
Though harsh and dark the path may be,
The backward we disdain.

Raise our spears, raise our bows,
To lower them in death's throws.
Though gone our pulse and life shall be,
Our part, someday, all shall know.

Corpses carried over fields
Innocent of fights' appeal.
Showered in flowers, of roses and blues,
We thrive beyond our shields.

And if good wins, be glad.
If good falls, then look up.
The sun does shine, the sky is bright,
Night ends, for shall the day be had.

"Wake up!" a shrill voice roared. "They're coming through the—"

Stopped short.

Cucumber Cool woke up, straight up on his bed.

Clings of swords, whizzes of bows, crashes of cannons.

Heard bitter shouts, bitter wails.

Glass shattering.

Ponies fighting everywhere in the hall, with more Crystals swarming in through the broken windows.

He turned around, seeing everything descend—weapons falling, corpses falling, Crystals falling into the hall and ready to take over.

A Crystal landed in front of him, wearing his black armor and having those glowing green eyes.

Charged at him.

Raised him high into the air.

Smacked him to the ground.

He groaned, and moaned.

Was kicked down.

Pain surging through his bones, his veins.

Winced, braved his teeth.

Felt as if he was slipping.

Vision darker.

Dimmer.

Breathing slower.

Kicked.

Throbbing pain everywhere.

Breathing faster.

Kicked.

The Crystal kicked him one last time.

Cucumber let out a gasp.

Raised his head, stretching to the air.

Hoof slapped, and was kicked down.

Everything became darker, distant.

Gasped one more breath.

His head fell.

His whole body felt limp.

Surrounded by a group of soldiers retreating from the Crystals.

Outside, past the windows—gray in the horizon, gray above. No birds chirping, no birds flapping their wings, only the canopy of clouds above the vast stretches of snowy jagged, ragged mountains, covering miles and miles of ground, their landscape—the landscape which those inside could not see—had not changed for two years.

It was cold outside.

The noise of battle continued.

Morning Alarm

Yellow in the horizon, blue right up above. Birds chirped, flapping their wings above the vast stretches of grasslands, over hills and mountains of jagged and ragged edges and cliffs, covering miles and miles of ground, their landscape—the wide view before them—ever slightly changing.

As the sun dawned on Ponyville—bringing upon the little village its warmth and welcoming light—the windows glimmered on the quaint and dainty cottages of hay roofs and thatched walls. The roads of rock, sided by trimmed flat grass and bushes among other small green shrubbery, were clean and free from most trash and garbage. The smell of the town was a fragrant one—the abundance of flowers that were scattered throughout, not to mention the florist's shop over there beside some similar-looking houses, gave rise to that. The rivers flowing through Ponyville—under bridges, winding past trees and buildings—created a rushing of water that could be heard. At the middle of Ponyville resided a grand structure, a town hall of sorts, with several floors, some colorful flags flying near the top. In the distance, a rooster's faint cry could be heard, signalling to all who were not aware of it yet that the morning had come.

If that did not tell them, there was the newspaper pony.

"Extra! Extra! Special Extra! Super Special Extra! War is ahoof! War is ahoof!"

Windows were flung open, a few panes cracked.

Hooves swung the doors, revealing ponies with strange expressions on their faces—wide eyes and shivering mouths with no words.

Others looked on at the delivery pony with a close eye as he walked along and threw out newspapers, panicked in his pace.

"You're not pulling that trick on us again!" a pony from a second floor yelled, balling up his hoof at him.

Yet the pony exclaimed:

"Extra! War is ahoof!"

A scramble of hoofsteps out on to the streets.

Newspapers were picked up, unfolded with great speed—sometimes to the point of ripping them apart, arousing the anger of somepony who scolded another.

As the newspaper pony walked on, more and more windows and doors were opened, more and more ponies were exiting their houses and got to reading the newspapers laid before them, with several even re-reading the headlines, their voices revealing disbelief.

Then, gasps.

The murmurings only increased, any remaining whispers fading away—giving way—to the trembling talks.

"I told you about this!" Bon Bon, an Earth pony mare with pink and blue mane, said, looking at Lyra—a mint green unicorn. "Yet, what did you do? You didn't listen to me!"

"Well, I expected that the Princess would solve everything," Lyra replied, rolling her eyes. "She's been able to keep Equestria afloat for a long time—why fail now?"

Bon Bon groaned, slamming a hoof on her face. "Just because things have been going the way they've been going—" a flailing of forehooves "—doesn't mean they're going to stay fine!"

A hoof stomp on the ground.

"Now, what're we gonna do?" she said, raising her voice.

Lyra's lips quivered.

"Make sure this ends quickly," a voice suggested.

The two mares turned around.

Davenport, in his blue coat and white shirt, walked from the street to them—a smug smile on his face.

"I was thinking about that," Bon Bon said, giving him a piercing look.

Then, another stallion fell in front of the three—eyes on Bon Bon and then on Davenport. "What are we gonna do?!" he yelled—hoarse voice, rough tone, as if about to cry.

"Get yourself together, Crusoe!" Davenport said, pulling a fellow Earth pony up on his four hooves. "It's not the end of the world!"

"Well," he began, "it's gonna be the end of Equestria as we know—"

"Don't go crazy!" yet another voice shouted.

A figure stepped foward from a group of ponies already busy in a separate, tense conversation: Thunderlane, a black pegasus.

"Worrying isn't gonna get us anywhere!" he said, pointing a hoof at the already gathered crowds of ponies by the houses, on the streets, near the rivers—exchanging words of hesitation—apprehension, with hoof-biting and eye-darting prevalent. "All we need to do is to stay calm!"

"That's what I was gonna tell you!" Bon Bon said, only getting angrier.

"Where's the mayor in all of this?!" Lyra spoke—her voice shaky, walking closer and closer to a wall, almost stepping on the flowers. "Has she said anything?!"

"She's got the crazies as well!" Bon Bon blurted out, groaning after.

Thunderlane flapped his wings, hovering over the ground. "Uh, I don't know about you, but I'll go ahead and make sure it doesn't get rowdy. You know us pegasi!"

And he zipped out of the scene.

Davenport looked on—with a shivering unicorn, a hysterical stallion, and a calm yet irritated mare. "That leaves the four of us, then."

As the mutterings grew beyond their crowds and groups, spilling over to the rest—shrieks, screams of panic, galloping and running off to somewhere or, perhaps, anywhere—"I'm not ready for this!" a mare wailed as she joined her fellow panickers in their disorganized sprint as various ponies went about and halted some but not all the trouble-makers, trying to organize everyone in distinct groups before bickering with one another about how to organize them in the first place.

The mayor—a gray-haired mare wearing a pair of glasses—was alone, standing on the town hall's round off-white porch. A lectern was already there with microphone prepared.

A few pieces of paper were on it.

She sighed.

She saw the mass of ponies across the river—there weren't so many right in front of the town hall, on the open space of smooth stone ground. The noise over there, with the ponies in disarray as they made points, accused this or that, blamed this one or that one, drew up contingencies and emergency plans, promised that they would store up food in case of the worst, vowed to defend Ponyville from all threats (and attracting flattery from some and sarcastic, snarky comments from others, doubting whether that pony would defend Ponyville from all threats)—all these were just now noise that happened to be across the river, across the bridge.

A white mare walked up to her. "Mayor Mare," she began in a fancy accent, gesticulating about, "I don't suppose you would...tell everypony to restrain themselves immediately?"

"Rarity," the mayor replied—a bit incredulous, "haven't you heard the news?"

"Why, of course!" she said, uptight with a close of her eyes. "But, I don't see anything good coming out of such rabble."

She placed a hoof to her chin, looking on at the disordered crowds again.

"It must be done soon," Rarity said, prodding.

The mayor kept looking on. Then: "Rarity, bring some ponies with you—tell them to come over here now."

Rarity nodded—"Hm!"—and trotted away, on to the open area and across the bridge.

A slightly orange farm pony—Applejack with her brown, simple hat—stood in front of the still-folded newspaper. She stood at the large entrance of the red farm—itself huge, of three stories and partially surrounded by white picket fences. Around her were more—crops of corn to her right, straight ahead the chicken coop, to her far left enormous swaths of lands dedicated to apple trees and apple trees as far as the eye could see.

She picked up the newspaper.

She read it.

Gasped. "How am I s'posed to tell this to my family?"

Anarchy of Bread

She finally landed on the ground, specifically on a concrete road.

The village "in the middle of nowhere" was an anomaly in that barren wasteland. It was a village of work, of productivity, of life, of order.

The two-floor buildings of brick stood, always an equal space apart from each other within one block. The network of roads, streets, and other kinds of paths and passageways was the developed infrastructure the various inhabitants traveled on (or traveled over if they were pegasi). Although carriages were few, they were still there, providing short journeys from one end of the town to the other.

The blocks of buildings had their own purpose, not a single inch of it dedicated to something else.

Those with chimneys on top were the houses, the residences. Most of their lights were off, though two of them had some on, both of them on the ground floor. At this hour, not a lot of ponies were gathered here.

Those with patches of farmland at the side were the agricultural institutes. These were the least in number but they compensated for that by having as much arable land as one could fit inside a normal city block. Though the ponies working there were not many in number also, they were there, planting seeds on one side, watering budding vegetables on another, and picking up the harvest on yet another.

Those with wafting and drifting aromas—stirring up palates and appetites, making ponies' mouths water—were the "points of food collection and consumption." Some of these were soup kitchens where several chefs behind the counter cooked soup and vegetables and dessert in equal proportions to each and every one who came over. Others were part-warehouse—really, one big room where the farmers drop their produce into large bowls of potatoes, carrots, and so on; the ponies who would rather cook their own dinners came here, getting the ingredients needed for a feast back home in the residential blocks.

Those with whirring machinery and conveyor belts were the factories. Each factory on its block produced its own good—one produced yet more machinery, another produced tools, yet another produced lightbulbs. The interior of the factories were as similar as they could; however, there had to be differences, of course, if one were to efficiently produce everything a proper settlement of ponies needs.

Those with various symbols and signs on their roofs and walls were the workshops of diverse activities. A scientific laboratory was among them, fully furnished with the containers, the chemicals, and the clothing necessary to conduct experiments for the advancement of research. An artist's studio was among them, too, where painting materials in plenty colors and brushes in plenty types were in abundance, and the artists painted alongside each other in their unique styles. A theater, even, was with them—actors and actresses practiced on the stage while growing playwriters sat on the rows of seats as they observed.

On both entrances to the town was a stone sign with these words etched on them: "The Town of Effectiveness."

Night Glider walked some paces, going left and right as she encountered the usual intersections. She waved at a few ponies who she passed by—a unicorn with curly blue hair not only waved back at her but yelled "They're having a musical over here! Do you want to—"

But she walked on.

She entered one of the part-warehouses of food.

The wooden backbone of the structure could be seen on the walls. On the floor, several large bowls held sugar, salt, garlic, onions, and other such small foodstuffs. Short lines of ponies waited in front of those bowls as each got what he or she needed for the next meal before exiting the building, carrying sacks or saddle bags. Three ponies stayed inside as they watched and guarded over the bowls, sometimes telling a pony that they have grabbed too much and that they must save some for the rest of his fellow villagers.

One of those three was Starlight Glimmer.

She was a unicorn with a purple-white star and blue curved lines about it as her cutie mark. Her light pink coat was tarnished in dirt, her purple and aquamarine-striped mane shabby and scruffy. Despite that, though, she had a smile on her face as her eyes went between the next pony in line and the bowl of salt.

Night Glider went around the line, garnering the bad looks of some, and went straight to Starlight.

"Uh, Starlight?" the pegasus asked.

"What is it?" she asked back, her cheerful smile going away as she took on a more cautious tone. "Your being here this early is unusual. Is there something wrong? An intruder? A warning?"

"I hope it's nothing," Night Glider replied, glancing at the open door to the outside. "A griffon ambassador just passed over this town. She did not seem hostile at all—she was just going back to Griffonstone, I think."

"Let's assume the best of her," Starlight said back, placing a hoof on the pegasus's shoulder. "Things are going haywire for Equestria, broiling in that nasty conflict of theirs. If only we could convince some of the Crystal ponies to come here and live here, to work with us. That will serve to Equestria's benefit."

Night Glider hesitated. Then nodded. "You're right."

Starlight's smile returned. "So, you have not finished your five hours of patrol duty yet, I presume. Or, did you start it early?" She bit her lip. "I was not paying that much attention—I did wake up late for my share of the farmwork. I got here only about ten or twenty minutes ago." A sigh escaped. "Five more hours to go—and I'll stay up so late that maybe everypony will've gotten all their food by then."

Night Glider nodded once more. "Well, I know you are our humble founder, but you don't have to—"

"Equality above all," Starlight said, glaring at her and even growling under her breath. "This society will crumble apart if any one of us, even me, becomes a leader elevating himself above the rest. What we have built and formed together will be destroyed and will fade away into nothing if we don't keep ourselves in check."

The pegasus sighed—grouchy eyes. "If you say so, Starlight. Don't stress yourself out, OK?"

Starlight nodded, smiling as she walked to the garlic bowl and noticing that no one was there.

Starlight's eyes were now red and half-open. Her once clean and smooth mane was now draggled again, strands of hair sticking out as she made the gloomy stroll through town.

She looked at one of the clock towers there.

It was almost one o' clock in the very early morning. Already tomorrow.

She groaned as she jaunted her way past windows, most of them off and with no lights. The snores from simple bedrooms flowed outward, making Starlight groan even more as she rubbed her head—moaning, perhaps whining.

After a minute or so of this dragged out journeying through her own town, she finally reached a building looking quite the same as the rest. It was the only one in the block that had its lights on—blazing bright as they blinded her for a moment when she entered.

Her vision cleared and she could see what was there: seats for waiting and glass windows that divided the room into neat sections. In each section was a metal table and four chairs around it. A white light hung above the table.

She caught sight of the only other pony (beside the midnight guards) in the building: a stallion wearing only a tie and a pair of glasses, looking serious and cool as he placed his forehooves on the table, tapping a hindhoof as he returned the glance at her; his wheat-colored wig-like mane only made his face appear even more severe.

She grinned.

Starlight closed the wooden door.

The table reflected the light too well—she covered her eyes as she looked on it.

The stallion checked his watch. Then, he slumped his head on a rested hoof.

Finally, Starlight grabbed a chair and sat down.

The stallion looked at his watch again. "You know"—still reading the time, not minding Starlight—"time is of the essence. A second later and I would've called it quits."

"Oh, you're just splitting hairs!" Starlight said, speaking in as upbeat an attitude as she could muster, moving her hooves around though jittery. "Now, let's get on to business, shall we? Mister...?"

"Already forgot?" the stallion said. "An Internal Representative of Equestria. Sealed Scroll."

Starlight gulped.

"I've been sitting here since midnight. In other times, I would've asked for an explanation. However, the gravity of the situation—" then, yawning "—it's...not ideal."

Starlight rolled her eyes. "Are you going to tell us to join forces with you? United in a 'common cause'?"—emphasizing those last two words with hoofquotes.

"We both want to survive." He retracted his hooves from the table. "Do you want to live or not?"

"Our beliefs go beyond your petty fights," Starlight said, raising her voice and placing her hoof on the table. "We believe in a world bound together on the same level, in the same social strata. The reason why you have wars in the first place is because your bloated princes and princesses have no idea what we want—and, maybe, they don't care. They're only in it for the power, for more—but we don't want more."

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!"

Sealed Scroll lifted a hoof.

"Ponies like you, Starlight—admirable. Never wavering from your convictions. Sad that you're not on our side."

"I am on your side, but you don't know it," Starlight said, her grin growing. "If only Equestria would be ruled by no ruler: no monarch, no president, not even a permanent council of leaders. Then, there would be nopony on top to be corrupted by all that he wields. Instead, everypony works for everypony. Talk that out with the Princesses and I'll consider training some troops."

"Look, are you out of your mind?" Sealed Scroll raised an eyebrow, his lip never flinching as he spoke the incisive question. "If the Crystal army came here right now, what will your poor ponies do?"

"Our gyms surely would strengthen the bulk of our population."

"Any weapons aside the civil standard?"

Starlight rolled her eyes again, now crossing her forelegs. "In any case, we'll all suffer because of your greed."

"Our greed? Wha-how is that even remotely rational?" He placed his hooves on his tie, astonished.

"You quarrel about riches and your personal issues while you leave us to live with only some amenities!"

A slam on the table.

Her horn glowed.

"And, before you tell me that you'll report to Celestia and Luna about 'acts of aggression,' what about you"—her hoof on his nose—"think about all the deprivation you and your kind have caused through the years!"

Sealed Scroll scrambled out, blubbering but never saying another word inside as he dashed out the room and out the building.

Gulp, gulp, gulp. "Ah! That hits the spot!"

He put the now empty water bottle down on the cushioned seat.

Bump.

And his teeth clattered as he frantically held the window. Then biting his hooves.

Eyes wide open, mane frazzled, tie unkempt and unstraight, glasses down beside the water bottle.

As Sealed Scroll sat on the returning train.

Looked out the window.

Darkness over the land. The sky was cloudy; only a few stars twinkled as if peeking.

"Do you...need anything?" the train conductor asked, his thick beard and thick hat and round thick glasses distinguishing him as such. "I have gauze in my first aid—"

"No injuries sustained, sir," said Sealed Scroll in between gasps. "I'm...I'm OK. I'm alright."

The conductor then walked away and into another carriage.

Sealed Scroll looked out again.

It was pretty much the same dark landscape. While there were a few stop-by towns here and there and while there were ponies going in and out at times, his carriage remained mostly empty. Those that were there did not mind him; they, too, did not have happy faces as they slouched their backs lazily on the cushion or attached their faces to the window.

He looked as his hooves. They were shivering.

He got off the train at Canterlot.

Before he got off the wooden platform, he looked at the train station's massive clock.

It was one-thirty.

He turned around to see what was beyond the train tracks.

A lone taxi carriage sitting on the road.

The driver, a bulkier stallion, slapped himself awake as he saw Sealed Scroll descend the platform. "Ah, you must look important."

"No time!"

Sealed Scroll hopped into the carriage and threw a few bits into the tip box—nicely identified as a "Tip Box" by the sticker on it.

"Get me to Canterlot Castle! Pronto!"

"Will do!"

The driver whinneyed as he ran, pulling the carriage at a great speed, zipping past half-open lights and blurs of sidewalkers.

Hoofsteps in the hallway.

It was a long hallway of red carpets, checkered floors, lavender flowers, white columns, and colorful banners. The moon and the stars shone softly, the moonlight penetrating the tall slim windows only faintly—almost invisible beams touching down.

Sealed Scroll ran, still gasping until he finally stopped, breathing heavily—sweat on his face.

"Princess Luna, I...need to have an urgent word with you."

The pony in front of him was looking out one of the tall windows.

Her hooves were covered in metal blue hoofcovers. Her coat was a darker blue. Around her neck was a huge necklace of sorts, bearing the symbol of the moon. Her wings were closed as her long and flowing mane, along with her long and flowing tail—both moving about, ethereal like her sister's—they floated past those wings, twinkling and blinking like the stars in the sky. A small black crown over her horn, above her blue eyes.

She stood a good height taller than the pony before her.

The Princess turned to him. "You have permission. What is it?"

One more gasp. A breath. "The weird town between Neighagra Falls and Manehattan refuses to prepare for enemy forces. What is the next best course of action, Princess?"

Luna did not smile nor did she frown.

Instead, she looked out the window again. "There is not much else to do. They are not dangerously close to any field of battle as of this minute. I only say that you keep your eye on them. Make sure that they are well-fed and well-supplied."

A pause.

"At the very least, they will not say that we have neglected them nor ignored their needs—they, too, are our responsibility."

"Yes, Princess Luna," he said, looking down on the floor and bowing down to her.

She gave him a mere look.

Then, back out the window.

"You may now leave."

And the stallion left the hallway, leaving Princess Luna alone there.

She kept looking out the window. Her eyes were focused on the moon glittering so, a dim reflection of it on her two eyes. Her muzzle was upward, her mane flowing under the moonlight, too, in the hallway.

News among Other Things: Convocation

On Monday, "The Canterlot Chronicle" had this as their headline news above a picture depicting Princess Celestia, Queen Novo, a griffon in a business suit, a feline with a crown, a deer wearing a thick golden necklace, a yak donning golden breeches and clothing, a buffalo having a feathered headpiece, a humongous dragon in the background, and a tiny creature with transparent wings, among other creatures present and represented.

They were not smiling at all.

Instead, the photograph showed them discussing something inside a large room that could seat hundreds of critters. It had a somber mood to it, almost funereal yet earnest.

The headline article was as follows:

Emergency Convocation on the Great Crystal War
As of 5:00 AM today, the first Convocation of the Creatures in over 700 years convened at Mt. Metazoa to tackle the growing problem of King Sombra and the Crystal Empire. It will last from today until this Thursday.

Unlike previous convocations, this one was declared an emergency event. Security, which has always been strict, was tightened further for the duration of the convocation.

Among those present are: Princess Celestia of Equestria, Queen Novo of Hippogriffia, President Gestal of Griffonstone, the King of Abyssinia (who still refuses to be named on the press), King Aspen of Thicket, Prince Rutherford of Yakyakistan, Chief Thunderhooves of the Buffalo Tribe, Dragon Lord Torch of the Dragon Lands, and Seabreeze of the Breezie Village. More have been stated to arrive.

General meetings have begun amongst the leaders. Further details will be announced in our afternoon edition.

On Tuesday, "Equestria Magazine" displayed a painting as its cover. The painting had King Sombra as the shadowed subject and suspect, with his shadowy mane covering the ground. Then, rising from the right was a question mark. The headline of this edition was titled "The World on the Brink: Can Friendships be Forged to Regain Peace Once and for All?"

A part of the lengthy article was:
When everyone woke up to a bright morning last week's Monday, no one expected the news that shocked the world and slammed the brakes on life as we knew it.

Now, it's been eight days since the Crystal Empire declared war on Equestria. Despite further invitations to the king to reconsider his actions, the conflict has not only continued but escalated. In a string of defeats, Equestria's military has been humiliated time and time again, first due to shoddy preperation and transportation of troops to the frontlines and then to poor tactical and even strategical planning that have brought further shame upon high command. Combined with the demoralizing invasion of Vanhoover and the Crystal forces slowly dominating the Great Northern Plains of Equestria while utilizing the Arctic North and its resources, ponies at home aren't holding up their full optimism (although it's been noted that they've still shown the happiness and the hope from before).

Today, all eyes are on the world's leaders who are currently staying in the Hall of Unity.

During general meetings yesterday, distressing developments were brought to light.

One: Prince Rutherford aired his fears about his land being the first to be trampled by King Sombra. Yakyakistan and the Crystal Empire are very close to each other, General Spearhead claiming that it's within striking distance of 'expert pegasi strike squads'. He's requested for immediate assistance in the form of both military forces and other resources such as the construction of additional defences.

Two: Many leaders there appealed to Princess Celestia to finish the war directly through a solar-powered attack. While the specifics for each idea varied, the general consensus was that she should focus the light of the sun on the Crystal Empire and its Crystal ponies who reside there. She replied to this with her controversial response: "As much as I want to do that, I cannot." While no major riots have happened within Equestria yet, the E.U.P. Guard has been ordered to be on higher alert in various urban areas.

Three, the most alarming of the developments: Not many supported Equestria in its plea for help.

This is inspite of the Princess's emotional and rational speech about the situation of the realm. Several cited their reasons for not supporting Equestria in their war, with President Gestal being the most incisive of them all:

"Whenever non-ponies look at Equestria, what do they see? A land brimming with wealth, opportunity, and happiness.
Whenever they look back to their homes, what do they see? A land lacking in wealth, opportunity, and happiness.

"How do I know this? I've experienced it myself. I live in an abysmal city, a mere shadow of its former itself. While your historians can blame it on the magical properties of some missing golden statue, the fact of the matter is that ponies don't support us, so why should we support them?

"Before you tell me the old reason of being a kingdom that can produce for itself—well, what about you show us some kindness? If you think that we can't do it on our own, isn't that more than enough to move you to act on it? And don't tell me that we'll become lazy and dependent on your society. We are smarter than that. Culture and prosperity aren't cultivated in an instant, and we know it.

"At first, we'll only consume what you produce. Then, we'll analyze what you produce and try to make our own. Then, finally, having become skilled in your arts, we can go and create classics to be admired and maybe even new art, new forms of art.

"It is so simple, a fledgling can understand it, Princess Celestia. And, having said that, I shall tell you this: If a fledgling can understand that, can you imagine the pain that he must feel when he does understand that—and that it's not happening?'"

On Wednesday, "Ponyville Express" held a beautiful picture of Vanhoover—all of it could be seen in that one wide shot. Then, there was a red diagonal line across the entire picture.

The headline was:

Vanhoover Down
General Spearhead called the last Equestrian soldiers in Vanhoover to retreat at 3 AM. With this action accomplished, Vanhoover is now in enemy hooves.

Vanhoover, the famous port city beside North Luna Ocean, was not only known as one of the best cities to live in but also as home to one of the busiest film industries aside from Applewood, as one of the most visited tourist spots in all of Equestria, and as an industrial powerhouse.

With such a city under the grip of King Sombra, the Crystal Empire can utilize its industry to bolster its existing military. Those caught in the invasion were forced to work for the Empire either as slaves or as unwilling soldiers.

Most of the population, however, have temporarily relocated to safer places such as nearby Tall Tale and Chillwater (a new settlement built specifically for Vanhoover refugees).

On Thursday, "The Equestrian Times" had an article that wasn't a headline although it did hit front page. Buried underneath the bigger letters of the other articles, this one went as follows:

Griffonstone Representative in Ponyville
Galena, known formally as the Griffon Representative to Equestria, is lodging in Ponyville for the meantime. Her reasons for staying aren't related to the Convocation of the Creatures which wraps up today. Instead, it is for 'personal reasons'.

She arranged a meeting with Mayor Mare, with the topics being mainly about cooling off any leftover hate or dislike for griffon culture or customs—despite her reasons for staying being only personal.

The residents of Ponyville have mixed opinions on her impromptu visit. Bon Bon, one of those residents, was of the opinion that "she's only doing her job and, sometimes, that job will inevitably drag you to do unbelievably difficult tasks." Coco Crusoe, another such resident, was of the perspective that "it's political. It's all political. They sent her to make us accept low opinions of the Princess so that we can call off the war early."

News among Other Things: Rules and Orders

On Friday, "The Watchful Hawk" from Appleloosa had an image of a white flag rent to a thousand pieces scattered about by the wind in the middle of a hailstorm. This was the headline news:
Perfidy! More War Rules Broken!
During the battle over Whinnypeg early this morning, soldiers and journalists at the scene witnessed the entire Crystal army hold up their hooves and wave a white flag—only for them to strike when our warriors were most vulnerable.

This happened at about 5 AM, near the northern outskirts of the city.

While there are no clear estimates on how many Crystal ponies fell after that, our correspondents reported numbers between 100 to 250.

Many in Equestria and even beyond decry this horrid act. "It is further proof that this evil Sombra must be stopped at all costs," said Princess Celestia soon after raising today's sun. "He shows no respect nor love for any life but his own, which I have stated time and again with evdience to boot."

This act delivered a blow upon Equestrian unity. One side claims that we must maintain our respect for the conventions of war; this side includes such figures as the Princesses themselves, Captain Shining Armor, and General Radar. The other side declares that if our enemies can freely dispose of such cumbersome conventions, then we can, too; this side includes such personalities as General Spearhead, and the Council of Equestrian Representatives by near-unanimous vote on the issue.

No matter which way the discussion swings, the Crystal Empire isn't letting up: recent gains near the Galloping Gorge proved to be cause for alarm within the past week.

On Saturday, a conversation between Thunderlane and Octavia continued from opposite sides of the kingdom. This day, Thunderlane sent this letter:
I don't know about you, but something strange is going on here. The Crystal Empire has not assaulted our lines at all since Thursday. It's a relief to us since that gives us time to resupply and to rest from all this nerve-wracking fighting, but it's getting us worried. Silence is never a good thing if it comes from the enemy. Are they about to deploy some deadly new weapon we've never heard of before? What could be deadlier than those chemical bombs they've been setting off somehow in Las Pegasus and then in Dodge Junction? From what I've heard, they're not so harmful, but I doubt that.

Anyway, if this doesn't calm you down, just think of this as a notice that I'm still alive.
- Thunderlane

On Monday, Octavia replied and her response was sent to his barracks in Manehattan.
I'm glad that you are alive and, I'm assuming, in tip-top shape. From what I could deduce from what you've written, you seem to be finer than these recent times, which is a good sign.

I would only be exasperating both myself and you if I ask you again when you think you're going on leave. However, I don't think it hurts to know how your comrades are truly doing, for I'm beginning to have a distrust for the local news. The numbers of our casualties don't match with the mad drive for volunteers over here. Yesterday, a stallion from town hall shouted at me for not having any friends in the military—even though I said that I knew you. He would not believe me.

Keep yourself safe wherever you are, Thunderlane.
- Octavia

On Tuesday, this letter reached Octavia's room in some backwater apartment room in Sorrel:
If you can see this letter, then that means I'm still safe and still alive, which is good for the both of us. Captain Spitfire's putting us on training overdrive. We finished hundreds of wing push-ups, hundreds of pull-ups, and exactly 500 laps. She said it's for a big operation we're having by Friday. I don't wanna think what that means if we're pushing ourselves to our bodies' aboslute limit. Even the experienced guys and gals are stopping once in a while to catch a breath. To her credit, Spitfire herself went through the exercise, too, though she didn't tire out—I shouldn't be surprised. Soarin also didn't get tired; neither did Rainbow Dash. The rest is up to you to think about.

On other news, we've been receiving shipments of cannon pieces since this morning. They look like cannons, but I'm not so sure. They're too thin to be cannons. Looks like leaf blowers. Whatever this new cannon is, I hope this is the magic solution that will end the war. If not, we'll have to wait until I get on leave, if any of us will get that privilege.

Don't get yourself too worked up about me. As long as I write to you, I'm not dead.

I miss you, Octavia. Hope to see you soon.
- Thunderlane

On Wednesday, her answer was given to Thunderlane by mailpony.
Your big operation sounds daunting. It's not a coincidence, then, that you're getting new weapons, albeit I think you know that already. I myself have no idea what specific purpose they serve since I am not well-versed in the military field.

The thought of you being so far away does sadden me. However, I have diverted some of that into composing a somber solo piece for the cello. I'm certain that you won't have any disagreements with that; I don't want to wallow in unnecessary tears, but there must be a means to express my emotions.

Not much else has happened today. I bought groceries, ate lunch at the local grill, and talked with the locals. The general opinion I could gather from them was that there's no general opinion. Everypony has radically different ideas about the necessity of the war and how the war should be conducted. There is no reason to be upset if you are anxious about this, for it leans towards whole-heartedly supporting the cause.

Since you'll be off in the big operation on Friday, be sure to write something before then. This might be the last letter you will see from me if things don't go so well.

Follow your captain, coordinate with your fellow Wonderbolts, and help your other soldiers there. They'll be needing you.
- Octavia

By Friday, not a single scrap of paper reached her.

On Saturday, "Current Currents" from Rose Springs had this article underneath a slew of explosive frontpage news:
Libraries and Museums Emptied as Last Resort
Princess Celestia has issued a decree ordering ponies in endangered towns and cities to take down everything from their libraries and museums and other collections of cultural art and send it off to safer places such as Canterlot and Alligatorfield with their secured archives and vaults.

Many obeyed this decree, their structures now devoid of anything. Only blank walls and shelves remain for most, while some are still being shipped out in long-haul wagons.

The Princess said that "we don't want a repeat of what happened in Vanhoover with the mass burning of important parts of the city's and, ultimately, our culture and identity. So much precious information and art is lost thanks to the brutish acts of Sombra."

On Sunday, this note was nailed on a traveling wagon resting under a copse of oak trees:
To the pony this may concern,
Due to your unusual occupation, I, Mayor Strong Honor of the City of Bluegrass, exempt you from the draft. This is subject to change in the near future. In the meantime, continue the practice of your occupation as you see fit as long as you do not interfere with the maintenance of the war effort in the city. Provided that you follow this, you are to be welcomed to bring the desired entertainment and joy that the remaining populace is in severe need of. However, you are not bound to this duty for, as stated before, you can perform your occupation as you see fit barring the condition in the caveat above.

Signed,

Mayor Strong Honor

Scootaloo's Inspiration

An hour had passed and it was sunset once more, the sun again lowered closer and closer to the mountain edges at the faraway horizon. Its rays pierced the thick foiliage of the tree, sliced through the narrow opening of an almost closed window.

A thin sliver of light, therefore, rested across the wet face of a whimpering Scootaloo.

Hugged by Apple Bloom as she patted the sorrow-filled pegasus, her fellow Crusader.

"Is...i-is there a-another way she could come back t-to her old self?!" Scootaloo yelled. "Any way, Apple Bloom?!" Pushed and pulled her, desperate. "Please, help me!"

Embraced Scootaloo closer, tighter. A heavy sigh.

"I...I know that she's still the awesome, super-cool pony that she's always been!" Scootaloo went on through an overflow of tears. "I-Inside, she's...n-nice! H-How could she do such a h-horrible...is...when..."

Apple Bloom patted her once more.

"If only she didn't go up!" Scootaloo screamed, throwing herself away. "She wouldn't have to face those evil meanies! She wouldn't have to face those terrible Crystals! I wish King Sombra didn't return!"

Smashed her hooves on the floor, cracking it.

Apple Bloom took a step back, gasping at the sight of the blemished wooden planks. "Scootaloo, I think you're taking this too far—"

"You think?!" Scootaloo yelled. "You think that I'm taking this too far?!"

Apple Bloom stood her ground, planting her four hooves firmly on the surface.. "Yes, Scootaloo. Yes, I am."

Held her breath.

Scootaloo thrashed around, bawling her eyes out as she banged the walls, slammed the door repeatedly, and plopped herself on the ground—a blubbering orange mess.

Reduced to tears.

"Rainbow Dash!" Scootaloo shrieked. "P-Please, come back!"

Outstretched hoof toward the window, toward the final light of day.

Apple Bloom watched her wail, her own eyes watering up as well.

She walked up to her.

Picked her up, let her sit down.

Let her cry on her shoulder.

A hug, an embrace.

As a tear trickled down Apple Bloom's cheek.

"I...I know how ya' feel," she said to Scootaloo, choking up. "I wish I could...change the past. Make it so that there won't be this war, that our farm won't be ruined...that good ol' Rainbow would still be here in Equestria, the kind-hearted and awesome flier you an' I know."

A faint smile.

Disappeared.

"B-But, I can't. Nopony can. That's h-how it is, Scootaloo. This new Rainbow Dash is here to stay."

"I don't like the new Rainbow Dash!" Scootaloo yelped, hugging her tighter. "She's brash! She hurts other ponies for the sake of it, even innocent ponies who...who d-don't deserve getting kicked down by her when...when they're already in c-custody!"

Apple Bloom kept embracing her, noting one more time the photo Scootaloo grabbed from the floor.

Drenched in tears yet still firm, the picture showed a stained Dash growling at the caged objector surrounded by a cadre of guards.

Eyes on her friend. "Scootaloo, I d-don't know how to break it to you...but, wh-what about we hope? Hope that she's only angry about her lost wing and—"

"No pegasus could not be angry at losing a wing!" Scootaloo yelled at her face. "She could never get a proper replacement! Nopony can! She has to live with those clunky wings for the rest of her life!"

Covered her soaked face with her hooves.

"But, Scootaloo..."

"No! There's no way this is ever getting right! What if she loses both of her wings? Or, worse...what if she...passes..."

Burst into tears, flailing on the floor.

Apple Bloom's face downward.

Closed eyes.

Clenched her jaw.

Tears breaking through.

A cozy bedroom.

Untidy checkered green bed on the side, shelves containing some toys and a single book, and hanging pictures on the wall—one of them of Rainbow Dash herself, wearing a pair of goggles and smiling

The tulips on the sleeping desk gave off a sweet fragrance.

On the bedroom's other side was an open cabinet where multi-colored balloons, rainbow-themed merchandise—like hats, shirts, rainbow wigs—and posters of that famed mare lived.

Scootaloo was sitting down before these.

Grabbed one of the posters.

It showed a happy Rainbow Dash, complete with full hair, unmarred face, and two blue wings.

She gripped it tight.

A tear splattered on to it.

The clock on the cabinet's top struck midnight.

"OK, class!" Cheerilee, the purple Earth pony in front of the chalkboard, said in a cheerful fashion. "Who could tell me the two basic spells a unicorn will learn if he or she enlists in the E.U.P. Guard?"

Scootaloo woke up, slurped up her drool, and raised her hoof before anypony else among her classmates, standing up on her chair at the front row. "Uni-beams and repulsor blasts! Offensive and defensive, respectively, miss Cheerilee!" And smiled.

The teacher nodded. "That's good...considering that you looked like you were sleeping there for a minute." She glanced to the side, a bit embarrassed. Turning to the rest of her students. "Now, who could tell me the motto of the Equestrian Border Guard?"

"'We are the First Line'!" Hoof raised. "Yes, ma'am!" Saluted Cheerilee.

Everypony stared at her in equal parts awe and disbelief.

"You're...correct again, Scootaloo." A clearing cough. "Alright, what gave rise to the very name of the Wonder—"

"General Firefly of the aerial squadron during the first Year of Celestial Peace gave the Wonderbolts their name when they performed the commemoration of said year—" sucked in a big gulp of air "—and he was so amazed at the performance because it also had magical lightning! Over and out, coming over, miss!"

And saluted her again.

Silence in the whole classroom.

Apple Bloom reached her hoof out to her. Thought twice, then retracted it.

"Uh, Scootaloo," Cheerilee began, "your enthusiasm is...laudable. I can see that you've become a much more dedicated learner." Her smile faltered. "However, you have to let your friends answer as well, since they also want to attain a thorough understanding of the Equestrian military, not to mention other subjects." She smiled again. "You don't mind, do you?"

Scootaloo scratched her head. "I...don't think so?"

Cheerilee nodded. "That's what I like to hear. A pony who's willing to help others in their pursuit of knowledge!" Looked at her again, bearing a bothered expression. "You could also...sit down."

"Oh. Right."

Scootaloo then sat down.

"That poor filly is getting worse," Filthy Rich said at a Sugarcube Corner table, a tiny vanilla cake on his plate. "First, the breakdown from yesterday. Now, this. She's managed to ace every guard-related question aimed at her during school today. I'm not denying that she's a studious pony, but...don't you think that it has something to do with her hero, too?"

The donkey on the other side of the table nodded, touching her chin before bending an earringed ear. "Sadly, I think so." A pause. "What I also think...is that it's not a good idea to swamp yourself in reading about soldiers, wars...battles. She will only be reminded about her jaded friend."

Filthy Rich took a bite out of his cake.

"What do you mean you don't have chocolate cake?!" an angry voice rose up.

The two looked to the line of ponies at the counter.

"Silver Spoon," Mrs. Cake said to the gray filly at the line's front, "I told you yesterday and the day before that. We had to stop making chocolate cake because we're making batches of chocolate for our brave warriors on the front."

"Don't you have one stashed somewhere?" Silver Spoon asked, insisting on it while she fixed her glasses. "Don't you store them up in freezers like the fancy bakers do in Canterlot?"

"We're not fancy bakers," Mrs. Cake replied, "and we don't freeze cake. It'll make it powdery and fragile which is what we don't want from a good cake."

Silver Spoon groaned as she stormed out of the bakery, Filthy Rich and Matilda some of the few who watched her leave.

As she left, she did not notice that some construction workers changed the establishment's sign. Instead of a curly and upbeat sign displaying a bright pink cupcake, there was, in its place, a wooden and half-unpainted sign with a dingy depiction of brown bread loaves.

Preparations

Once again, it was night. Dark was Ponyville right now, touched by the lights of its homes and stores. The rivers continued to rush around trees, under the bridges.

As Fluttershy walked her way to Sugarcube Corner, she looked up and caught a glimpse of more construction ponies at work on the bakery's rooftops.

Scaffolding around the top floor which looked like a cupcake on the outside.

Fluttershy continued on inside.

The interior had remained intact. The floor was still blue-green, the walls were still yellow, the smell was still sweet and was still enough to bring ponies to the counters, for there were still ponies lining up there, waiting for their turn to get a cake or a pie or a puff or some other sugary pastry.

One new thing: loaves of bread were on display, too, under the counter, for the price of "One bit, two loaves" as written on the price tag.

Mr. Cake and Mrs. Cake were busy with handling orders, one of them whizzing into the kitchen to whip up new batches of baked goods while the other did the talking and order-taking. At times, they would switch roles. Now, it was Mrs. Cake who was at the counter and Mr. Cake in the kitchen, appearing for a few moments to restock a flavor of cake before trotting back in.

Diners ate at their tables, having exquisite desserts such as chocolate cake, apple pie, blueberry tart, and cream bagel. Over their food, they chatted, their smiles sometimes turning into frowns and pouts as their conversations steered away from small talk.

At a table by one of the windows, Yearling waved at Fluttershy.

She gasped and trotted her way to the table.

Sat down.

On this table, two plates of apple pie.

Fluttershy glanced at the rest of the ponies there. "Oh, wh-why did we have to talk over here? This place has lots of ponies and...I'm not sure i-if you've noticed but..."

"You're shy," Yearling said, slicing her apple pie with a knife. "That's alright. I'm not going to force you to talk."

Fluttershy looked out the window, seeing the dark streets and the ponies who walked under the lights. "Y-You...aren't you that famous author with the adventurous adventurer?"

"Yes," she answered, slicing another slice. "The one and only, I guess."

"But, I-I'm not a fan of your books. I don't even know the names of your books."

"'Daring Do', and now you know."

Fluttershy smiled a little. "I feel like I should recognize th-that, but...nevermind." She shook her head.

"It's OK. I don't want to talk about my books, anyway."

Fluttershy raised a suspicious brow. "Then, what do you want to talk about?"

"You brought the book with you?" Yearling asked, eyeing her saddle bag.

"What book—oh!"

Fluttershy opened her bag and brought out the book.

It was an average-sized book. It was not dusty nor did it have any tears. On the cover were the words: "Rivers and Streams by Semi Classic".

"It's a weird book," Fluttershy said. "Judging from the title, I thought it was about sea life. Then, it had nothing about animals at all." A pause; opened the book.

Yearling ate one of her slices.

"It's about unicorn magic that could change time....I think. I didn't read through the whole book."

"I don't think you would want to read the whole book," Yearling said, placing a hoof there.

Fluttershy gasped. "Why? Am I holding one of the last copies and you want it? Oh, I'm sorry, Y-Yearling! Here—" held it to her "—t-take it!"

Yearling shook her head and her hoof. "It's not that, although it is an uncommon book."

Sighed and ate another apple pie slice.

"You could read it. I'm fine with it. But, what I'm concerned of is...who else wants the book."

"Are there collectors out there?" Fluttershy asked. "We could, uh, gift it to them! I don't really like the book, although I don't mind keeping it...to pass the time."

Yearling scratched her chin. "Well, I think there's a collector. But, I'm sure she's not entirely good."

Fluttershy gasped again. "Do you mean that she's...she would do anything to get the book?"

"Not the book," Yearling said, "but, who has the book."

Fluttershy screamed and smashed her face against her pie.

Everyone in the bakery looked at her.

She slowly rose, her face covered in crispy crust and apple filling.

Yearling stood up and patted her on her shoulder.

Whispered to her ear: "Fluttershy, just watch out for a cloaked pony. She may be on to something. If you see her, I'll be in Canterlot."

Yearling flew out.

Fluttershy looked out the window.

Then, at the crowd.

Who was looking at her pie-filled face.

She screamed. "No! Please! Don't laugh at me!"

"Uh, no, ma'am," an aproned Mr. Cake said, walking up to her with a towel. "We just want to clean your face up. That's all."

The clinic looked much like many of the cottages here in Ponyville, but it had a few differences. It was on a raised stone platform of sorts, had a fence around it, and contained a sign on which was carved out holes that looked like a dog's paw.

There were two food bowls and two water bowls near the door.

It had a peephole on it.

Fluttershy walked up to the door and knocked on it, standing on a heart-shaped rug and under a lightbulb.

Waited.

"Fluttershy?" a female voice from the inside asked. "Oh, it's great to see you! Just in time, too!"

She smiled.

The door opened, showing a yellow Earth pony in white coat. A yellow woodpecker was perched on her blue mane, one of his legs patched up with a cloth.

"Edward!" Fluttershy said, holding the woodpecker closer to her with a hoof. "Did Doctor Fauna treat you well?"

Edward flew and perched on Fluttershy's mane, pecked the air.

Fauna smiled. "It's been a pleasure helping your animals out, Fluttershy, even though it's quite unusual to see a pegasus have such an interest in pets."

Fluttershy smiled back. "It all started with a race and a sonic rainboom..."

"I'm sorry, Fluttershy," Fauna spoke up, eyes uneasy, "but I can't really stay to listen! I've got lots of packing up to do."

"Packing?" She leaned in forward. "What for?"

"You probably didn't hear beacuse you always sleep up in Cloudsdale, but trouble is that there've been reports of robbery going on lately. Some say it's the Crystal ponies, others say it's the extremists. It doesn't matter who they are—I'm not going to be a sitting duck!"

A duck waddled into view from inside.

"Stay inside!" Fauna ordered, jittery.

The duck waddled back inside.

"I'm moving down to Perlino," she said. "That place has lots of animals and lots of pets, too. I wish it didn't have to come to this, but I'm not going to let them steal my stuff!"

Fluttershy took a step back, almost cowering. "But, what about your f-friends here in Ponyville?"

"I'll send them letters. I'll send you letters, too, to tell you how I'm doing."

"Wh-What about staying here?" Fluttershy said. "Sh-Shouldn't you be—"

"Sorry to say this, Fluttershy, but that's none of your business," Fauna said, a little frown on her face. "As much as I want to stay here in my home where I was born and grew up in...desperate times, Fluttershy."

She whimpered.

"And, if you were living in Ponyville, you would consider moving out, too. This town's not the most well-protected of places. Doesn't have a wall, has few guards, and we're woefully undertrained—I've been asking Mayor Mare to continue the program and she's been trying, but there's been shortages of soldiers willing to help us. They're all busy there." A pause and another sigh. "The only thing that's keeping all of us from moving out is that we're near Canterlot; several guards could swoop in within a minute. And, of course, the Princesses are there, too, but...Princess Celestia is out almost half of the time and Princess Luna's not really here during the night—because, you know, dream world."

Fluttershy nodded. "I...I understand, Doctor Fauna."

Looked back.

Fauna holding her, keeping her back.

"Fluttershy...I just want to say...thank you for being here." A pause, a look down. "You m-might as well be my last customer before I go."

Fluttershy examined her face. Trembling lips.

"So, here's something."

Fauna pulled out a photo.

Fluttershy held it with her hoof.

A picture of the two of them smiling at the camera with several happy animals gracing the image.

The two hugged each other.

They let go.

"Hopefully, I'll pay Ponyville a vist when I have the time," Fauna said.

"I'm not sure i-if I'll still even be here," Fluttershy replied. "B-But...I'll try."

The pegasus walked away.

The two waved.

"Bye!" Fauna yelled.

Then, Fluttershy turned a corner and was nowhere to be seen.

In the dark.

Fauna sighed. Her ears drooped.

She walked back inside.

The sun dawned, turning the whole sky into a bright pink and then an overarching blue. Its warmth filled Ponyville, completing the transition to morning, to another cool and windy day.

Another yellow pegasus walked up to the clinic.

Went to its door, raised her hoof to knock.

"Huh? What's this?"

She read the note posted on the door.

"'To everypony.

"'I'm sorry for leaving on such a short notice, but I couldn't stand sleeping here while knowing that somepony keeps robbing us of our things. This is why I'm not here. If you want to visit me, I'm living in Perlino which should take two to three hours by train. I told Mayor Mare about this and she's fine with it.

"'From your former Ponyville veterinarian,

"'Doctor Fauna.'"

The pegasus let go of the note.

Silent, staring at it.

"Yes, that's what happened," Cheerilee said as she and the pegasus sat at a table in the park.

The park was a normal-looking one. Browning grass, dying trees. Dirt paths, wooden benches, short bridges, long rivers, and a fountain. A few ponies went around in the park, giving it quite a normal feel as they stepped on dry leaves and crunched them up,

There was the fresh air, too.

"She told me herself," Cheerilee went on. "I don't want to view her as disloyal, but...you would think that she'd considered defending Ponyville since she was an Earth pony. She could punch and kick and brawl to the last pony. But, that didn't happen, Strawberry Sunrise."

Strawberry grabbed a strawberry from the strawberry bowl on the table and ate one. "At least I was able to get to her in time when I got the orthos."

That unique dog rolled around on the grass, his two heads lolling up their two tongues.

"I still can't wrap my head around Fluttershy, of all ponies, teaching a vet how to tame that," Cheerilee commented.

"I know," Sunrise replied. "She's a pegasus." Scrunched up her face and wondered. "Well, you're not looking at me funny because my talent's about growing strawberries."

"But, I understand that," Cheerilee said, grabbing a strawberry from the bowl and eating one, also. "You can control the weather. You can rain on your fields. Animals, on the other hoof..."

"She's good at it," Sunrise remarked, "so there's that. Plus, it's her talent."

"A pegasus destined to be one? Then again, you never know if you don't have your cutie mark."

"True."

The two sat there, silent, eating strawberries.

"In my class," Cheerilee started, gesturing around with a strawberry on her hoof, "there were the usual names colts and fillies memorize when you get to the military subject. General Lance Two, Admiral Clipper, Wave Quiet, Firebase, Hit Run—to name a few."

A pause.

"If you were famous enough to get into a school textbook, it usually meant that you've done something good and honorable for Equestria in your way. The more rowdy ones and the more stalwart ones—I can't tell at times—they want to enlist as soon as they get old enough. I even heard Scootaloo say that the age should be set lower so they could accommodate her."

Sunrise let out a gasp. "That's terrible! An innocent filly like her?"

"She puts Rainbow Dash on a pedestal so high...and, I'm not sure if she's even a good role model to begin with. I don't deny that she's been a great hero to Equestria, but her attitude isn't exemplary, to say the least."

She ate her strawberry.

"Cocky, arrogant, boastful, proud, mean, inconsiderate."

Sunrise smirked. "I would like to see you say those words straight to her."

"Not likely."

The two laughed.

Winded down.

A little while.

More strawberries gone.

The park was then empty, those two the only ones left.

"My students...or, some of them...they have no idea what they're getting themselves into if they become soldiers."

"You've told them the dangers, right? Because, you're a teacher."

"I've said all I could say," Cheerilee replied, a frown growing. "That's not stopping them. I have to tell them everything, and that means both the bad and the good of war. They have to remember the list of medals and honors a soldier could attain, the most successful operations and maneuvers during each war including this one—so far—and the stories of heroes other than Rainbow Dash. I have to give them an open mind, a neutral outlook on everything."

Sighed.

"That's what they say when it comes to teaching them how to think for themselves, but...what happens when you know...you know you could've prevented that pony from falling by the wayside but you can't because we have to let him think for himself, too, and he thinks that it's the reasonable, rational, logical outcome of all he's been taught?"

"Punish them?" Sunrise asked. Shrugged and ate another strawberry.

Cheerilee grunted, gave her a mean look.

"Uh, set some principles?"

"Somepony's going to ask about those principles," Cheerilee said. "And then they'll ask, and ask, and ask. I get it that foals are curious and we shouldn't stifle them, but—"

"Self-evidence?" Sunrise suggested.

Cheerilee was taken aback. "Since when did you get a refresher on philosophy?"

"You think I just grow strawberries and don't do anything else?" Sunrise said, giving her a sour expression. She crossed her forehooves and hovered out of her chair. "This is after how many years we've been in Ponyville together!"

Cheerilee sighed. "Shouldn't have underestimated a strawberry farmer."

It was getting colder.

Up above, clouds were forming. Or, rather, being arranged as pegasi hauled in more clouds, turning the clear sky into an overcast one.

Sunrise distanced herself from the table. "We better get moving. Rain's about to kick in."

Cheerilee got out of her chair.

Went their separate ways.

The orthos barked and followed his flying owner.

The sky was getting darker.

Cheerilee trotted her way through a little patch of forest and back to the schoolhouse.

Boarded up with barbed wire. Pointy, sharp, lengthy, obstructive barbed wire.

Screamed.

Ran to the entrance.

Well, as close as she could without touching the barbed wire which stood between her and the door inside.

Planted a hoof firmly on the dirt path.

"I know you're in there!" she shouted. "If you think this is funny—it's not, and I am not laughing at all."

The door swung open.

Revealing three students inside. One filly and two colts.

Cheerilee stomped her hoof. "Scootaloo, Rumble, Button Mash! What have you done here?!" She pointed at the barbed wire surrounding the entire school.

Scootaloo jumped up, flapping her wings, and landed. "We're trying out the cool thing you taught us last Friday! Barbed wire!"

Cheerilee looked at them with raging eyes, a mouth restrained. "That doesn't give you the excuse to do this!" Pointed at the barbed wire again. "I was supposed to do a bit more work like checking your projects, but I can't even get inside because of what you've done! That thing's dangerous—you could've hurt yourself and other ponies!"

"I know!" Scootaloo said.

The three of them raised their scarred hooves.

"It's called 'experience'!"

"Yeah!" Rumble said, flapping his wings and staying above the floor, flying. "How can we get to the frontlines without getting some pain first, right, miss Cheerilee?"

"What they said!" Button Mash said, a slightly orange Earth pony of around the same height. He was wearing a propeller hat. "Imagine using this on our school forever!"

"Nopony's gonna stop us!" Scootaloo added. Looked at her two classmates. "Hey, why stop with school? We could put it everywhere! On our homes!"

"On our stores!" Rumble quipped.

"On our town hall!" Button Mash yelled.

"Ponyville will be the safest place in all of Equestria!" Scootaloo shouted, raising her scarred hoof in the air.

The three of them bumped their hooves with each other's.

And said their "Ow's!", rubbing their damaged hooves and shutting their eyes at the pain.

Cheerilee's eye twitched. "What did you say?"

"Oh, that we were going to decorate Ponyville in barbed wire to defend it from the Crystal Empire!" Scootaloo grinned at her teacher.

Her very mad, very angry teacher.

Breathed out.

"OK. You three?"

The three of them looked at her with attentive eyes and ears.

"Barbed wire is meant for the frontlines only. You're not supposed to bring it here way behind where our soldiers are fighting." Placed a hoof on her chin. "What's even stranger...how were you able to acquire all of this barbed wire?"

"An Apple pony!" Scootaloo answered, still smiling.

"Applejack?"

The three of them shook their heads. "Doesn't live here, I think," Scootaloo added. "If you can catch him, he's the pony with a hat and is selling home-made barbed wire and other survival things."

"But, ma'am, I was jus' passin' through!" the stallion blathered, shaking his head while bowing it down a little. "Then, those there ponies wan'ed my stuff an' said their fam'lies needed the extra d'fense, so, I say 'Why not?' an' they got what they got."

The two of them stood at the Ponyville outskirts. One way, Ponyville. The other way, some hills and some dull flat grass but not much of a settlement since there was none.

The stallion stood by his wagon filled with not only barbed wire but also sandbags, shovels, helmets, and canned and powdered food. He was orange and had freckles on his face, wore a polka dotted green-yellow cloth tied around his neck. His two big front teeth were visible even when his mouth was closed.

He put on his hat.

"I know you meant well, Half Baked Apple," Cheerilee said, "but, next time, you better be sure that your customers aren't lying, especially if they're foals."

"Alrighty, miss!" He waved at her. "And, wha'bout some survival gear of yer' own? It's half off to compensate!"

"I think I can handle myself fairly well."

He waved at her again. "So, see ya' soon!"

She giggled as she walked away, heading for Ponyville. "See you soon."

He kept on waving at her until she was gone.

Half Baked Apple looked up.

Sky covered in dark clouds, hearing the rumble of thunder.

He pulled out a cover and spread it over his wagon.

Then, it rained, drenching his hat and his mane and the rest of him.

"Always good to be prepared," he said before hooking himself up to the wagon and moving on.

Criminal Acquaintances

Weeks later

"Stop, thief!"

The dark coated figure ran on the Canterlot streets in the cool spring evening, leaping about but always landing on his two paws, dodging revealing streetlights and wet puddles from the rain just minutes before.

Chasing him, several armored guards firing their magical beams at the fugitive.

Those outside gave pause to this criminal show.

"You're not gonna get away this time!"

Up ahead, only less than five paces away, the gate leading outside.

"Close the gate! Close it!"

He jumped.

Gate falling down.

And through the gate he was.

Running on the moat bridge over the river.

Pegasi flew to the other end.

He screeched to a halt, kicking up some dust and dirt.

"Woah!"

Capper whirled his head around, looking at who was behind him.

That side of the bridge covered by unicorn guards.

Each group slowly closing in on him.

"You're under arrest for upsetting the peace!" a pegasus said, walking out of formation and straight at him.

Placed a wing on the cat's chest, pushing him to the bridge's edge.

"Do you understand?!"

Capper smirked, glancing at the rushing river glittering under the moonlight. "Oh, yes, I do understand, officer. Just give me one moment to take a swim."

"A swim?!"

Capper fell back, off the bridge.

"Get him!"

Pegasi flew to the river.

Unicorns shot beams at the fleeing cat.

Capper merely swam, hissing as he went and dodged the remaining rocks and boulders on the wet way.

Then, waterfall.

He fell.

The pegasus officer hovered above the cliff, staying a safe distance away from the grassy plains and hills so far down. Some lights were in the distance, indicating bits of civilization in those patches of land.

"He plunged down the waterfall!" a cadet said, scrambling to his side.

"Thank you very much!" the officer shouted, slapping him on the head. "Survey the area! That cat may fall squarely on his paws, but he can't run far!"

The little pegasus squad descended the cliff, scouting the location with squinting eyes.

However, hiding behind the waterfall, standing on a rocky thin ledge while getting his black coat soaked.

"I am not getting in that cold liquid after this!" he said, shivering, shaking the water out of his fur.

The night drew on, yet the remotest and faintest sounds of orders and commands persisted in the horizon.

Capper sat on a tree branch, indulging in some of the berries he held. He looked over a flowing river, rough and bumpy like the one he had fallen into. Surrounding him were trees and more trees—a forest with a sparkling river that cut through it.

He could hear the crickets and the beetles chirping, the owls hooting, and a row of ducks quacking. Meanwhile, a rabbit scampered on the ground below, hurrying to another bush.

"If only I had some acquaintances around these parts," Capper said. "Too bad nobody's here. Gotta make the trek alone. Then, what? They'll be searching for me ten days straight."

Rustlings.

He looked behind.

Trees bending ever so slightly under this new gust.

Including his.

He grabbed the branch he sat on.

Climbed up to another branch, higher.

Held on.

The wind's rustling and bending stopped, trees going back aright.

Capper cupped his ear toward the source of that upset.

Another set of orders and commands.

"This isn't good at all," he said to himself, eyeing the tree beside him.

Heard rolling sounds.

"Wait a minute. Since when did the guard thought wagons—"

"New supplies go there!" yelled a female voice. "Mullet and Spittle, forage for extra food! If you find anything valuable, report here immediately!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" two voices cried out.

Capper gasped, holding himself steady around many leafy branches. "Pirates! What timing."

"Boyle and Squabble, you stay with me and guard the ship!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" another voice shouted back.

A squawk! was heard among them.

"OK," Capper went on, whispering to himself while tapping his chin, "there's five of them. At least one of them is a parrot—I might be dealing with a notorious all-parrot crew. I have to get this right: one wrong word and I'll be running from the authorities and the outlaws."

He hopped down to the ground.

The rabbit zipped away from his bush, jumping to another nearby.

Capper walked past some trees, then hid before the last one.

At a wide opening, an enormous airship had just landed. Stakes were tied by rope to the wooden brown hull. The deck contained several crates, barrels, boxes, and treasure chests. The blue fins on the sides at the back were deflated, shrunk down. The yellow envelope was shaped to look like a bird's beak at the front; it was sustained by a wooden frame below it.

Patrolling the airship were three parrot-like creatures standing on their thin yet sturdy feet. A burly one walked around with crossed arms, wearing a bandanna, shoulder guards, and a right hook instead of a right hand. Another one wore goggles, a false beak, and two life preservers around his long neck. Finally, a white parrot sported a large earring, a wooden green leg, and a large fancy and black pirate's hat.

She was brandishing a sword.

Capper combed his hair with a paw. "Keep it cool, keep it cool."

He walked on to the opening.

Another gust of wind blew by.

In the fragrant yet messy mess hall, food on the long table.

It was a hodgepodge of food. Oats, grains, peanuts, seeds, and berries, with a tiny bowl of worms wriggling about.

Five parrots and one cat in attendance. The other pirates were as follows: a chubby pink one with an apron and a stout green one wearing an eye-patch over his right eye.

At the walls was a similar hodgepodge of items. Shelves of additional plates and mugs and utensils, maps of places in and out of Equestria—those latter maps depicting regions such as the Bone Dry Desert, Ornithia, and Last Muigh. Other things included scrolls, letters, and shelves of treasure.

Those treasures were diverse and varied. Piles of gold coins, watches laden with silver, bracelets and necklaces comprised of rare jewels, boxes of glimmering diamonds, perfumes and potions in thick glass bottles and flasks—this is not mentioning the other relics and less-than-legal keepsakes like keys, quills, silk, spices....

At the far end of this measly dining room, beside such treasures and more maps, was a painting of the captain herself. There she was, donning her sole earring, her big hat, and that confident smile—all before a background of infinite blue sky and infinite fluffy clouds.

"So," the captain spoke right after gulping down some peanuts, giving Capper an aloof air, "why should we keep you here again?"

Capper laid open his paws, putting on a calm smile. "I'm taking refuge in your ship. You see, I'm branded a suspect of multiple crimes in the high capital of Equestria."

"And, you did those crimes," she said.

Every eye was on him now, pausing their dinner.

"Nothing to hide," he replied, holding up his paws as if in self-defense. "I did some, if not most, of the felonies they accuse me of...which is why I was so glad to see fellow partners in crime, even if we're in different areas of expertise."

The eye-patched pirate looked around, getting the attention of his fellow companions. "Uh, we'd like it if you called us 'swashbuckling treasure hunters' and not...'partners in crime'."

"Birds of a feather flock together, as they say," Capper said, "so, I am calling upon your services to take me to wherever you're going."

The pirates exchanged glances and looks with each other.

The captain turned to Capper. "We are headed for Sortmores."

Capper raised his brows and clasped his front paws on the table, twiddling his digits, smiling again. "Brilliant."

The McIntosh Hills had a misleading name. While Appleloosa was a train trip away—a long train trip, but still one trip, nonetheless—what made up these "hills" weren't hills at all but full-blown mountains of their own. Over here, a few adventurous hikers were doing their best to climb the highest of the bunch despite the harsh conditions of facing a desert at the bottom half and a frostland at the upper. To these bold ponies, the mountain was not a challenge but merely an obstacle to overcome.

If one would follow that lone railroad, it would lead to a station at the foot of a mountain there, occupied by two ponies—one awake, the other asleep on his rocking chair, complete with badge and credentials on his vest.

Beside the train station was a little kiosk where a tour guide was stationed, too, not to mention asleep as well. That kiosk had a sign beside it, proclaiming him as "the absolutest pony who could definitely help you take on your fear of heights and achieve your dreams of conquering your deepest dismays: mountains!"

There was not much else going on for that piece of land. A train station, a kiosk, and a railroad.

But, the railroad did not end there.

It went past the train station and entered the McIntosh Hills themselves—or, rather, the McIntosh Mountains.

The tracks went through a valley of steep sierras, even great cliffs at times. They were ominous, providing the railroad overarching shade from the sun. The wind roared, throwing up pebbles and little rocks and dust but no life except for the occasional weed.

As one went farther down the tracks, it became less arid, although the heat did not let up. The mountains were slowly replaced with only cliffs, and plants began to proliferate—plants of a tropical nature.

Ahead, there was a jungle untouched by any serious pony settlement. The domain of whatever animals may lurk there, it stood alone.

Right before it, though, the cliff on the left had a large passageway laden with dry sand. It did not touch the ground, and it was so high up that creatures who could not fly could also not traverse this path.

This passageway was also big enough for an airship.

That airship floated above the sand, its fins open and letting it glide.

Capper was on the deck, standing at the railings.

Straight ahead was the end of the path. Though far away, he could see that desert-like ground once again.

"Good. These pirates know how to keep their word. Let's see if they know how to keep it for long. If not..."

Clunky steps behind him.

Capper turned around, wearing a smile and a surprised attitude. "Captain Celaeno! I was just wondering about you."

"I was wondering about you, too," Celaeno said, sword in holster. "I wasn't expecting you checking out each and every part of our ship."

"I only know half of your ship, captain," Capper replied, gesturing with a nonchalant leg. "It's won't be useful to me and my friends if we want to steal it, anyway."

He hung his head.

"But, I'm a lone cat, so it'd be sorta' difficult to get it off of your talons, anyhow."

Celaeno walked up to him.

Both of them stood at the edge of the railings.

Feeling the cool breeze, refreshing them from the baking warmth of an advancing day.

"What are you transporting, anyway?" Capper asked. "I mean, besides the usual pirate stuff."

"Things like dragon's toenail," she said. "Rare flowers supposed to be held up in museums or big greenhouses. To put it simply: spell ingredients."

"Mm-hmm." Capper raised a paw to his chin. "Looks like unicorns want your wares these days. What kind of spells do they want to pull off?"

"The dangerous kind," she said, forming a little frown as her voice became cautious. "I'm talking about the kind that could change a pony's cutie mark on a whim, the kind that could banish anyone to anywhere you want—that kind of spells."

"Surely, you have your limits, don't you?" Capper said, adding one more sly smile. "It's not like you'd allow somepony to tamper with the world by changing up its foundations, would you?"

Celaeno shook her head, that frown becoming agitated. "No. We're here to live off exciting adventures, not to risk the whole world falling apart."

"Oh?" Capper looked at her with interest. "That's the appeal of a pirate's life to you?"

"Yes," was her short reply.

Capper kept up that smug smile, his whiskers being the cherry on top for it. "Do you want to know why I do what I do?"

She looked back at him. "It's more than to make a living, right?"

"That and more, for, you see, I've been going solo for a long while, but...you've heard the talks, the rumors going around when the Crystal War started up."

She pursed her lips. "What about it? You mean about the Equestrian Guard?"

Capper nodded his head, crossing his arms. "Talk about them turning to us 'bad folk' when they're desperate enough. Let me tell you: it's been a year and I still haven't met a con who didn't have even an indirect connection to one of them whether by accident or not."

It was Celaeno's turn to hang her head. "Just what I feared. I tried to stay away from them for a while. I thought they were the exceptions."

"They still are," Capper said. "Goes to show you how many they got to round up for a new swing of fighting. All the while, without them knowing, there's dozens upon dozens of so-called lowlifes who get rich off of their fighting because they end up funding both sides. Sombra's OK with it—it's not like he's the type to care about us." He chuckled. "The Princesses...they're cracking down on it, but it's hard when you've got a war on your hooves—don't you agree?"

Celaeno tilted her head a little, giving him a suspicious look. "But, how do you justify always jumping to the winning side? What we do, it doesn't lead to casualties unless it gets really bad."

Capper turned his back on her. Then, he turned around again. "It's the freedom."

She looked confused, though kept her watch on him.

"Can't stay tied down to one, captain. It's about seeing how it all goes down. Stay on the move—once you have a friend or a whole nation trusting you, you have to trust them, too, and they want you to stay...but, I know they'll not remain first for long. I have my own interests, my own ambitions, and I'm not gonna let something as petty as mutual trust bog me down in the dumps."

"Then, how am I supposed to trust you?" the captain asked, pointing at him.

"You outnumber me five to one," he said. "Like I said, I'm a lone cat, and didn't you listen to what I just said?"

Celaeno kept that suspicious look.

Beside the airship, those worn cliffs.

"Another thing I always make sure of," Capper said, holding on to the railings: "never, ever, get into a debt. Heard too many stories for my good on that one."

Celaeno let off a chuckle of her own.

As the airship sailed on in the wind, approaching the badlands on the other side of the path.

Hearts on Sleeves

It was morning again, with that bright blue sky and that soothing warmth of the early sun. Carriages again went about on the roads, and the sidewalks slowly filled up with ponies and other creatures. Over there, uniformed ponies displayed their gloom to the whole world by the excessive pouts on their faces, one of them holding up a sign as he walked which said, "Uniforms on Saturdays and Sundays, too? Give us a break!"

In front of the bakery, a mailmare swooped in, took out the letters and packages inside the post box, and swooped out.

Flying in the sky was Derpy, carrying mailbags at a great height. This did not faze her, for Derpy kept smiling.

She approached Cloudsdale, that cloud city over the grass plains below.

Closer, closer.

Someone was flying to her from the city.

An armored guard.

Derpy skidded to a halt in mid-air and saluted the guard.

They both flapped their wings in the sky just before Cloudsdale.

"We need to see proof of identification, miss."

"But, I live here, sir!" Derpy replied.

"Anyone could say that. Not everyone can show us evidence, though."

"I'll show you my house if I have to, o-officer," Derpy said, bending forward and trying to look past his shoulder.

The guard blocked every attempt to look past him.

"You didn't check everypony before, good sir," she went on in a pleading voice. "I'm a mailpony and I need to bring the mail very fast and very soon."

"Show me your ID and other identification papers if you have them, and then I'll let you continue your job."

Derpy sighed. "Oh, alright."

She unzipped her mailbag, fumbled her hoof around, and found her ID.

Gave it to the guard.

He inspected it, rotated it, inspected it some more.

Gave it back to her.

"You may go, Derpy."

She nodded. "Thank you, officer!"

And, she flew on.

Derpy walked past the streets.

The empty streets.

Nopony was on the sidewalks, nor was anypony hovering over them. Despite the many businesses and stores there, the only ponies Derpy could see where the ones inside, and those ponies were few in number. The only ones likely to be there no matter what were the ponies who worked in those businesses, meaning the cashiers, the waiters, the chefs, the salesponies, the supervisors, the managers, the clerks—all these were expected to be present, come what may. However, with the miserable lack of customers, they merely milled about, staving off the monotony by talking to each other or reading the newspaper...or, talking to each other about the stories they were getting from the newspapers they were reading. Then, there were those who just took the day off, not being there at all.

Derpy flew past these deserted roads and drifted to the square.

The tiny clock tower still stood in the center. The bulletin boards with their tacked on announcements and newspapers still showed up.

Not in view were the ponies who used to frequent the square.

This square now empty, devoid of regulars except for Derpy.

In the Cloudsdale Post Office, Derpy breathed out another sigh as she bunched up more outgoing mail from the metal table before her and stuffed them into her mailbag.

Under those industrial lights shut down for the day, a few ponies continued their labor, sorting out mail and putting them into the correct post trays.

The sun flooding the post office with its sparkling light through the windows everywhere on the walls.

The weather factory was a network of interconnected structures linked by stairs or hallways—not that the stairs were necessary, since a lot of the pegasi workers could just fly up and down, but that was besides the point. The commotion of cloud production crashed and clamored around so loud, it could be heard from outside.

At the domed entrance with its three yellow double doors, Derpy floated above the cloudy "ground".

She went inside the factory.

The reception chamber was large with its theme of purple, blue, and gray. Several corridors led to parts farther inside the factory—this one on the left was a locker room where several ponies clothed in white shirts and white helmets were just walking out of; this one was a short hallway to one giant set of double doors, and above those doors was the symbol of a cloud with two bolts of lightning discharged from it.

Back to the chamber: There was a receptionist's desk with a glasses-wearing pony there, observing the activity going on inside with ponies trotting around and chatting there.

As Derpy flew to a corridor, she passed by two stallions in casual discussion, both of them wearing the weather factory uniform.

"It's getting boring here," the stockier and taller one said, his eyes covered by his brown bangs. "It's double the work and half the time."

"That's efficiency for you, Hoops," the leaner and shorter one replied, tapping on his hard helmet hiding his gray mane. "But, it gets the both of us out of any kind of trouble."

"I would be fine with that if we had something to do after work, Buddy," Hoops said.

Buddy nodded. "I know. Dumb-Bell and Score just went off this morning, but, you know...you could send them letters."

"I'm the oldest," Hoops said, pointing to himself, "and they're the ones who leave me behind?"

He crossed his forelegs and hovered.

"Things were better with us three. Me, Dumb-Bell, and Score. Things were even better when Rainbow Dash and Klutzershy used to be here, too...but, it's just me now and I don't know what to do."

"That's a start," Buddy said, spreading his wings and hovering at his level. "What about we go down to Ponyville and try out...um...something?"

Silence. Well, as much silence as could be possible with the noise of cloud production in other sections.

Hoops landed on the floor.

Buddy, too.

"Isn't it funny?" Hoops asked. "Back then, we were the cool kids. We raced and beat everyone at school. Then, Rainbow Dash comes along and we race twice—I could've won if it weren't for her standing still! Everyone thought this one wouldn't count, so we had to race again—and that's when her Sonic Rainboom took us out. It's all they talked about those days. Rainboom this, Rainboom that, Rainboom left and right and up and down and diagonals!"

"Yearning for those good old days when you were the kings of the class?" Buddy asked, a smirk on him.

Hoops sighed and shook his head, cooling off. "What's the point? Even if I tried, how do you beat Rainbow Dash the Wonderbolt? How do you beat her streak of kills? Dumb-Bell and Score—they have a chance. Me? I'm assigned to work here and I'm afraid of going out there."

Buddy made a caring face. "I get you. But, they also have a chance of dying, so—"

Hoops punched him on the face.

Several clouds poured out rivers of rainbow falling through the sky. They converged and formed one big river.

Then, this river poured through a gap in a cloud wall and streamed down to a slightly flat basin and up again, only to fall down quickly to another basin farther down and up again, only to fall down once more to yet another basin farther down, and so it went several more times—near the floor, it landed on a bigger basin where a pony stirred it about and made it split into two, with one river going this way to this basin and the other going that way to that basin.

One river landed in a shallow pit on the floor, becoming a rainbow pond, although the river continued through a depthless and artificial riverbed.

Many of the weather toilers in this open air facility, in this part of the weather factory, had the job of stirring these rivers of rainbow, ensuring that they are of the right consistency: not too watery, not too thick.

One could see Hoops being carried by two guards, flying him back to his designated post by a rainbow river on the ground. He was given his long stirrer and, with some mumbles, resumed his task.

Sunshower hovered over all the occupied employees there stirring rainbow rivers about. She held a megaphone to her mouth, and shouted:

"You can do it! We can do it! The rainbows we're making are the signs of hope! As long as there are rainbows in the skies, there will always be hope! As long as we're still here, still churning out rainbows, we're still alive and still kicking! Don't slow down! A rainbow at the right time in the right place is more than enough to instill in our fellow Equestrians passionate loyalty to Equestria, to the Princesses, for our victory and our joyful future!

"Don't stop! Don't slack even for just a moment to rest! We're not just helping the ponies fighting for our lives out at the battle! We're also helping the ponies who are here with us, here in our homes, in our towns, in our cities! Everywhere you go, do you think about what they go through, about the torment they have to withstand because a pony or two is missing from their day? A rainbow—yes, a rainbow!—will inspire them to keep on going!"

"Quiet down, will ya'?!" Hoops shouted from his place.

Sunshower frowned. "And, what's got you down? Is it because this work is too tiring for you?"

"Some of us are trying to have a clear head while they make the rainbows!"

Sunshower scratched her head, then looked off to the sky past the columns surroundings the rainbow area.

She could see a huge cloud bundled up in rope over there, being transported by three pegasi.

"...and they kicked me out just like that!" Fluffy Clouds, that lanky pony and now a bowtied fellow, carried the brunt of the cloud's weight by being the only pony underneath it, holding it up with his hooves. "Told me I was a coward! Well, if I never! I did my fair share of the workload! I cleaned all the plates, I dried all the dishes, and I proposed that we economize on everything by shooting our broken plates at the Crystals, but they said I'm crazy! They're laughing now, but let's see who'll laugh later!"

Pushing the cloud from the back were Clear Skies and Open Skies, one mare and one stallion flying the cloud to its destination.

Below them: grass and more grass, with some trees punctuating the plush fields.

"I don't think anypony's listening to him," Open Skies remarked.

"But, poor guy!" Clear Skies said, furrowing her brows in sympathy. "He got into the Wonderbolts as a cadet, and he's a good flyer to boot. It's his critical attitude that threw him out."

"Yeah, I can see for myself."

The wind blew by, and the pegasi steered the cloud a little to the left.

"So, Good Prospects...burning without rain for almost a month! And, it's not even summer, yet!"

"It's close, though," she replied.

"But, who let this one slip by? I'm pretty sure there were lots of complaints sent to the weather factory...how could nopony notice that?"

"Precisely because there's nopony there in the first place."

"Hmm. You're right."

Quiet in the skies.

"You know..." Open Skies started, "I'd like to visit Good Prospects when it rains tomorrow. You've been there—what's it like?"

"Like any other old town trying to be current," Clear Skies answered with a flick of her mane. "They're paving the dirt roads, they're telling everyone to start wearing trendy clothes, and it used to be that way until...you know."

"The war?"

"Bingo."

Kept pushing the cloud with him, the scenery gradually changing but with its plentiful grass holding over.

"What happened then?"

"Good Prospects is known for its grain. Lots of grain. Lots of wheat, lots of bread, lots of starchy food. So, the mayor there got lots of orders to speed up production—build wheat factories, build wheat farms, give each citizen basic bread training. So, bread, bread, bread, and bread...bread all the way until Sunday."

"Does that mean they have cheap pizza?"

"Definitely."

She adjusted the position of her hooves on the cloud, getting a firmer grip on it.

"Because of the increased bread production, pizza's the main attraction. They have deep dish pizza, pizza rolls, pizza sandwiches, pizza bagels...you name it, they got it. They have more than enough pizza farms to satisfy your pizza taste. I'm telling you, Open Skies, when Sombra's dead and the Empire's done, Good Prospects will be the next Trottingham. A culinary revolution will spark there because ponies will be tired of pizza sooner or later. They'll find a way to master calzones, panzerottis, pancakes, breadsticks, spaghetti, other pastas."

A sigh.

"Sad thing is, this will have all happened because lots of ponies died."

Open Skies remained silent.

"Should I eat there even now? Is it OK? Should I eat pizza from Good Prospects?"

"You're overthinking now, Clear Skies," he said.

"I mean, it's not overthinking if it's lives we're talking about."

Clear Skies nodded. "Good point."

Open Skies did not make an answer to that.

And they pushed the cloud on, ignoring the railings of Fluffy Clouds.

Here is one good piece of advice for any first-time tourist:

A city is more than its face.

Let's take Good Prospects for example. Although the brochures given out by the tour guides there scream of wheat and pizza, and although the acres past the town held a tremendous range of wheat—so enormous was the size, one could get lost frolicking in them—and although every block in the town contained at least two pizza places and dozens of residents who know how to bake at least one kind of pizza, the first-time tourist would only accumulate contempt and shame by the locals if the very first place he went to was a pizza place, if the very first question he uttered about the town was, "Do you know where to get a good pizza around here?", if the very first thing he did upon alighting in this town is lick his lips, and if the very first words he said to one of the inhabitants there were, "So, what's your favorite pizza?"

Needless to say, such a tourist would immediately be shooed out of Good Prospects.

For, there was more to Good Prospects than wheat and pizza. When one got past the scaffolds surrounding construction sites of bigger apartments and larger malls, there were enough sights and curiosities to fill a day with gladness and fond memories.

By the corner of the town was a huge obstacle course built for the specific purpose of "teaching ponies the rigors of military training—" so written on the sign welcoming whoever wanted to try out the course. Already, several ponies tried it out, both locals and foreigners. At every slowdown, they were barked at by a fake drill sergeant decked out in a camouflage outfit.

Over here, farther inside Good Prospects, was a park known as Busker Square. True to its name, it was the venue of plenty buskers, singing away the informal—and, sometimes, impromptu—lyrics of love, melancholy, or whatever other feeling they were feeling at the moment, all with a lone instrument and a speaker—and, more than a few had already gone without a speaker. Right now, a hatted stallion strummed a depressing tune and howled out melancholy and desperation, to the distress of the locals who gave him bits for the performance and to the meager pleasure of the tourists who also gave him bits for it.

Squeezed between two pizza places was a mansion painted in yellow and red. Compared to the mansions in Canterlot, this one was quite modest, having only two floors and being only as wide as two diners. A mare sat by the stairs going up to the front, counting the many bits she had in her wallet and in her purse. Beside her was a box of pizza, but she also had a box of celery on top of it. Beside the path leading up to the front door was a little garden where tomatoes and lettuces were growing, and several ponies were eating fresh salads at the outdoor tables.

Beside that mansion was one of the many pizza places in Good Prospects. Its name was "Pizza for All!"

One might then ask, "How can such a place stand out in a town where pizza is ubiquitous?"

Here was the answer: It was fun to watch.

While other pizza places partially showed how pizza was made behind glass windows and tall counters, "Pizza for All!" took that idea to its logical extreme by setting the chefs right at the middle of the restaurant. The kitchen was not at the back, nor was it at the side. Instead, it was at the most outstanding part where it could be seen and be appreciated by all without any difficulty in twisting their necks a certain way.

Here, the chefs kneaded the dough, flipped the pizzas, poured the tomato sauce, laid the cheese, planted the toppings, brought the raw pizza to a circular conveyor belt oven underneath the circular counter.

Which was transparent, so all the customers could see the pizzas cook as it slowly moved around.

Finally, when it was done, the pizza was taken out on a wooden peel, plopped on a plate, given to a waiter, and then swiftly delivered to the customer who had witnessed the complete step-by-step extravaganza of making pizza at the comfort of a cushy chair.

Garnished with that savory air, "Pizza for All!" was not normal. It was phenomenal, and, according to the quote painted on the wall and attributed to the founder of this admirable institution, Brick Oven, "we'll be open whether day or not, rain or shine, to give you pizza whether happy or sad, up or down."

A stout waiter there arranged a candle at one of the balconies overlooking the main area with most of the customers and all of the chefs. He carefully put down a sign which said "Reserved" on it. He took out a pre-inked quill and wrote on it, so that it read:

"Reserved for Big McIntosh and Cheerilee on Sunday, 7:00 PM."

He looked past the glass ceiling.

A big gray cloud incoming.

"And, I didn't bring my umbrella," Gladmane said, disappointed and fixing his name tag on his green shirt.

Faring Well

Five days later and it was an icy Wednesday night in Manehattan. Snow and sleet had covered those wide roads, but shovelers were hard at work, digging out the excess snow and scooping it to bottle-like purifiers connected to wagons filled with more of that snow while they poured out torrents of fresh water into plastic jugs.

Although the lights of Manehattan rained their rays furiously upon the snow and shaped intangible glitters on the ground, not many ponies were there to appreciate the illumination extravaganza the metropolis was known for. Gone were the plentiful tourists who snapped pictures with reckless abandon, gone were the vendors and retailers hawking their produce and products to all who passed them by as they vied for attention, gone were the outgoing Manehattanites themselves who brisked about and exchanged words in the span of half a minute. In their place were bare snowy roads and the shovelers forging fresh water out of the snow.

Wading her way through the thick snow was Chink Cling, still in her cumbersome armor yet not a complaint could be seen on her face. Instead, she had a happy smile, carrying a bag of posters and tape rolls sticking out from their huge purse.

Every once in a while, she would stop by the wall of some structure. It did not matter if it was a lowly newspaper shop standing out by virtue of its singular floor of if it was the stately Crystaller Building itself with its abundance of floors and its steel-glass state-of-the-art architecture. To her, a wall was a wall, and if it had enough space, there a poster would go, adhering to the wall by "Mega Mighty Tape!"—for so was the name of the tape's brand printed on the rolls.

The posters, though of different styles and of different subjects, portrayed a single theme summed up in the words of the first poster she set up which was by the entrance of Maneway Station:

"Leave your house, save your home! Join the E.U.P. Guard right now!"

Such posters characterized the Equestrian Guard as valiant soldiers of peace and prosperity, decked in their polished armor and in their smiling faces calling out for liberty, and these same posters presented the Crystal ponies as obviously evil with their black armor, their treacherous glowing eyes, their menacing frowns.

These posters crept up on Manehattan, Chink Cling slowly putting them on every block in her weary jog, but most ponies would not know that it was a weary jog, for instead of a grimace that whined of being the only pony at the moment doing this important job in such an enormous city, it was a smile she wore and kept on her face despite the oppressive cold, the husky snow, and the sloshing noise of purifiers doing their job.

But, barring the shovelers, she was alone.

Alone in snowy, dark Manehattan.

A carriage or two would occasionally spring up to spatter Chink Cling with freezing water, but they disappeared as fast as they arrived, almost always leaving round the next intersection.

About an hour after that first poster was propped up, the armored mare found herself in Bronclyn's Fashion District, seeing for herself all the clothes stores out there on the streets.

All the closed clothes stores, actually.

Windows boarded up, signs saying something like "Will be back soon!", dresses and mannequins absent, displays unoccupied and empty. The only ponies there other than snow shovelers were workers in gray uniforms, trotting away from the riotous factories and mills churning out more uniforms, their smoke wiping out the stars from view—the moon shining through but dimly.

Chink Cling proceeded to continue her job there, putting up posters on the walls of these fancy clothes stores—these once-renowned focal points of the fashion world, now crude vehicles of recruitment messages for the army.

Only a few minutes of Cling posting posters later and she heard a shrill whistle.

Turned her head to the left.

It was hard to discern the details, but, at the far end of the road, coming out of one of those uniform mills, was a line of ponies wearing the same clothes—those shabby uniforms with their shabby caps tied up in a simple knot.

As they drew nearer to her, she could see the look on their faces—their sullen looks, their tired expressions, eyes only half-open and yearning for rest. The workers chatted in low sentences, stingy with their words, leaving their friends in a silence dotted by many hoofsteps. Their manes—drooping, sagging, tainted with dust and dirt.

Most of them passed the poster pony, withholding their looks from her and crossing the street without stopping to look left and right.

She could not hear a single carriage rolling about.

Then, near the back of the line, a mare strayed from her fellow "fashion associates", walking parallel to them at first. When she reached the bench across where Chink Cling was, she sat down on it, let out a drained sigh and an overworked groan.

Facing the wet street with its water and snow, ignoring the disquiet of the factories still busy, the purifiers still working.

The line went and scattered, everyone going to their homes.

Except for this mare on the bench, hearing the whirs and the hums of mills and machines—with them, the unmistakable noise of shovelers digging up snow as well.

Chink Cling, about to place another poster on another wall, stopped.

Stared at that uniformed mare sitting alone on the bench.

Cling let the silence continue for a while, watching if that pony would make any sudden moves.

Then, she put the poster back into her bag, walked to the bench, and sat down beside her.

Those two mares alone by the street, observing that wet street immersed in cold water and embellished with coarse snow.

Silent.

Cling looked at her, seeing her white face, her cracked purple mane, her coat polluted with soot. "Are you OK?"

Rarity groaned again. "What does it look like? Do I look OK to you?"

Cling balked. "Woah, sorry! I didn't mean to do that. I was just wondering...why are you here and not with them?"

Rarity glared at her. "Can't a pony have some peace and quiet these days?!"

Cling raised a hoof, about to say something.

Only to let it fall.

Rarity grabbed her own mane.

Brought it to view.

Saw its rough, faded strands.

Rarity sighed, turning slightly to Cling. "If you must know, I'm here because I'm getting sick of it—too sick of it to go straight home."

Cling eyed her, saw her forlorn face, her pursed mouth. "What are you sick of? Work?"

Rarity closed her eyes, facing away. "There's that. It's not work. It's mere drudgery. It numbs the mind, it deadens the senses...it's the same thing everyday. It's not something to look forward to if there's no challenge to it other than doing the same steps faster."

Cling nodded, placed a hoof on her back. "I see. I can sympathize with you."

Rarity moaned, opened her eyes. "At least you have the opportunity of changing your locales. You get to put those posters in a variety of distinct places. I'm forced to stay here—to work in the same spot in the same room on the same floor, and the same windows are closed, too."

Cling scooted closer to her. "Well, you have a home to go to. Why not relax with your family?"

Rarity choked, took a sip of water from her bottle. "Don't you know what time it is? It's eleven-thirty! Most of them's asleep, even my precious Sweetie Belle—and, I'm not sure if they'll let us have tomorrow off to celebrate New Year's Eve! I missed Hearth's Warming to work in the factory for five days straight...it wasn't even my choice!"

Slammed the bench with her hoof.

"You heard me right! Five days—it's either that or I cut off half of our income! Of course, I slept and they fed us, but we had to sleep right beside each other and we had to share pillows, and the soup tastes like flavored water! The biscuits are soggy, the carrots were rubbery—the only thing that was passable was the water!"

Grabbed Cling's shoulders.

"I can't leave!" Rarity shouted. "I will never leave until they let me go. Oh, how I wish they could hire somepony else to take my place, but I just have to sew those uniforms together! I've gotten so used to it, that my desire of getting out has withered away...here, stuck inside a factory until when? When the war ends? If we win? What if we lose? Then, I'll be a laborer until I die, never seeing a dress for the rest of my days, much less create suits and dresses gratis for all! But, I know they'll not be at their best without me doing something for them!"

Raised a hoof to her forehead, closed her eyes.

Screamed in an echo piercing the roads of Manehattan awake: "What shall I do?!"

Midnight.

Rarity plodded her way home, her hooves heavy on the sidewalk now clean of snow. Passing by the last apartment standing between her and slumber, she reached the glass doors of the bakery.

Entered it and overlooked the "Closed!" sign hanging there, catching sight of her mother reading a newspaper by one of the tables and under all the lights at the ceiling.

"Mother, you're up this late?" Rarity asked, shocked and trotting up to her.

As Cookie Crumbles and her daughter hugged each other.

"You must be very tired!" Cookie said, ruffling that dirty mane on Rarity and dropping the newspaper to the floor. "I can't imagine living there for a full work week, so you gotta give yourself a treat!"

Rarity smiled.

As they both removed themselves from each other's embrace.

"But, why are you up so late?" Rarity repeated, floating the newspaper back to the table. "Shouldn't you be sleeping right now?"

Cookie laughed. "I got the keys, remember?"

Rarity fumbled in her clothes' pockets.

While Cookie levitated the keys from within her hair. "The stress got to you."

Rarity sighed as if defeated. "Yes, that is the case. I'm sorry if you want to talk about it, but I really have to go to sleep on a real bed—"

Cookie blocked her path before Rarity had lifted a hoof.

"What are you doing, mother?"

Cookie motioned towards the door and floated a hot cup of tea into view. "Why don't you take a drink? I got something to show you upstairs in your room."

Rarity blinked, almost took a step back. "A surprise?"

Rarity opened the door to her room with her hoof.

Wrapped boxes of gifts resting under the Hearth's Warming tree, bells hanging from the painting frames and the window, table of boiling and sizzling pots of delicious and good-smelling food with a chocolate cake to cap the feast off, overpowering aroma of mint and strawberries, festive music playing at the vinyl player sitting by the wall—

With Hondo Flanks and Sweetie Belle, donning those soft red hats, greeting:

"Happy Hearth's Warming, Rarity!"

Rarity stood there, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells.

"Now, don't just stand there, silly!" Cookie said, moving in from the hallway outside and pulling her daughter into the room.

As Rarity walked closer, she could only make out strange syllables, blown away by the Hearth's Warming decorations around in her very own room.

"It was Sweetie's idea!" Hondo said, gesturing to the grinning little filly. "We told each other to not open our presents until you got home—and, perfect timin', too! You'll be celebratin' Hearth's Warming and New Year's on the same day!"

Sweetie galloped up to her sister.

And they both hugged, though Sweetie coughed at encountering the remaining dust on the uniform.

Rarity was silent in that embrace.

"Oh, and another thing as well, Rarity!" Hondo yelled, holding up a piece of paper and hoofing it to her.

Rarity levitated the paper and read it.

"Looks like whoever's runnin' the mill wants all of us to know that everypony's free for today—includin' you!"

The mare stopped reading.

Folded the letter neatly with her magic.

Floated it to her father.

A tear welling up.

"You were generous with all of us," Sweetie said, walking up to her. "It's amazing how you never got angry at us even though you had lots of late nights and nerve-racking work. You always told yourself that ponies out there need the clothes you make. Well, war or no war, it'd be unfair for us to not do anything about your unselfishness, so we did this to return the favor...to let us be generous with you."

Rarity stood there.

Silent, unmoving.

In her room, under the lights, hearing the music.

She hugged them.

That family all in one uniting hug.

"Oh, thank you!" she cried out, her sonorous voice giving way to joy past the tears. "What could I ever do without all of you?"

And, for one minute, that hug lasted. Not a word was said, and the only sound that meandered to their ears was comforting Hearth's Warming music.

"Alright!" Hondo shouted, letting go and loosing his tight grip. "We're gonna have us a serious dinner here, everypony! Rarity, did you know your Mom cooked all of this by herself?"

Rarity smiled, trotting to the small dinner table with her family.

As the music played on the vinyl player, filling the air with hearty songs and cheery tunes.

Starting From the Donut Place

Monday had Joe, wearing his purple apron, walk from his apartment to his fast food job in an elated mood and an upbeat gait, about to prance around. Ponies gave him odd looks, wondering what was on his mind that made him smile so. At any rate, his smile was remarkable enough for passers-by to sling a glance or two at him.

On his path, one could see Thoroughbred's decline. While the skyscrapers were many, they did not jibe with the empty streets and the almost empty sidewalks full of snow and trash. Ponies were seen inside the shops, but it was as if they wanted to stay inside and never go out—suspicious turns of the head were not helping matters, some shrinking away at the sight of a surprisingly happy Joe.

Closer to the marketplace, abandoned businesses and houses could be seen in their deplorable predicament. Yards of fallen trees and broken fences, windows of wooden boards and graffiti complaining about some sort of city regulation, racks of rotten food and sullied clothes, holes of deteriorating walls and ceilings—a sorry sight, a sorry state to have; and, it was strange to live right next to these signs of collapse, as a family of five could testify with their clean home and their uneasy looks whenever they happened to see a neighboring house, their breakfast packed with eerie silence while they wore jackets and sweaters.

Finally, Joe reached the marketplace.

Passing by the stalls, walking on the snowy pavement, he ignored the boasts of his cloud-selling enemy, keeping up that warm smile as he drowned out that voice by the closing of a door.

Inside this fast food outlet, it was mostly unfurnished with an attempted theme at black and white with a hint of purple. Scant tables and chairs were half black, half white; the floor was a checkerboard of black and white squares; the counter was purple with black and white stripes running across it, and the cashiers and cooks wore purple aprons—it all gave off the feeling of an amateurish setting, as if there was not much thought put into it other than achieving the minimum requirements for such a business. The only object that disobeyed the rules of the color scheme was the chalkboard menu at the back with its green surface, but that was easily made up for by the white chalk used to write the menu out in the first place.

"You're here!" Long Shot said, sporting her baseball hat and greeting Joe as he trotted to the counter. "Good to see you!"

Joe nodded at her then at the rest of his co-workers who nodded back at him. "It's good to see you all!"

"You better have a good explanation about the new equipment," said Tropical Storm, a green pegasus, who pointed with a wing to the conveyor belt machine by the side of the counter, loaded with bottles of honey glaze.

"Plus the unexplained order of baking ingredients," said Snapshot, a beige unicorn with green stubble on his chin, as he was frying a bunch of fries inside an oil vat.

Joe merely smiled all the more as he trotted to the contraption. "It's something I installed last night. Most of our food's fine, but I couldn't stand serving up boring old donuts! I'm going to revamp our donut line and breathe new life here!"

Long Shot stomped the ground in applause.

Ceased stomping the ground when she noticed that no one else was joining her applause.

"I'll be the one to cook 'em up first," Joe continued, raising his voice and gesturing about with his hoof. "Then, I'll teach the recipes to you. By the end of the week, we'll bring the whole city down to their knees and let them know that hope isn't lost, that we're here to bring them happiness, that they can enjoy life no matter what day it is!"

"We're feeding ponies, not trying to be cheerleaders," Tropical Storm quipped with a bored tone.

"Why not be somepony more?" Joe said. "Why just feed ponies when we can go further? If we can encourage these ponies, I'll take the opportunity and make them smile! A better way to live out my life than just going through the motions, am I right?"

Snapshot raised a hoof. "I'll take that any day, Joe!"

Long Shot raised her hoof, too. "I want in!"

Tropical Storm rolled her eyes. "Fine. At least it'll bring us more money if you succeed."

Joe smirked. "Then, what're we waiting for?!"

By sundown on that same day, that fast food chain, known as "By Drive", was abuzz with activity. Long lines stretched out beyond the glass doors and out to the marketplace—much to the annoyance of that cloud-selling pegasus at first, but, when he realized that it brought in more potential customers for his products, he proceeded to shout louder than ever to that line; he was successful in bringing some ponies out of line to buy his clouds, and, therefore, made good profit that night.

But, back to By Drive: it was thriving and flourishing with an influx of customers. While hayburgers, fries, sodas, and chips were still staples, donuts soared to the height of being a recurrent choice, whether it was a glazed donut or a chocolate donut or a strawberry donut or a jelly-filled donut or a peanut butter donut or a lettuce donut—which was a glazed donut topped with small pieces of lettuce. It was a crunchy kind of donut, and it gave the eater a sense of satisfaction, inducing him to think that he was eating a healthy kind of donut.

As far as researchers knew, a lettuce donut might not be as healthy as one thought.

When By Drive finally closed its doors at eleven in the evening, the line remained though greatly shortened—yet, not a single pony was checking his watch restlessly or tapping his hoof in impatience. Because of them, Tropical Storm grumbled her way through, peeking at the clock as each customer got his order. Preparing the hayburgers, the fries, the ice cream—especially the donuts on their conveyor belts and in their heated displays....

The moment the last diner left the premises and trotted outside with a full stomach, it was eleven-fifty.

The four ponies looked at each other, their aprons now stained.

They smiled.

Jumped into the air, bumped each other's hooves.

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" Snapshot yelled, shooting a hoof to the air.

"Friday, here we come!" Long Shot exclaimed, closing her eyes in excitement. "If this is what it's going to be on a Monday, I wonder what'll it be like on a Friday! Imagine it! We might have to order more tables to set up outside! We'll have the whole area to ourselves—'By Drive now covers all of Scallion Market!'" She emphasized it with a wave of her hoof.

Tropical Storm crossed her forelegs, flapping her wings above her peers. "Better than nothing, Joe."

Joe smiled. "I told ya'!"

They laughed under the bright lights and the messy tables and the snowy floors they had to clean up, not to mention the conveyor belt now grimy with brittle, dried coats of glaze that had to be washed off.

But, they relished in their cold air and in that wondrous time together, ending with a group hug.

As the week progressed, By Drive showed no signs of stopping. While the morning and the afternoon of Tuesday was lackluster, the evening brought in herds of ponies wanting more. Already, foreign newcomers and Thoroughbred veterans alike were asking for new flavors to be added to the menu and, most of the time, their requests were answered on the spot as Joe spent a minute or two looking for the correct ingredients, mixed them up, and made the donut sought for.

A curious request was made by a mare with a straw hat. She asked for a sunny-side up donut.

"What does that mean?" Joe asked over the counter.

"Why, ain't it obvious?" she replied. "It's a donut with sunny-side up eggs! 'Course, I'd like to have mine with a hayburger for a balanced meal—yes, sirree!"

A minute later, the customer was delighted to be eating a donut with sunny-side up eggs on it.

When Wednesday night rolled by, keen observers noticed something. On the tables, the donuts were maturing as a food choice, on the way to becoming a mainstay. There was a considerable number of ponies who ordered a donut only—maybe a softdrink and a bag of fries to go along with it—but the donut becoming a By Drive bulwark was undeniable, and, if one would think otherwise...why not try some? Surely, a donut outside the traditional range of flavors would be ample reason to have a go at it.

Thursday morning, before By Drive was open, Long Shot and Joe talked to each other inside as the other two turned on the lights and turned on the ovens and stoves, preparing for another day at work.

"I overheard this conversation by my room," Long Shot said, "and they were talking about a spice...that, there's this spice out there and this mare knew someone who could get a bit of it."

"Well, what's it called?" Joe said, enthusiastic and inclining his ear toward her. "I can't believe no one's asked for a spicy donut before. I bet they weren't talking about chili, though."

Long Shot shook her head. "It wasn't chili. It was...I think it was called 'The Speziato'."

Joe pulled back a little. "Oh? I've never heard of it before."

Tropical Storm, wiping a table, locked eyes with him—growing passionate, as if her lips and eyes were flaring. "The Speziato is a rare chili often said to originate from Ornithia. It's famous for being extremely fragile when used as a spice. Open a box of it, and you have around ten minutes to cook it in some way before it spoils for good."

Joe cocked his head. "Do you have any idea what it tastes like?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I've tried it once when I was very young. Parrot peddlers looking for quick cash were hawking us with Speziato. I had chili macaroni with it, and...it wasn't a pleasant experience." She closed her eyes, floating above the table now. "I survived, and I lived to tell the tale."

"It's that strong, huh?" Joe blathered. Turned to Long Shot. "Do you know where to buy this stuff?"

Long Shot shook her head again. "But, if you can give me just a half hour to find those ponies—"

She was off.

Friday night towed in a hefty crowd, swarming the market with so many hungry ponies, reporters were already talking about it and journalists were severe with their quills, scribbling as fast as they could about the latest craze coming over Thoroughbred: By Drive.

The sidewalk was where the line began, and whenever it moved, at least one other pony would move in, if not two or three more, under the streetlights. Hooves shuffled and shifted in the snow, ponies wearing more layers of clothes than usual. Chatter and chitchat increased, filling the market with excited warbles, speaking out expectations and hopes for a gratifying experience inside.

Vendors at their stalls were in full force, hollering the names of their products and services—over here, the cloud-canvassing pegasus was screeching above the fracas of the crowd, holding on to a megaphone and spreading his message abroad.

"Quiet down!" one called out.

"Yeah! We don't want your clouds! We're hungry!" another yelled.

Despite that, a few ponies who were not in line trotted to him and bought clouds of their own, much to the pleasure of that pegasus. However, when he looked at the bits weighing down on his stall's shelves, he stared blankly for a while. He blinked, and put down his megaphone, passing into contentment to relax and watch By Drive go.

Just outside By Drive, right in front of the glass facade, were additional tables and chairs on which sat the customers who were neither early nor late. Already, those still in line could detect the delicious aroma of grilling hayburgers even in the wintry outside, and a good distraction for them to wait it out was checking out the donut conveyor belt in action—heated donuts placed at one end of it, slowly rolled through a waterfall of glaze, then slowly rolled out of it, the glaze solidifying in seconds before being levitated by Snapshot at the other end onto trays which were then transported into the heated displays by the counter for all to see and peruse.

The line moved, and those who transferred from the outside to the inside felt the blast of cold, conditioned air—hearing everything inside clearly, from the conversations of diners to the brief exchanges and orders made by the staff to each other, those waiters and chefs speeding around but with a plan—no spills, no shaky eyes or lips, and no fumbling around for missing items in this organized situation.

Hearing the sizzles and the fizzles from the kitchen, too.

Another customer went up to the counter, seeing the starving stallion before her trot away holding a tray in his mouth.

"I'll have a plain donut, please," that plump mare said to Joe in a brusque accent.

"Oh, Chock-full Carafe!" Joe said, lighting up behind the counter. "It's been some time since I last saw you!" His smile disappeared. "Aren't you supposed to be back in Manehattan? Where's Babs?"

She glanced back, looking at the bleak and frosty outside. "Staying at the hotel with her Cutie Mark Crusader friends or whatever."

Joe picked up a plain donut from the display and plopped it on a plate. Levitated it to her.

Carafe nodded. "Thanks."

Trotted away, holding a tray in her mouth.

Joe prepared to face the next customer, maintaining that smile.

Joe kept smiling as he trotted down Thoroughbred's sidewalks past midnight, eyeing a small sack of bits on his hoof before pocketing it.

As he walked by various second-rate hotels and apartments with spent lights, along with various leafless trees—their branches sticking out like thick and sharp sticks ready to harm. Snowflakes fell harmlessly to the ground, sometimes on to him, but he plowed on. The snow did not hinder him; in his glad emotion, he treated the snow as a field of flowers to frolic upon, where laurels hung from the trees.

Wet and empty streets, snow shovelers in the distance doing their shoveling job.

A tap on the shoulder.

Joe turned around.

A pegasus—he could see her turqouise wings.

She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Ah, you!"

Joe looked her in the eyes, shoved her away, pawed the snowy pavement. "What do you want from me?!"

The pegasus looked about, flopping her yellow mane about. "The name's Lightning Dust. It's bad for me to break protocol, but I'm part of the RSRR. We work together with the S.M.I.L.E., and we just figured out you've been victim to a malicious plan."

Joe stared at her, putting on a defensive position. "Look, lady. You're pulling a scam on me! You gotta do better than that to—"

Lightning Dust took out an ID card, grabbed his hoof, put it there, and smacked him on the face with his own ID-holding hoof.

"Now, do you feel better?" she asked, serious—her shades glittering under the night sky.

Joe rubbed his head, floating the card to his face as he did so. "Y-Yeah...but, what's going on? I-Is there—"

"You didn't receive a shipment of exotic chili," Lightning said. "You've received a shipment of illegal weapons."

"Weapons?!" Joe repeated. "I h-haven't opened the box yet, but...weapons?! Come to think of it, they were heavier than I expected—"

"That's because they're secret, classified weapons!" she whispered rough to his ear. "Straight from the testing labs in Canterlot! Their plan—" coughed "—their plan on you is to frame you as the head of a riot, a rebellion against the Princesses themselves."

"Me?!" Joe repeated once more, wiping his forehead. "I'm just a pony who serves donuts and—"

"That's more than enough for them," she chimed in. "You've caused quite a stir with renewing ponies' lives with nice food. However, your enemies don't like it—they want everyone to stay down where they are to prepare for something worse. They want to enforce the law, make sure everything runs smooth—agh!"

Grabbed him by the shoulders again.

"You've got to go with me now! Your life is at stake, and I have to protect you before you get hurt!"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Alright, but if I smell any funny business, it's a punch to the head and you're out."

Lightning smiled. "Good! Let's fly!"

"What?!"

"Agh! Put me down! Put me down!"

As Lightning Dust carried a screaming Joe through the night sky, his mane flapping about as Lightning let him see Thoroughbred with its towers now a patch of remote thorns from so high up—letting him feel the wind, the speed, the energy, the clouds.

Also the fear of heights.

"I don't wanna die, please! Couldn't they send a unicorn to teleport me away?!"

"Quiet!" Lightning shouted above the rush of the wind. "I need to concentrate!"

As they flew.

"Watch out—we'll be facing turbulence in three, two, one—"

Angled down.

Flew down.

Fast.

"No! Lightning Dust, are you trying to kill me?! Is this how our reconnaissance unit works?!"

"Not so loud! You want them to reveal our existence?!"

Except Joe was so loud at screaming.

Louder.

Faster.

Closer to the ground.

Then, stop.

Floating above the facade of a closed, gloomy By Drive.

Lightning dropped him.

He fell to the ground, slightly cracking the concrete and scattering the snow.

Lightning Dust flew straight to the door, kicked it, and shattered it into a thousand shards with a noisy crash.

Joe got up, leaped above the shards, galloped inside.

"Get to the inventory!" Lightning Dust said, twirling her head about. "I'll be standing post here, see if I could catch the crooks!"

Joe ran.

Jumped over the counter.

Ran deeper, into the kitchen.

To the back.

Various boxes.

He glowed his horn.

Saw the labels.

Scanned them.

A box with the label "Speziato".

Opened it.

Glowed his horn brighter.

In the box, crossbows with yellow arrows.

Hoofsteps marching outside.

Joe whirled his head round.

Blinded by the light.

Heard a baritone voice shout:

"You, sir! You're under arrest for harboring classified weapons! Put your hooves in the air!"

Joe closed his eyes.

Felt the light's bright heat on him.

Raised his forehooves.

Lowered his chained forehooves.

As he sat inside the carriage of a train, guards sitting on his left and right, watching him with sharp eyes. At the corners of the carriage, more guards, each taking turns watching him. The lights inside were off save for the one in the center, leaving the rest of the lighting to the stars and the moon outside.

There, a river ran parallel to the train tracks, an ever changing watercourse flashing white all over in the moonlight.

Joe felt the sweat going down.

Panting.

"W-Was she r-really lying?" he asked, stuttering, turning both ways.

The guard on his left shook his head. "We've known Lightning Dust for some time. She's a criminal in her own right. Tried to set up her own thing, attempted to shake various cities into chaos with her ability to provoke ponies into a rally under different names. She's usually cautious, but I think she got too confident in her own skills."

Joe blubbered. "But...but what about me?! You know I didn't buy these weapons! I wasn't sympathetic!"

The guard only smiled. "Even if you're not, the evidence stacks up against you. We found your hoofprints and your magic signature on those weapons, we've found correspondence between you and other rebel lowlifes, and you've sent a letter to one of your burger buddies hours ago about how you're going to do something drastic soon—that's ominous."

Joe ruffled his mane, becoming unkempt and undone. "I didn't do any of that!"

"That's what a criminal mastermind would say," the guard to his right said before he chuckled.

Both guards laughing at that little joke.

Joe shivered, looked outside at the hilly landscape.

Then, the door at the end of the carriage opened.

Joe raised his head to see the mysterious figure.

That cloaked, goggled stranger.

Joe's eyes widened. "Wh-Who's she?!"

All the guards stood up and saluted the approaching stranger.

The stranger stopped by Joe's escorts.

Saluted those two guards. "You may sit down."

The two guards sat down.

That stranger examined Joe, slanting her head to the left, to the right.

His voice faltered, his eyes dilated, he breathed faster, could hear and feel his heartbeat at the sight of her glare.

"I got wind of your exploits," she said, turning her frown into a smirk. "You ponies must know your place."

The stranger turned to the guards.

"I predict that he will get at least a month in the dungeon. It is lenient, I admit."

Grinned.

"I shall lobby for a longer punishment, hm?"

Joe gasped. "Twilight—"

"Twilight Sparkle is dead," the stranger said, growling—goggles glinting under the moon. "It is disrespectful to call ponies by dead names."

With that, the stranger walked off.

Leaving Joe shuddering between his two guard escorts.

In the train, traveling through the night.