Altered Destiny

by SoothingCoffee

Rating: teen
Tags: Sunset Shimmer, Profanity, Violence, Alternate Universe, Twilight Sparkle, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Thriller, Adventure
Length: 24436

Becoming a Royal Guard in the peaceful land of Equestria, Twilight had expected boring posts, and patrols around the Castle. Instead, she had to deal with monsters, vengeful ghosts, cultists, and Sunset Shimmer. She's not complaining, though.

Guard
noun

a person who keeps watch, especially a soldier or other person assigned to protect a person or to control access to a place.

There is more to a Royal Guard than meets the eye. Capturing crooks, chasing ruffians, fighting monsters, stopping assassinations, and protecting the Princess with all their worth -- with a thousand years of peace time, they have become more and less. But the future is uncertain, and within the horizon, the dark storms are a brewing.

Aiming to become a Royal Guard had never been Twilight's first choice of career -- it certainly was not what Mom and Dad wanted her to be. Still, that didn't stop Twilight Sparkle to pursue that dream. Now that she was one, she had to deal with monsters, cultists, vengeful ghosts, prickly teammates, forgotten childhood friends, and a Sunset Shimmer. Not exactly what she had expected out of her military career in peaceful Equestria, but perhaps it wasn't far off from what she wanted.

Serious thanks to Sunglow for offering proofreading and commentaries.

Link to the Spacebattles Thread

Published 2019-03-25 09:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-04-23 21:31:25 UTC

Twilight Becomes a Royal Guard... In Just One Moment​

Twilight Becomes a Royal Guard... In Just One Moment

Twilight’s alarm clock rang.

It was a loud, and long-drawn shrill cry — almost painful to the ears. It was annoying, and that was its main purpose; to annoy its owner enough to wake them up.

Riiiiinnnggg — click.

Twilight cracked her eyes open, and pulled the clock. It read: 5:40. “Oh — wait — ” Twilight paused. She glanced to her left — the cot was empty. She blinked, and then craned her head up to the top bunk beds. They were also both empty. A pit of dread formed inside her stomach as she stared back at her clock. Its long needle ticked, almost taunting her. “Damned rotten soypiss, they messed with my alarm.”

Great, Twilight thought sullenly as she put the clock back, and climbed off her back. Normally she’d wake up early before dawn to work off some sweat — not that she needed to anymore; at least not compulsory so. But it set a good habit, and early exercise was good to get the blood pumping for the day. It was one of the things that her roommates were happy about since today was… the final… Twilight stopped; the towel hanging limply in the air, before slipping from her magical grasp.

Today was the Final Test of the Final Week.

“Rotten soy…” she muttered, that pit growing deeper as she checked the clock back. 5:46. The Exam Proctor, Sergeant Whiplash had told them to gather on the courtyard at 6:10. That meant that she had half-an-hour. Her heart skipped a couple beats, and for a moment, Twilight thought she was going to keel over. What if I had decided to snooze the clock? What if I had — not that Twilight would ever do any of those, but still! “Oh those jerks…” Twilight growled, her eye twitching. She took one deep breath, quickly — she was told she had to do it slowly, but she didn’t have time for that — count from ten to one

Shower was both a luxury, and ritual after her daily morning exercise — but she could skip that. Being a little stinky was worth being punctual. Breakfast? That’s important. Skipping breakfast was heavily warned against. She snatched the military-approved ration-bar from her bedside, and immediately munched for it. Faintly sweet, but overall bland and dry. Rich in calories, and nutritions though. As she turned the sink-water on the corner of the room on, she splashed some water over her face, and took a quick few gulps to down the bar. That done, she slammed her wardrobe open, and practically leaped into her nondescript dark-yellow easily. She took a glance at her mirror. Looked a little messy, but — her cap! She almost forgot about it! One smooshed over her head, and Twilight smiled happily. Fit like a fiddle. She gave the sewed sun insignia on her breast a quick buff-up, before saluting. “Cadet Twilight Sparkle, ready for duty.”

She was the perfect model of a Royal Guard Cadet.

Dropping her hoof, she glanced back to the clock. 5:50. More than enough time to grill them when I see them later, Twilight thought darkly as she broke into a gallop, slamming the door behind her.

The corridors, and hallways of the dormitory blurred around her as she accelerated. Twilight passed several ponies, and grimaced. One of them was Sergeant Sharpeye, Twilight was sure. Running was strictly forbidden in the hallway, and the stallion was a stickler to the rules. A reason why Twilight liked the stallion, his pettiness and sadism aside. Even if today was her final day here, Twilight made a note to deliver the stallion an apology apple pie personally afterwards.

Normally, Twilight preferred to take her time in these corridors; taking the much more scenic route. These were, after all, the halls of heroes — perhaps not in the most literal sense, but in spirit. Her predecessors had walked here, and there were tiny proof left of their presence. Traces of memories. From motivational posters that were made by cadets of last generations, to that little hoof-mark on the wall left by the current Captain of Royal Guards who led the inter-curriculum prom-date war between the first and third years.

Twilight passed another glass-case that was proudly displayed, filled with trophies, medals, and certificates from various competitions. This one of them even had Twilight’s name on one of the trophies — 1st Place on the Duelling Competition, placed alongside other gold-plated cups of the same competitions. Perhaps it was a little vain, but she could still recall standing on that podium; black and blue, and practically mummified. For all the hurt, it had been worth it, and Twilight had left her mark on these four years. She had planned to take an early morning tour through the dorm, and the academy building as her last day here.

Another thing to grill on them later, Twilight added as she leapt through a staircase, grunting and rolling to bleed of the momentum, and immediately picked up speed again, feeling the cold morning air against her coat, and the warm heat of the sun, rising upon the horizon. In the end, it had taken Twilight roughly ten minutes to reach the scheduled meeting place. She could already see that most of the Cadets had already gathered here, and she was one of the last. Eyes were already on her by the time the formation of ponies entered her vision.

“Exactly ten minutes before we start…” Sergeant Whiplash announced stoically, eyeing his watch. The earth pony cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re later than usual, Cadet Sparkle. In fact, you’re the last to arrive. Should I be worried?”

Chuckles spread through the formation. Twilight felt her cheeks heat up as she snapped into a salute, trying to hide her hard breathing. “No, Sir! Unfortunately —”

“I do not want to hear your excuse, Cadet! Save it to whoever cares!” Sergeant barked, and Twilight nearly felt her spine jump at the volume. “Go to your line!”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Twilight replied, watching the Sergeant nod approvingly before she finally dropped her hoof. As she turned back, her steps zeroed in on three particular ponies. The pairs of eyes immediately looked away. They were lucky that her spot was nowhere near them.

“Damn,” she heard the pegasus on her left whisper nervously. Soft white coat, and yellow mane that reach the side of her neck. Her blue eyes glanced to her. “Last time you were this late, the whole class had to be cancelled. Should we actually be worried, Twilight?”

Twilight’s eyes twitched, and didn’t deign to answer. Stupid question normally didn’t deserve one — especially when that question was based on stupid superstitions.

“I heard that, Creamy Delights!” Sergeant Whiplash growled. Said pegasus squeaked. “Now, stand at rest!” the earth trembled a little as a hundred ponies shifted their stance. The Sergeant watched, before nodding. He checked the clipboard on his hoof, before putting it back into his saddlebag. “I’ll begin the roll call! Afterwards, I’ll explain to you what the Final Exam entails while we wait until our ride arrives! Open your damn ears wide, because I will not be answering questions, or repeat any of this!” this time, the air trembled. With a Cutie Mark of a megaphone on the dark-brown earth pony’s flanks, it was said that his voice rivalled that of the legendary Royal Canterlot Voice.

Nopony so far seemed to disagree.

“Ambrosia!”

“Here!”

“Anemone!”

“Here!”

“Astral Line!”

“Here!”

.

2

.

The Equestrian Armed Force was divided mainly into three branches: the Equestrian Aviation Force, composed mostly of Pegasi and the few odd Griffons, there to maintain Equestria’s air might, and in the case of the Wonderbolts, to flaunt it around for diplomacy and entertainment. There was Equestrian Ground Force, perhaps the hardiest of the bunch; a mixed batch of all Pony races, though with a distinct count of Earth ponies, peppered with the occasional odd races. Then there was the Equestrian Navy Force, responsible for maintaining Equestria’s sea supremacy, and their control of the borderlines between countries or continents.

Then there was the Royal Guard: the elite of elites, the best of bests; knight of knights, composed of the most honest, loyal, charismatic, and strongest — the Crème de la Crème. Despite having to graduate from the Military Academy with flying colors, pass the officer training, and several other classes that seemed almost extraneous, they were actually no part of Equestrian Armed Force than the police were.

They were Princess Celestia’s Sword and Shield — and the distinction where Equestria ends, and Princess Celestia begins (or was it where Princess Celestia ends, and Equestria begins?) might be small, blurry, and nigh imperceptible, but it were there. It existed — and their existence; their reason for being was to be that, and only that. Protect the Princess with all their might, and serve whoever she wishes to be served.

And it’s what I’m going to be, Twilight thought with a grin. Her dream from a filly had never changed. Matured, perhaps, becoming more in touch with reality — less hoping to fight a fire-breathing dragon, with Princess Celestia behind her, and more patrolling the Castle, and following the Princess, ensuring everypony — chief of all, Princess Celestia — was all safe and happy. Assuming that I’ll pass this exam.

At that, Twilight’s grin faded away, her mind returning to the present. Batch of twenty ponies this year, all of them aiming to join the ranks of the Royal Guard. Each of them was divided into a group of four, and with Twilight appointed as leader, she was confident that they would pass. After all, she had prepared for this exact moment. There were two conditions to passing the exam: Either stay, and survive in the terrain they had been assigned into for three days — in their case, a forest, or retrieve the “relic” that they had hidden inside. There would be danger. Wolves, and bears. Possibly worse. In Twilight’s mind, it was the perfect exam; the culmination of her four years in the Academy; every skill she had picked up, and every knowledge she had internalized, all put to test.

… And she had nearly missed it because somepony thought it would be funny to mess with her clock. Oh sure, her internal clock would have woken her up five minutes later, but it did not change the fact that the chance of her having to repeat the year, not because she would fail, but because she’d be late existed.

Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in onto the three ponies sitting opposite of her. The flying carriage they were in, heading towards her team’s designated forest, was quiet. Painfully so. Three ponies that had been her roomates for roughly four years. Three ponies that she barely knew much at all despite that four years, and had provided no reason why she should — and currently, three pairs of eyes that were refusing to meet hers.

“Look at me,” Twilight said. They didn’t. Inhale, count from ten to one, exhale. “I said,” her horn came to live, and the three ponies were yanked towards her. “Look at me,” she hissed. Wide eyes, filled with shock and fear stared at her. For a moment, Twilight paused, almost recoiling; her throat felt dry. Then she took another breath, and focused on each one of them.

Scuffed orange coat, and a messy dark-magenta mane the almost resembled the streak on Twilight’s mane: Pockets the pegasus, her bunkmate. Then there was Hard Coal, whose grey coat lived up to his name, and whose short pony-tailed mane streaked alternately between white and blue — a stallion whose stature bordered on being a mare; lithe, and slender, though there was no denying the strength of an earth pony.

Then, finally, there was Star Cell. Unicorn. Her sapphire blue coat seemed to almost glimmer, and her mane, an equal divide of dark and sky blue, was styled with the help of so many chemicals it was probably more unhealthy than the amount of candies Shiny ate during Nightmare Night. And that’s saying a lot — Shiny’s a healthy young colt who exercises a lot because of her, and Dad said I wasn’t much better than him, but sometimes… Twilight shook her head, and focused back to the present.

These three ponies, they were all her roommates, had lived together in the same space for four years, and by fortune or misfortune, had been teamed together.

They were not friends. Acquaintances, yes. Colleagues, at most. But never friends.

And by far, Star Cell was perhaps the worst of them all. Twilight couldn’t remember why; perhaps there was none. Some ponies were bitter like that, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Star Cell was within that “some ponies”. Even if the three all played a part, either through inaction or otherwise, Twilight was willing to be her whole left foot that Star Cell had been the one with the idea.

Twilight inhaled deeply. “We’ve lived together for four years, so we should’ve known each other’s habits by now. I never touched any of you guys’ personal belongings, and I’ve never given any permission for one of you to touch mine — so never. Ever,” Twilight stressed, leaning closely towards them, almost touching eye-to-eye-to-eye-to-eye — before focusing fully towards Star Cell. “Mess with my clock, got it?”Twilight waited for their nod; or rather, Star Cell’s, before she eventually released them from her grip.

They grunted, falling back to their seat. Silence descended back into the carriage, and Twilight tried to ignore the dripping pit of shame formed by her outburst. As she saw the way her teammates refused to meet her eyes; more fear than before… Twilight bit the inside of her cheek. The apology tried to snake out of her mouth, but she immediately swallowed it back, tightening her jaws.

“I-it was just a prank, Twilight,” Pockets choked out, rubbing the side of her neck. “Geez.”

“I could’ve overslept,” Twilight pointed out.

“But you didn’t,” Pockets shot back, grumbling. Her eyes looked away. “You said we should’ve known each others’ habits, and we have — I have, at least, and that wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, so that justifies everything, doesn’t it?”

Pockets didn’t answer that, resorting to glaring unsurely.

“That actually hurt a little,” Hard Coal returned quietly. “Besides, I… I didn’t even do anything.”

“Coal,” Twilight rolled her eyes. “You’re not as charming, or smart as you think you are.”

“For once, I have to agree with Twilight,” the sneer on Star Cell’s lips showed how difficult it was for her to say that.

Coal let out a quiet grumble.

Dropping her hoof from her neck, Star looked at Twilight and scoffed. “Still, what a marvelous team leader you are, Twilight. Makes we wonder if we should even listen to you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Twilight said. “I’m appointed as leader.”

Anger flashed in Star’s eyes. Anger and envy — but they were gone as soon as they appeared. Not that she needed to hide it, Twilight thought. “You say that like it actually matters,” Star said. “Consider this: a passage breaks off into two paths; in a group of four, three of them agrees to take left one, while the fourth the right. Against the majority, what’s the minority going to do? Go alone? She could, but she’s probably smart enough not to do that. Tattle? Sounds like something she would do,” Star cocked an eyebrow. “Would you, Twilight?”

Twilight flinched. Inwardly, she knew she deserved this — perhaps not for Star Cell’s own little grudge way before this, but for that little outburst she did. It was unbecoming, and the more she viewed the last few minutes back, the more sickened she felt. She was just so stressed from the past five days of intense testing; a boiling kettle with no outlet to release the steam. It was still no justification for her to explode just like that. It definitely did not live up to the Principle of Harmony Equestria stood for.

“Mutiny it is, then,” Twilight muttered, not feeling quite as opposed as she probably should at the idea.

Star smirked. “No. Just a practice of democracy, Twilight.”

“Democracy, you say,” Twilight snorted, smirking despite herself. She shook her head. “Is that what they call it, these days?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Star mused wryly. “Nevertheless, the test hasn’t officially began yet, so how about we put this to a vote. Those in favor of me leading this team, raise your hoof.”

With smug confidence, Star raised her hoof. Hard Coal followed, his eyes flinted against Twilight. Then there was Pockets; her eyes alternated between Twilight and Star, before she finally raised hers.

“And those in favor of having Twilight as our glorious leader?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. It was only formality at this point — almost an act of indulgence, from the smirk Star wore. She didn’t get it, how or why she got that enmity. Still, she raised her hoof, anyway, while the others lowered theirs.

“Well then,” Star stated gleefully, clapping her hooves once. “I think we’ve reached a consensus.”

Ousted on my first team-leading exam, Twilight mused. Maybe I’m not fit for this — leadership thing. In all the classes and courses she took, that was probably the only one she had scored mediocrely. You’re too impatient, Cadet Sparkle, too greedy; not everypony is like you, and they’re not pawns on a chessboard — they’re their own player, and character. Not that it mattered, Twilight supposed. It stung, of course. She had been the one assigned as team-leader, and that meant it carried a certain expectation. Betraying that expectation — that trust — didn’t sit well. In the end though, they all wanted to pass the exam, and that was all that mattered.

“Prepare yourself, Cadets,” one of the pegasi drivers called out. “We’re five minutes away from landing.”

“And just on time too,” Twilight said, dryly, ending the conversation. She gathered her weapons — a spear and a sword — from the side of the carriage, and strapped her saddlebag onto her back. She watched her teammates do the same, though it seemed that Pockets had decided to bring a set of knives and a crossbow instead of the usual armaments.

Shaking the minor pique of curiosity away, Twilight pushed the small curtains of the carriage away, and took in the sight. There was that sudden sickness and nausea that never failed to hit her — realizing how far she was from the ground; how easy it would be for her to just open the door, and go splat as gravity took over. It had been bad enough, with the air sickness lingering in the background, but now with it taking the front-seat, Twilight had to wonder why she even bothered opening the curtains. Unicorns weren’t simply made for flight.

Below was nothing but a stretch of green plains, rolling over and over, forming small hills upon hills — and a road rolled over them like a carpet made of dirt. Looking up from here, it painted a rather picturesque image; it reminded her of the ocean waves crashing against the side of the pier — pressed into a portrait, and its essence pasted onto the land.

Her eyes traced over the road, nothing the few occasional caravans and carriages passing through them. Merchants, if Twilight had to guess, and down the road, it separated into two paths. The left continued towards a small village, hard to see from being at the edge of the horizon, while the right path eventually led to a patch of trees; a forest that looked smaller from above, but was probably way bigger from below. That’s where they’re going to have their exam. Where she’ll finally join the ranks of Royal Guard.

Her chest began to beat faster, ears twitching and prickling. Twilight licked her lips, hooves tapping against the sill of the window. True enough, the forest soon grew larger as they got closer — and the descent was much worse than the flying, or the ascent. Her guts flipping, and fluttering; the body was convinced that it was touching solid surface, but the brain wasn’t so easily fooled. In the end, Twilight had to close her eyes until she felt that bump as the carriage touched surface, and heard the clop-clopping of the pegasi outside trailing to a stop.

“We’ve arrived, Cadets,” one of the pegasi shouted. “Come out now.”

One by one, they filed out of the carriage. If it wasn’t for the fact that everypony’s watching, Twilight might’ve leapt out and hugged the earth immediately. As it was, however, she waited until Star Cell stepped off the carriage, before following after — Coal and Pockets trailing after her. The wind blew softly at her mane, and the sound of brushing, and crackling leaves tickled at her ears. Twilight took a breath. The air tasted different here compared to Canterlot. Fresher — more natural, though not necessarily better or cleaner.

“Welcome to the Bluegrave Forest, Cadets,” wearing a cocksure grin, one of the pegasi approached them — Sky Count, Twilight recalled, and both his coat lived up to his name; sky blue as the color of his eyes, and his blond mane curled and permed; the picture of a top hat on both his flanks. “What do you think, Trigger? Think these guys got what it takes?”

The other pegasus — Trigger Feathers — shrugged. Deep blue eyes, and short brown mane coupled with his lighter shade of brown coat cut him as an almost unassuming figure. His Cutie Mark, a lightning strike with wings of them was anything but. “The exam is only a formality,” he said. “If they got it this far, then they already got it.”

Twilight tried not to preen under the praise, and eyed the mouth of the forest. “Why is it called Bluegrave Forest, Sir?” she pondered.

“A leftover from ages ago — Pre-Unification ‘ages ago’. It’s one of the resting grounds of those wendigos. It’s why it gets a little colder at night,” Count explained, before chuckling at Pockets’ worried look. “But that’s still ‘ages ago’, Cadet. The wendigos are nothing but memories by now — locals here visit it for their annual Nightmare Night, and it became a little of a haunted forest attraction thing for some brave tourists.”

“... And we’ll have to camp here for three days, huh,” Coal gulped. “With little food, and in the cold…”

“You’ll survive,” Trigger assured them. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You sound so sure,” Star Cell pointed out, eyes cocked skeptically. “Did you actually go through the same thing?”

Trigger tilted his head in thought, before nodding. “Eeyup.”

Star rolled her eyes.

“Well, no point in dilly-dallying, Cadets!” Count shouted, grinning. “Get in there! Three days, or retrieve the hidden ‘relic’ — and remember, the red flares are for personal use, but the green flares are if you guys are calling it quits — or in some emergency,” his face grew serious at that. “No shame in doing that, Cadets.”

Twilight could connect the dots. You could still repeat the exam if you’ve failed — you can’t if you somehow got severely injured. For a moment, Twilight pondered about that. Failure wasn’t an option — and she knew that none of her group was going to pull the green flare.

“Got it,” Star Cell nodded stoically. “See you in three days, Sirs.”

Twilight gave her two seniors a proper salute, much to their trailing laughter behind her as she caught up to Star Cell, with Hard Coal and Pockets behind Twilight. They stood directly at the lips of the Forest — a certain excitement coursing through them; some nerves, and anxious energy. Even if Trigger assured them that the exam itself was a “formality”, that didn’t shake the fact that they had waited four years for this; that even though he called it “formality”, there was still a chance for failure.

Not that Twilight would ever let it come to that. Her face settled at that, back towards the basic stoic expression that everypony wanting to join the Military — or the Royal Guard, in her case — had been hammered into. Yes, Twilight was sure that despite the incident back in the carriage, and whatever hostility Star had against her, they could work together for this. A unified group of soon-to-be Royal Guards.

Twilight nodded, taking a step forward. “Let’s go in —”

Star Cell put a hoof before her, stopping Twilight. She smirked, moving in front of her. “We’ll go in with a two-by-two formation. I and Coal will lead the front, while you and Pockets will cover our back. Understood, Twilight?”

Her eye twitched. She wasn’t sure what annoyed her the most: that she had been cut off, or the fact that Star Cell had said what Twilight would’ve had said.

Well, things can only look up from here.

.

3

.

“Let’s find a spot to make camp first,” Star suggested after a while. “Then we’ll brainstorm on how to get that relic.”

“Wait, we’re doing that?” Pockets blurted. Her hoof stumbled over a poking root, and she let out a small squeak. Her wings flared open, flailing. Twilight could only watch in bemusement with the rest of the group as Pockets’ leg got more trapped with each moment. “T-Twilight, h-help!”

“Calm down, Pockets,” Twilight said, approaching the mare, her horn glowing with intent.

Pockets let out a whimper, but with great effort, folded her wings back in. She winced when she saw her entangled leg. Purple aura enveloped them, and soon enough Twilight stretched a hole through the vines and roots for Pockets’ limb to slip out. She tumbled forward for a bit, letting out a small cheer, before realizing that the entire group was looking at her.

“Um,” she coughed, glancing surreptitiously at Twilight. “T-thanks for the assist, Twilight.”

“You’re welcome,” Twilight replied the group continued moving. “I guess you’re not used to forests, huh,” she asked wryly.

“Er. No,” Pockets glanced away, ears splaying over her head. “I always lived in the city… and I never bothered taking the survival classes. N-not that I need to!” she snorted, puffing her chest up. “You?”

“I took said classes,” Twilight replied blandly. “And a few camping trips with my family.”

“Oh,” the pegasus grimaced, ears folding. “A-anyway,” she started again. “So we’re going to look for the relic as well? How we going to do that? Can’t we just… you know, wait out for three days?”

“No.”

“No.”

Twilight met Star Cell’s eyes squarely. Star looked away with a huff. “If you want to do things mediocrely, be my guest — but we’re all going to excel the test,” Star said. “And it’s rather obvious, isn’t it, that the secret hidden ‘item’ that we don’t really need to get would rate much higher than just ‘wait out for three days’?”

“... You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,” Pockets pointed out.

“It’s not,” Twilight jumped in, when Star didn’t look like she was going to respond. Pockets gave her a cocked eyebrow. Twilight shuffled slightly on her hooves. “... But doesn't it feel wrong to not give it our all?” she pondered aloud. “If I pass then I pass, but I believe that if I could pass better, then I'll aim to pass better. I'll still be pretty upset if I scored an A,” Twilight admitted. “But knowing I did my best to get an A+...” Twilight trailed off, staring at a distance, before shrugging. It was hard to put into words; or rather, it was considerably easy, but words couldn’t really carry the gravity of her intent.

She knew it sounded somewhat foalish, but settling down smelled so strongly of defeat and disappointment; it was bitter like oversteeped black tea, and equally as sickening, or like coffee but without all of the caffeine goodness that pulled her through her all-nighters — it was giving up before one even began to work; to do things half-heartedly in half-measures, and aiming for said ‘decent’ result. ‘I’ll never get an A, so I’ll just aim for C. So long as I get through...’ Twilight often heard; lingering whispers in the Academy’s Library, the words of the defeated seeping through the books like memories.

Words of the defeated, the line repeated in her mind, and Twilight realized that she was scowling at empty air. She shook it away.

“You make it sound so bad and trivial,” Pockets grumbled. “Do you actually have a plan to find it?”

It wasn’t a question specifically to her, as much as it was for everyone. Twilight opened her mouth, but once again, Star beat her to it: “It’s unlikely that they’re going to leave us cold like this, and expect us to stumble onto the relic blindly relying on luck — there’s probably a clue; a trail that we can follow.”

Hard Coal perked up, speaking for the first time. “So like a treasure hunt?”

Star glared at him. “Yes. Like a treasure hunt.”

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Twilight reminded. Star shot her an ugly look. It was something she often did, Twilight noticed bemusedly, and filed the mental note elsewhere. “We should first find a spot to make a camp.”

“Y-yeah,” Pockets nodded.

Of course, they were actually making it sound easier than it actually was. Fact of the matter was, this was still a survival test — and unlike the camping trips Twilight went through, or the trips her survival class had, they didn’t come here fully prepared with tents, supplies, and such. Instead, they had to make do with that they could gather from the surroundings. And safe as Count made it sound like, the Bluegrave Forest didn’t have the fortune to be “domesticated” like the ones near Canterlot. There weren’t probably creatures like manticores or timberwolves living in Bluegrave forest, yes, but it didn’t mean normal animals like bears, or actual wolves wouldn’t happen to be here. Count was right — the wendigos were already long gone, but that didn’t mean dangers didn’t lurk still. If they weren’t being careful, if not the wild animals — then the forest itself was going to swallow them whole.

With the conversation dead, and nopony willing to start it up again, the walk was both quiet and uneventful. It was only broken occasionally and briefly whenever Star Cell had a direction she wanted to move toward — or an order for a pause to check at their surrounding. With Star Cell's Cutie Mark being a set of compass resting over a paper-map, nopony was silly enough to object her. If anypony was going to have any say on where to go, it was definitely Star Cell. That said, she didn't miss the satisfaction or smirk Star shot her whenever Twilight listened to her order, and by the look of everypony else, neither did they.

“So hey. Twilight,” Pockets murmured, breaking the silence hanging between them. ”Why does she hate you?”

Twilight arched an eyebrow. “Your guess is better as mine,” she muttered back.

“Did you do something to her?”

“What? Why would you assume I did something to her?” Twilight leaned away slightly, shooting the pegasus an odd look. After a moment, she let out a shrug, and a huff. “To answer your question, no I didn’t do something to her. Does she even need a reason to hate me? Maybe there’s no reason — she just does.”

Pockets pursed her lips together. “Nopony hates like Star without a reason, Twilight,” she mumbled.

“And you're now an expert on that?”

The pegasus shot her a glare, before glancing away. “… What if I say yes?” for a moment, she didn’t say anything else. Twilight herself wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Besides… I remember that there was a time when Star didn’t hate you. In fact, rather than hate, on that first year, she was actually…” she trailed off, looking at Twilight.

Twilight stared back. Her throat tightened, and her limbs felt stiff as ice.

“Of course,” Pockets bit out, her voice almost snarl. “You wouldn't remember. No, much less remember — I doubt you were even aware.”

Twilight grimaced, looking away. Shame filled her, like a pit of black tar, drowning her from inside. That first year… Twilight shook her head. “I guess…” Twilight tried, licking her lips. “I guess, now that I think about it, Star never bothered me during the first year.”

Pockets snorted at that. “As if anypony could. Or would.”

Twilight shot her a glare.

Pockets met it squarely with a cocked eyebrow.

Twilight was the first to break contact. Pockets wasn't wrong. Her first year had been a blur, and whatever snippets Twilight recalled were wholly unpleasant; like a badly healed scar no medical spells or advancement could ever remove it away — an eternal brand of how badly she had fucked up. “... You said,” Twilight paused. “You were about to say something. How Star was actually… what?”

Pockets remained quiet for a long time. “If you weren’t even aware, I think that’s something for you to find out yourself. Not my secret to tell.”

Twilight sighed. “I guess that would be too easy, huh,” she muttered, before grimacing. “I... don’t know where to even begin.”

“Maybe you should go straight to her, Twi,” Pockets told her. “Sometimes — most of the times, really — being straightforward is the best method. It’s painful, but…”

“Like ripping off a bandage,” Twilight echoed. Pockets nodded. “Also, it's Twi now, is it?” she cocked an eyebrow, smiling wryly.

Pockets hesitated. “You don’t like it?”

“No,” Twilight answered simply.

“Oh,” Pockets’ ears flattened, a grimace on her face.

“Twi and Twiley’s are for my mom. I prefer Sparky.”

Pockets blinked, ears perking up. She narrowed her eyes at Twilight, focused on the grin, before looking away in a huff. “Sparky it is, then. You know that sounds worse, right?”

Twilight recalled how everypony at home called her. It used to be annoying. Especially when Shiny started calling her that, much to dad’s amusement. But distance made the heart grow fonder, and living in the dormitory was distant enough to make the annoying nickname much less so, even if she could visit them during the weekends. “Oh, I know,” Twilight smiled, before it faded away. “And… I’ll go ask Star once we’re over with the exam — soon as I got the chance to.”

Pockets nodded appreciatively. “All I could ask for… Sparky,” she snorted quietly at that.

Twilight was already regretting her decision. Maybe Twi or Twiley was better. Still, not take-backs, Twilight supposed. “Can I ask something?” Twilight murmured, after a moment. Pockets gave her a slight nod. “Why do you care so much anyway? Heck. Why now of all time?”

“I said I was an expert on this, right? It’s not healthy to hold a grudge — to hate the way Star does… it drowns you, Twilight. Consumes you, and it feels good, it feels right. It feeds — no, gorges you with powerful; with all of those feel-good emotions… and it’s only when you snapped out of it; when the wool is lifted from your eyes, that you realize how so, so wrong you are. As for why now...” Pockets hesitated, ears flattening in the same thing Twilight often showered herself in. Shame. “I’m not a saint. Never claimed to be one… and I’m not like your or Star. Not even Coal. I… I had to take care of myself first — had to play catch up from “A”, when everypony’s already at “J”.”

Twilight stared at Pockets for a long time, eyes wide. The intensity in which she spoke; the fervor — if Twilight hadn’t received enough of Drill Sergeant Whiplash… lashing, she would’ve staggered away. As it was… Twilight wanted to say something. Of comfort, perhaps. There was pain there; deep, and seared into Pockets; perhaps even deeper than the one Twilight’s First Year had caused. A deeper part, that primal animalistic part that four years preparing to get catapulted straight into the Royal Guard had awakened, wanted to accuse her; to corner her. To judge her. To say “why didn’t you ask for help”, to make herself feel better. Because it meant it wasn’t her fault that Pockets was struggling in more ways than one, and nopony hadn’t given her any form of aid. Because despite the fact that they had lived together for four years, and Twilight should’ve noticed, the blame laid squarely on Pockets’ shoulders, because she didn’t want help; others’ fault, because surely they should’ve noticed. Not hers.

Twilight clamped that urge shut. It was an urge reserved only in a fight — reserved only against her enemies, not allies. Even though Twilight wanted to say something — anything that came out of her mouth wasn’t going to help. “I see,” Twilight said, eventually. Heavily. “Thanks for answering.”

Pockets nodded. There was a smile on her lips. “Thanks for not judging.”

“... Don’t thank me for that,” Twilight said after a moment.
“Stop, and shut up,” Star Cell abruptly raised her hoof. The whole group braked to a stop, and perhaps it was the tone in Star’s command, or maybe her face: eyes closed in pure concentration — regardless, the group waited with bated breath. Her ears perked up, twitching, and swivelling here and there, before they eventually stopped. “I hear water,” she smirked. “Running water. A river. Looks like we’ve found our camp-spot.”

Twilight blinked, before trying to follow the direction of Star’s ears. She strained them, trying to isolate other unimportant noises away, until… there it was. Faint. Ridiculously so. “You heard that?” Twilight blurted out, astonished. “That’s impressive, Star.”

If anything, that only made Star Cell scowl. “I don’t need your praise, Twilight. Save it to whoever cares,” she grunted, before turning towards a direction. “Let’s get a move on.”

Twilight shot Pockets a look. The pegasus replied with a shrug. As Star began to walked off into a direction, Twilight let out a sigh and followed.

Now with a concrete direction to go towards, the trek was both shorter and faster. Twilight didn’t even have the chance continue her conversation with Pockets — though she didn’t know what to continue it with — before the sound of flowing water entered her ears, and the scent of wet soil wafted into her nose. Soon enough, they broke through a tree-line, and into a clearing; the late-morning sun beaming brightly above them, chasing the dimness of the claustrophobic forest canopy away. Twilight had to blink at that, chasing the dark spots away.

The river sat right in front of them — three meters wide, by Twilight’s quick estimation, its length stretched farther than her eyes could see. It was unlike the quick rushing river Twilight had usually seen during her camping trips, and more the calm and shallow clear creek where one could easily spot the fishes drifting lazily; a gentle current that colts and fillies could easily jump in without fear as long as they could handle the cold — as ponies these young oft could. Shiny definitely could. A bed of rocks and pebbles separated the river and the soil proper; crunching, and shifting underneath their hooves as they approached. Standing here, with Celestia’s sun shining at the right angle, it felt as though the river’s surface was made from a bed of diamond-dust.

“Whoa,” Pockets whispered, eyes wide.

“Mhm,” Hard Coal agreed, humming as he stretched his neck out, taking a deep breath with closed eyes. “Reminds me of home,” he mumbled.

“First time?” Twilight asked, leaning towards Pockets.

“Y-yeah,” she nodded stiffly. “I… I actually never left Canterlot before, and…” Pockets blinked, and for a long moment, just stood there. Then she let out a giggle. “Huh. Weird. I just realized that I’m not actually in Canterlot anymore.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “It’s been three — well, four hours now since we left Canterlot.”

“I know that, Sparky,” Pockets rolled her eyes. “But —”

“Sparky?” Pockets stilled. Twilight blinked. Coal opened his eyes, tilting his neck slightly. Star Cell’s voice was as cold as the arctic wind; face flat, and expressionless.

Pockets gulped. “Uh.”

“... Did you two suddenly become besties when we didn’t notice?” Coal said, before giggling. “Cute. The worst student, and the best student in our year,” he leaned towards Pockets. “How did you do it, Pocky?”

Worst student? Once again, she felt that cold; that deep pit of black tar. She… she didn’t know that. Also… friends? The word tasted foreign; almost ashen. They weren’t friends. That short conversation, however informative, and insightful it was, wasn’t enough for them to become one. Acquaintances, perhaps — proper colleagues rather than strangers she met every morning and evening. But not friends. Never — not quite friends.

Pockets shot back with a glare. “None of your damn business, Coal.”

Twilight recovered, shaking her head a little. “Really, Coal,” she drawled, somewhat bemused as she cocked her eyebrow. “I’m right here, and I’m not deaf.”

“Oh,” Coal pulled back, eyes blinking in that cutesy, innocent way; lips pursed into a pitiful pout. Frustratingly, it worked. Evidently, the stallion had spent hours in front of the mirror for this. “I’m sorry, Twilight. Didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“Yeah, right,” Twilight snorted.

“Alright! Enough dawdling!” everypony jumped at Star’s voice. Green eyes bored into Pockets. “Pockets, with me. We’re going to get some firewoods — maybe some berries while we’re at it. Twilight, and Coal, you two prepare the camp,” there was a pause. “And if you’re done early, try to find some food as well. We’ll meet in two hours,” without even waiting for Pockets, Star Cell turned around, and moved back into the forest.

Pockets paused by Twilight’s side. She licked her lips. “So if I don’t come back, you know where to find the murder weapon, right?”

Twilight’s brows raised, giving Pockets a piercing look. “I hope that’s just a stupid joke.”

“You and me both, Twilight,” Pockets giggled. “You and me both.”

Twilight watched as Pockets followed after Star; her body obscured as she entered the forest back. “Well that’s both worrying, and disconcerting,” Twilight noted.

“So how does it not being the smartest pony in the room?”

Twilight turned towards Coal. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell,” Coal giggled, smirking. “It’s funnier watching you bumbling like this.”

Sometimes Twilight wondered why Coal even bothered with the innocent attitude, with him exposing himself as easily. It was annoying — not just his behaviour, but also knowing the fact that she was missing something; something that Coal and Pockets certainly didn’t miss. It almost tasted of failure. “Whatever,” Twilight muttered, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s do what our leader told us.”

Coal smirked, but didn’t say anything.

As they set to work, an hour passed like a breeze — as well as uneventfully. Unlike Pockets, Coal didn’t seem that keen on having an actual conversation aside from the few occasional snide remarks, and smirks. And to be honest, Twilight preferred it this way; she didn’t need to know about Coal’s feelings and insecurities. Much as the talk with Pockets had been insightful, and had changed how Twilight viewed her, there was now an additional weight on her shoulders. Twilight didn’t not like it. She knew this weight. It was a weight that, as a Royal Guard; as Soldier and Protector, she’d have to carry more. Responsibility. Not quite accurate, but it was the least inaccurate. Now... simply wasn’t the time to add more to it.

Fortunately, Hard Coal was a good subordinate — not in the sense like how Strong-Back-Yellow-Tail was to Sea Penny; the minotaur who was always ready to provide a supportive shoulder to his boss-slash-friend, but more… an obedient soldier who would put their feelings aside even though they hated their leader’s guts. Thus they dug the pit, and made a bed of rocks around it. Dragged logs that fell from time and wind as their impromptu seats. They gathered whatever food they could get from the fringe of the clearing, and placed them beside their soon-to-be camp that only required some fire before it could be called one. All in all, it wasn’t exactly what Twilight would call hard work — she had a hunch that Star Cell had given the order just so they’d do something.

Twilight sighed, watching the clear surface of the river. Fishes swam about, poking their head underneath a rock, before wandering back out. Small tiny river-crabs, and curious birds perched above a poking tree branch, or rocks; their beady eyes twitching at her, letting out a chirp, before looking elsewhere. She heard hoofsteps to her side. “Have you ever tasted fish?” Twilight asked.

She could hear Coal stop. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know,” Twilight gestured at the water. “Fish.”

“We’re herbivores.”
“We’re partially omnivores, actually,” Twilight corrected, eyes trailing at one particular fish. Relatively small; roughly the size of her horn. “Eating too many meat is obviously bad since our stomachs aren’t meant to digest them, but then the same could be said on most things — ‘too many’ is the keyword here. They’re nutritious, and so long as we keep it in moderation… I’ve heard that they’re quite the delicacy. You know some of Equestria’s traditional recipes could be traced back to Ancient Griffonia? Sergeant Sharpeye told me that. He also told me that there’s few new restaurants popping up in Canterlot that offers a carnivore menu. Mainly by and for Griffons, but that doesn’t stop some ponies —”

“Twilight, stop,” Coal grimaced, rubbing his temple. Glancing at a wandering fish, he shuddered. “I get it, I get it. Geez. Always thought you’re a sun-damned freak. But you’re not seeing me pushing my lifestyle onto you, so you better keep your weird meat-fetish into your own closet.”

Twilight smirked.

Coal narrowed his eyes at her, before huffing, looking away.

Well, she didn’t exactly lie either. She was a little curious, but the first time she had suggested the idea during one of her family camps had also been the last. Corporal Sugar Canes, the Survival Class teacher had been more receptive at the idea, but had told her that that was probably a bit too advanced as well — which Twilight was sure was another lingo for ‘I’d genuinely like to, but dot dot dot’. Twilight would’ve visited the restaurants if they didn’t exist at the either extreme spectrum of too expensive and exclusive, or too cheap, and seedy to be not feeling suspicious at.

A stray object caught her eyes.

Twilight blinked. “Huh,” she extended her magic, and levitated the object close, rotating it. “Well that’s curious.”

“... Huh,” Coal muttered, leaning into her periphery. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s obsidian, but —”

“There’s no volcano here — at least not hundreds of kilometres away. So either a mineral enthusiast dropped this here during their last visit,” Twilight grinned, excited. “Or we just got our first clue to our ‘relic’.”

.

4

.

Star and Pockets arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed-upon time. Stepping into the clearing, a bundle of twigs, and sticks floated by their side, ensconced by a wispy blue aura. Star Cell’s expression seemed to have an almost zen-like state — impassive, with a hint of storm behind those eyes. Slightly behind her, the same couldn’t be said about Pockets. Ears swivelling, and pupils glancing left and right. Whatever it was that Star had wanted to talk with Pockets, it had left the pegasus nervous. Her lilac eyes flickered to Twilight, and she thought she saw a hint of… pity? Worry? Concern? Something along those lines.

Clambering up to her hooves, Twilight shook her head. “Welcome back,” she greeted as they reached their camp. “How did everything go?”

“Well enough,” Star answered, placing the bundle of twigs and sticks down. “We got wood,” she gestured at Pockets’ stuffed saddlebags. “And gathered some berries. Should last us for a while.”

Twilight nodded. “There’s something you want to see,” she lifted the obsidian, and lobbed it gently to Star.

The moment the purple aura faded from the obsidian, Star’s blue took it over. “Huh,” Star blinked. Slowly, her eyebrows rose. Up, and up until they were nearing her hairline. “I know there’s no volcanoes around here — not in a hundred or so kilometers, at least. So unless a rock enthusiast dropped this while visiting here —” in the background, Coal let out a snort. Star paused, slowly turning to the stallion. He responded with an innocent whistle. Twilight rolled her eyes. Star sniffed, turning her attention back. “This must be a clue for our ‘relic’. Good — “ Star gave Twilight a look. There was a pause — before her lips peeled back, showing teeth. Scowling. “Good work, Twilight.”

Twilight blinked, taking a step back. That… Twilight was reminded of what Pockets had told her earlier. She had always known Star Cell has disliked her — she wasn’t blind. Or deaf. She saw the looks, and heard the whispers spreading around the campus. In the end though, Star Cell had never crossed the line; at most, she would glare openly when they met at the hallway, or during the off-days that she had spent nestled in her cot, reading her books, when suddenly Star Cell would stand on the sideline and stare at her like one would a cockroach. Sometimes, the Manehattan-born unicorn would grow a little bold, and nudge her lamplight a bit to the side. Rarely, she would try to pull off a few pranks like bluffing that the class had changed room, or borrowing the book Twilight had been hunting for weeks because nopony cared about time-limit, and fines anymore.

Until today, Twilight realized, recalling her alarm clock. Was that why she had reacted so badly?

But it didn’t matter. Those three spat-out words had been filled with so much spite and resentment, Twilight now understood the full extent of Pockets’ concern. “... Thanks,” Twilight replied, frowning as she watched Star turn around. She wanted to reach out to her, and asked her what Star’s deal was — but Twilight also knew this wasn’t the time for it.

“We’re setting out,” Star declared.

“W-wait,” Pockets scrambled up to her feet, wide-eyed. She had immediately collapsed the moment she slid her saddlebags off. “Now? You mean, now now?”

“Yes,” Star narrowed her eyes. “Now now. Is there a problem here, Pockets?”

“... No?” Pockets tried, before wincing. “I… I mean, shouldn’t we take a little rest? Two hours top, maybe?”

Star looked unimpressed.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Twilight asked, curious. She had her guesses, and so did Hard Coal — they both had agreed on what the obsidian likely meant.

Her eyes flickered to Twilight, before moving away dismissively. “Of course I do. And I know where,” from the look of it, Star Cell wasn’t going to share. “So are you all going to follow me, or laze around while I go ahead by my own lonesome?”

“I’m coming with you,” the words fled from her mouth before Twilight could think on it. She wouldn’t change her mind regardless. Star’s impeccable of direction aside, leaving Star Cell do this on her lonesome tasted too much of betrayal — of abandonment; it went against the Tenets of Harmony. More than that, it smelled of ‘settling down’; of giving up. It wasn’t, of course. Not really. Especially when another of your teammate’s wellbeing, Pockets’ fatigueness being the case. Besides, unlike Pockets, Twilight had been well-rested. Craning her head, she gave Coal and Pockets a nod. “You two can stay here. Rest, and keep watch, I guess. Maybe light up the camp. We’ll be back before… sundown, I think?” Twilight trailed off, before giving her team-leader a questioning look.

Star’s expression was impressive in its lack of one. Her eyes dug so much into Twilight that she wouldn’t be surprised if she were to suddenly keel over due to the gruesome case of melted head right then and there.

Pockets squirmed. But it wasn’t her who answered Star’s question. “I’ll stay here,” waving his hoof casually, Coal smiled from where he sat. “You two can have fun in there.”

“Erm. Yeah,” Pockets followed tentatively. “Same.”

Star rolled her eyes. “Fine. Twilight, come with me.”

In retrospect, Twilight mused as they entered through the treeline, there were ways this endeavor could potentially go wrong. They were a team of four, and not a team of two for a reason after all — though of course she didn’t think anything about this before. It’s different, Twilight argued. Before, splitting off was appropriate; it was a simple resource gathering mission, and they had covered both grounds this way. Twilight also didn’t believe that Star and Pockets were going far from the campsite.

This… this felt like one those things you needed to do together. Maybe it wasn’t dangerous, but… memories from Hearty Hoof High School resurfaced. “This is quite something else. I would’ve scored you an A+, Twilight. If this had been an individual-only assignment. Alas, it wasn’t. Have an E for that effort though.”

It had been the first, and last time Twilight had failed a test.

“Star,” breaking the silence had never been Twilight’s forte. At least, not experty. “Where are we going?”

“...” for a moment, Twilight didn’t think Star would give her an answer — happy with ignoring her. Then she tilted her head slightly, smirking. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Twilight?”

It was a rhetorical question. “I do, yeah,” Twilight bulldozed through it. “It’d be nice knowing we’re not actually lost.”

Star scoffed, and faced back to the road. She ducked under a low hanging branch, and hopped over a high rising root. “Do you trust this leader of yours, Twilight?”

Twilight blinked. The answer of that question depended on the context. Would she trust Star’s words like gospel? No. Would she trust her with Twilight’s schedule? Fat chance. Would she trust Star with her life, as well as the success of this exam? “I do.”

From the look of Star’s face, that had been the wrong answer.

Twilight sighed quietly. What was the problem here? Not for the first time, her hooves itched for the dependable grip of her sword, straddled by her side; that hold of her magic that never almost failed her. She preferred battling timberwolves, and duelling a fellow duellist until they had both abandoned the proper decorum, their face unrecognizable as they devolved into a sudden no-holds-barred beatdown — good times, Twilight thought fondly — rather than… whatever this was. At least then she knew whether she was succeeding, or failing. Or what she was doing at all.

It was a particularly treacherous thought, but sometimes Twilight wished that team-building, diplomacy, and maintaining interpersonal relationship wasn’t as heavily enforced into the Royal Guard curriculum.
“So?” Twilight prompted at the ensuing silence. “Are you going to tell me, or…”

Star paused for a moment; a short hovering in her next step, before she continued like usual. “I don’t know, Twilight,” she could hear the smirk oozing off her voice. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Why don’t you just follow me like a good little puppy, hm?”

Twilight’s lips thinned. This was getting annoying, and she didn’t have the patience for this. “Just give me the damn answer, or I’ll get creative.”

A mirthless chuckle. Cold as the arctic winter of the North. “Is that a threat, I hear. My. Treachery, Twilight? I didn’t think you have it in you — no, let me rectify that. I don’t think you do.”

“Not a threat, though I am thinking of a takeover.”

Star snorted. “A takeover, you say. At least you’re honest.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “... And you’ll be surprised in what I’m willing to do,” though she’s not wrong. Just the thought of it revolted her. She had planned smooth-sailing; to push the rough waters that is Star Cell later after this Exam. There was something to be said about plans never surviving the encounter.

There was a momentary pause. Star’s hoof rose up to the side of her neck, and Twilight felt a knot choking her throat; that dark pit of shame swelling, stretching with drip-fed guilt and loathing. Twilight opened her mouth. To say… something. Apologize, maybe. Told her it was a mistake. An overreaction. A bout of irrationality, regardless how justified she felt about it.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Star agreed, and Twilight wished she didn’t open her mouth. “Though I wouldn’t call that ‘creative’,” she smirked sharply, before sniffing. “Oh fine, I’ll tell you. Wouldn’t want Miss-First-In-Everything to cry, would I?” rolling her eyes, the small obsidian levitated with a blue glow.

“It’s a pretty simple puzzle, if you could even call it that. Just need some basic knowledge, and a little thing called process of elimination,” she sighed. “They weren’t kidding when they said this was a formality. Essentially, when one thinks of obsidian, one associates it with volcanoes. But there are no volcanoes here — which what makes this stone particular in the first place. Closest things to volcanoes? Mountains. Hills. Bluegrave forest has a few of those, but I think we can cross this line out; it’s too stretching as it is,” Star gave Twilight a long stare, almost expectant.

Pursing her lips, Twilight nodded. “When one thinks of obsidian — or rather, gems, crystals, or stones in general, one thinks of mines. Or caves. From the look of your face, there’s also some those here, isn’t there?”

Star smirked. “A few, yeah,” it was unexplained how she knew that. It probably involved her Cutie Mark. Twilight had never asked what it meant, but she knew it had involved, well, topography and stars. Directions, basically. “That sounds feasible; bit of a stretch, but I think it works with the next hint. Another thing ponies associate with obsidian is,” Star snorted. “Evil, dark magic, sorrow, misery, and fear.”

“It’s mainly known as a tool of massacre,” Twilight murmured. It’s not, of course — at least, not anymore. A nickname for obsidian was the “misunderstood rock” for the negative connotations that surrounded it. “It’s most infamous within “Proud Flag’s Account” where he recounted the Prairie Butchery during his visit to Griffonia,” Twilight closed her eyes. “Weapons as dark as night, drinking the sun’s light; Diamond Dogs and Griffons alike struck with savagery, and crazed abandon. As they ate flesh, and drank blood, I realized belatedly that these weapons of obsidian were the ones wielding the dogs, and griffons, not the other way around,” Twilight recounted, nodding. Dramatized, yes, but then, Proud Flag had been a poet, world-traveller, and a journalist — he was not a soldier. A stallion at the wrong place, at the wrong time. In the end, it had been the final nail in the coffin for Equestria to send relief force, and diplomatic envoy to settle the conflict between the tribal dogs, and the griffon duke of that land of Griffonia.

Aploosian Buffalos had also made jewelries out of them — pretty, though the same can’t be said with its meaning. It resembles the flesh of their sworn enemy, and it reminds them of their fallen dead; in the end, they both wore it as a badge of honor, and a grim reminder. “It doesn’t help,” Twilight added. “That it’s very similar to another silica-based rock — though that one is actually dark; one that actually meant fear, sorrow, and misery. Ponies know better, nowadays, but back then, there’s no sure way to check for them, so they just avoided anything that seemed the slightest bit similar.”

Nodding, Star glanced at Twilight: “Remember how Bluegrave forest came to be?” Star shot, before chuckling. “There’s lots of caves in here that lead underground, but coincidentally there’s only one mine that does,” she shrugged, chuckling.

“So that’s where we’re going,” Twilight surmised, before smiling. “That’s also what I and Coal speculated together too,” she admitted, before chuckling. “Although you knowing where the exact location

Star sniffed, raising her head higher. “Of course. And I only need myself to solve the puzzle.”

“Uh-huh. But see,” Twilight started, and she could see the frown growing on Star’s lips. Twilight raised her hoof to stall. “This feels like one of those things we should’ve brought the others along with.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Star replied. “Unlike you, I actually do know what those two — my teammates — are capable of. Do you, Twilight?”

Twilight’s eyes fell upon a stray tree branch upon the forest floor, the leaves attached a mix of brown and yellow-green, somewhere in that stage of decaying, and struggling to stay alive. “... They’re not who I’m worried about,” she muttered, eventually.

“Then we can take care of ourselves,” something about the way Star snorted tickled Twilight’s withers. “Besides, this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Twilight blinked slowly. “I’m sorry? You would’ve gone alone if I didn’t follow you, and Pockets was tired — Coal’s Coal.”

“But you didn’t suggest that, did you?” Star cocked an eyebrow. “You want to do this — not as much as I want to, naturally, but you leapt at the chance you saw the opportunity.”

That’s not just it, Twilight wanted to say. Leaving Star Cell to go alone tasted too much of abandonment, and staying behind smelled so much of giving up. But then, Star wasn’t exactly wrong either. She could’ve tried to convince Star, futile as that endeavor might be. She could’ve tried to look for the third option beyond stay, or follow, because there’s always the third option. Twilight just hadn’t even bothered to.

“You’re right,” Twilight admitted, sighing. “Well, at least you’re not wrong. I aim to give this exam my all, and that meant completing it as fast as possible.”

Apparently, that too was the wrong thing to say. “Whatever,” Star clicked her tongue. “I answered your question — so be a good little puppy, and stay quiet, Twilight.”

Twilight looked up, watching the slivers of light filtering through cracks of leaves, and branches — within the dimness of the forest, they were like tiny pillars of light. Perched on those branches, dark beady eyes stared back at her, tilting their head curiously — though not at all bothered. They chirped, almost in askance. Through the distance, she could hear more of them; echoing through the canopies, like a conversation in some foreign language. Idly, she pondered if such pony who could translate them existed. Clearly, they had some essence of intelligence.

Sighing, Twilight shook her head, and watched Star’s swishing tail in mild resignation.

.

5

.

Twilight wasn’t overstating it when she said that Star Cell was a blessing. Even if cracking the “puzzle” behind the obsidian was easy as pie, it would take theoretically a full day to comb the forest out to find this one specific “mountain-like place that has a mine” — in that sense, the treasure hunt would have turned into a mind-numbing scouting. With Star’s impressive sense of direction, it had only taken them two-and-a-half-hours.

They both stood before the mouth of an abandoned mine. Beyond its threshold, Twilight couldn’t see anything but consuming darkness. There were the tell-tales of ponies here; semblance of civilization, that ponies used to come here often to make a living — the carriage tracks composed of wood, and iron that began from here and continued within; rusted from the lack of care. A minecart laid on its side, halfway consumed by the earth; dented, and beaten from use and time, its side was caved in as though impacted by something heavy, and rust had long gone covered it. Twilight spotted what probably used to be a bunch of crates; rotten, and poking out of the ground. Lunchboxes, only its surface visible, poking out from the dirt. Hard mining hats; shattered, and covered in mud.

“I wonder why they abandoned the mine like this,” Twilight mused, eyes observing the scene. Certainly, it appeared something done out of panic and hurry, rather than something planned. By the look of it though, they weren’t the only one here recently, by the look of it, though recently could range from days to a week ago. “It’s likely that the old miners didn’t expect the wendigos to come here.”

“Or maybe they just had an accident,” Star shrugged, glaring into the depths.

“Neither’s mutually exclusive,” catching the Manhattanite’s glare, Twilight frowned. She doesn’t like the dark? No, not the dark. Tight spaces, maybe? Her nose flared, stepping forward. “I’ll take the front, and you take my back.”

Star Cell grimaced, lips quirking into a sneer. “You’re not the one in charge, Twilight Sparkle,” her leg crossed Twilight’s path, stopping her. She turned, face-to-face. “I am,” she stressed out, pressing a hoof onto her snout. “And I haven’t given any order yet. I’ll be taking the front, and you’ll be on the back.”

Twilight stared at the offending hoof in bemusement. The wiser thing would be to relent — let Star do whatever she wanted, and find whatever her problem was after the exam; that had been the plan. But this went beyond that, already. She pushed Star’s hoof down. “It’s officially a coup, and I’m taking my position back,” she stepped past the mare, into the abandoned mine — her horn glowed, and a ball of warm purple light formed out of it; oozing, almost, as it wobbled like liquid, before it solidified; steadily floating just a little beside her head. Magelight. It revealed a long shaft, reinforced by wood and metal, sloping downwards — a really long shaft, Twilight mused, when she couldn’t see the end of it. “You can have it back once we’re out of here.”

“Leadership’s not some badge you can take off, and one whenever you want it, Twilight,” Star growled, and despite her complain, she followed her regardless. “It’s not given, it’s earned.”

Twilight paused, glancing backwards. “Is that why you hate me, Star?” Twilight snapped, before blinking. The words were sharp — sharper than Twilight intended. No take backs, though. Looked like her plan just got pushed days early. She didn’t care. Her chest burned. Her right eye twitched. “Because you don’t think I deserve — because you don’t think I didn’t work hard enough? That I’ve come this far because I was what? Favoritism? Some sort of privileges? Is that why you hate me?”

Star blinked, taking a step back. “That’s not —” she paused, gulping. Her eyes narrowed, meeting her glare squarely. “... I don’t hate you.”

Twilight recalled the way Star had always looked at her, and remembered Pockets’ warning. She returned to this morning; waking up, with her clock’s alarm changed. Pockets might be right; Star Cell didn’t always hate her, but something happened that made Star change. Twilight didn’t know why, or what she herself was being angry at right now. Star’s accusation stung, but that wasn’t it — and honestly, neither was this morning’s prank. But it boiled. It was probably something entirely unreasonable. It was a word the academy’s guidance counselor loved to use when in Twilight’s presence.

“Really,” she returned dryly, turning around fully. Face-to-face, eyes-to-eyes. Ther nose an inch away from actual touching. She smells like dirt, sweat, and candies. “Then look at me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t hate me.”

“I…” Star began, before trailing off. Her jaws moved, but no sound came out. Her pupils a pair of pinkpricks. In the end, she looked away. “... I don’t hate you,” she whispered out, and Twilight wondered who she was trying to tell that to. Belatedly, Twilight realized, if Pockets had been wrong; if Star truly did not hate Twilight somehow, then she certainly did now.

No take-back. Twilight turned around, wondering why her hoofsteps felt heavy. “Mind telling me why?”

In the tight space of the mineshaft, the smell of earth was thicker here, and their hoofsteps echoed seemingly without an end. Star Cell didn’t answer Twilight. Keeping her eyes forward, her lips thinned in frustration. She had pushed, and pushed too far. Burned bridges among burned bridges. Twilight’s initial worry of entering the mineshaft, and their quiet journey downward ended as they reached a dead-end. A large rock had been placed here, sealing the mine proper — a warning nailed onto it: ABANDONED. NO ENTRY. DANGER BEWARE, written in thick bold letters, with a picture of stick-pony being crushed by a falling rock, and a pony-skull over crossbones; it looked both and natural, and artificially placed, the boulder-seal. A cave-in had happened, and somepony else decided to add into it to stop stupid ponies to venture deeper.

There was an envelope, with the candle-seal of Celestia’s Sun pressed on it, hanging by a string. She levitated it to her face, and opened it. A note was inside: The treasure lies where it’s coldest. “We got our clue,” Twilight stated, offering it to Star.

She took it with her magic grasp, and read it. Wordlessly, she placed it back into her saddlebags. “Gonna take the fore, leader?” she hissed quietly.

Twilight looked around. They could switch formation; there was enough space for it, but it would be tight — one probably filled with too many awkwardness, and fur-touching, and in-the-dark groping. Looking at Star’s sour expression, Twilight shook her head. “No. Let’s just get back up. We can brainstorm what the clue means in the camp — I think I have a guess.”

Star snorted. “Of course you do.”

Rolling her eyes, she gestured towards the exit. Their journey upwards the shaft was as quiet as their journey down into it. How stifling, Twilight thought — it reminded her second month into dating Flash Sentry. That feeling of… not quite stress, or dissatisfaction, but close enough; that growing urge of ‘let’s end this already’. It was tiredness. Exhaustion. Instead of hesitating, that desire of ripping the bandaid only grew bigger until it combusted into a fantastic fireworks. They weren’t quite there yet, but they were pretty damn close. The three short hours Twilight had spent alone with Star Cell had expanded the balloon far more than they had spent four years living, studying, and sleeping in the same room.

Soon enough, they reached surface. Twilight took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air — and froze as the trees shifted and creaked; as the earth trembled. Belatedly, Twilight realized that it was quiet. Too quiet. No chirps of birds, or squeaks of errant squirrels and rabbits. Stomp, stomp, stomp. A pause. Stomp. Closer, and closer. It’s going their way. Only tenseness remained in the air.

Twilight shared a look with Star, and nodded. Licking her lips, Twilight pulled out her spear, and unsheathed her sword. “Let’s run —”

Stomp. Stomp stomp stompstompstompstomp — Twilight’s eyes widened. Wood cracked. Trees bent. Leaves blew. Earth shattered. “Now!” Twilight roared turning the direction away from the big monster and —

Too late. Something stepped out of the treelines — and Twilight felt her throat dry.

The monster — for what else could it be — towered above her, its shadow swallowing her presence. Six meters? Has to be four, at least. Leathery hide dark as the blackest night, and Celestia, her belly churned: terror, and sickness mixing into a batch of bilious concoction. It stood on two feet like a minotaur, but unlike a minotaur, its body slouched under its own weight; spine stretched, and curled like a sickle. Arms that were too long, too thick for its own good laid limply on the forest ground; claws the size of her sword formed a cruel row at the end. Its head was as bad, if not worse: a crocodile’s muzzle that lacked everything; a face — a smooth blank slate that Twilight swore reflected some of the sun’s light; a cracked line ran on it, like a zipper. It parted a little; a distorted growl leaking out of it. A migraine pulsed at the back of her head. Everything about this creature was unnatural — chaotic, and disproportionate, like one screwed up game of Mister Potato Head —

Oh Celestia, that’s a lot of eyes — dozens; no, hundreds. What Twilight had thought as… she wasn’t sure what, exactly — scars, perhaps? Jagged lines that ran along its body, criss-crossing, and branching into paths like the root of a tree — they cracked open. Sickly yellow eyes, muscles twitching, and veins throbbing behind them.

They twitched, and leaped towards them. No. To Star Cell. In a blink, it shot its arm out like a spear; fast — faster than Twilight believed its stature could support. It was like the piston engine Cloudsdale loved to show off, Twilight numbly thought. That, snapped Twilight out of her reverie, as she immediately leapt to the side, and immediately rolled to her hooves.

That, didn’t snap Star Cell. She still stood frozen, stiff as a statue.

Twilight could only watch in horror.

Twilight (and Star) Slays a Monster

Twilight Sparkle was twelve when she got into her first hoof-fight — not the playful kind, or the one where a punch too hard was all it took for everything to stop, but a real one where she had to actually go to a clinic and get everything checked out. She couldn’t remember the reason why, but she was sure it was something really, really dumb, and she had overreacted. But she recalled the anger; the unreasonable spike of spite — that screaming ‘whatever comes come, I’ll deal with it’ thundering in her chest; burning like the fire of Tartarus. Card Castle had always been a jerk; the first to throw the punch, but she had replied it twice as hard.

She also remembered that ugly, painful feeling when she had finally dwindled down; Card Castle beneath her, crying ugly blobs of tears and snot, hooves raised in an instinctive and desperate guard, blubbering out sorries, and pleading stops. She froze then, and affronted by what she had done, felt horror; disgust — a black thick tar that drowned her insides. It had taken her minutes before she realized she had been tackled by what was probably a dozen colts and fillies.

A Royal Guard — no, not even a Royal Guard; just a Guard protected. It literally meant that. And not even starting her career; a filly who still didn’t have her Cutie Mark, Twilight Sparkle had flunked it.

The usual standards had followed. Mrs. Maywoods had been surprisingly calm, but in hindsight, she was probably really, really scared and worried. Card Castle was hurried into the infirmary, and after a look at her split lips and bleeding nose, so did Twilight. She recalled being treated like some crazy monster, and thought she deserved it. Mom and Dad were called, and so were Card’s Mom and Dad. Both sides were horrified, and were reasonably apoplectic at her. Twilight was suspended for a week-and-a-half, grounded for a month, and her books confiscated for two. Card Castle had never bothered her since, and what should be relief, Twilight only felt crushing guilt, and self-loathing.

It was an odd thing to recall now, a tiny corner of Twilight’s mind mused. Time slowed to a crawl; a tiny droplet in a serene pool, sending ripples of memories. I never apologized — not really, she remembered. Mom and Dad forced her too almost immediately, and she did; they had come bright and early, waited for Castle to arrive, and Dad had practically forced her to bow down. But that was only a formality. An apology forced by parents didn’t simply count, even if she had meant it. In that sense, she never apologized apologized, and she never had the chance. Card Castle had moved to a small village called Ponyville before she could; Twilight would later find out that Castle’s parents were getting a divorce, and his Mom got the custody.

Again, Twilight thought, detachedly, weird thing to remember now.

Or maybe it’s not. Something clicked. A lost chance — an unresolved conflict. As she saw certain death approach Star Cell, time snapped back. Twilight Sparkle didn’t hesitate. Magic was too slow. Instead, she braced her front-legs against the ground, pumping as much energy into them, and pounced; a purple blur upon the earth before she barreled straight into Star Cell. Flesh met flesh. Twilight immediately hugged Star’s chest as they tumbled together, rolling once then halfway through the second; tangled like a demented two-pony rubber-ball. Star Cell’s sweet, sweaty scent overwhelmed her as her snout dug into her fur. Something hot passed her right leg before they finally skidded to a stop. Twilight quickly pushed herself up, her eyes wide; chest beating like Flash Sentry’s weird band drummer. Star laid beneath her, her chest pumping up and down, blue pupils trembling; in that moment, Star Cell looked ten years younger than she actually was — a shot of panic pierced Twilight, before it went away in a wash of relief:

“You’re fine,” Twilight breathed out, brushing Star’s cheek. She smiled. “You’re… fine. Now snap out of it, and get away. Fire the flares, and wait for reinforcement — I’ll stall,” she growled, before stepping away from Star. Her leg buckled. Twilight let out a small cry; the searing pain finally registered — like sticking your hoof over an iron; or a stovetop, she mused. That’s a lot of blood for a little graze. Twilight ignored it; gritting her teeth through as she dragged herself away. Just… a little to the left.

There was a choked gasp behind her. “T-Twilight, what are — where —”

Her hoof rose, and for once, Star listened without protest. Twilight felt her lips quirk as she watched the monster.

It wasn’t attacking them anymore. It simply… stood there. Hundreds eyes unblinking, almost uncomprehending as it stared at its limb, and then at where they had stood — now renovated into a practical trench.

Not for long. Twilight narrowed her eyes. When you got hit, hit them twice as hard — the spear in her telekinetic grip felt heavier than normal. With a grunt, it shot through the air like an arrow, and struck true. Slurch! Her lips ticked grimly as it pierced through eyes-covered hide, and dug through flesh. Blood, silver like the moon, shone even under its tar-like body — leaking like water from a rusty pump, trailing down from its scale-hide, following the force of gravity as it traced like tear tracks before the blood dripped into one of its eyes.

It flinched; the unfortunately eye clenched tight. For a moment, it didn’t realize what just happened — then it hit. Eyes widened, and its skin… warbled. A muffled croak; almost a gasp of pain echoed, before the monster threw its head back. Elongated maws parted open, and it shrieked.

Her ears rang, even as she folded them over her head. Its scream muted the world, and hammered drills into her skull. The earth shook, and the air wobbled; an ultimate expression of pain and distress. Despite that, Twilight felt a weight released from her chest. Tense muscles loosened as she floated her sword close by her side. “It bleeds. It feels pain,” she whispered. Hundreds, thousands of beasts, creatures, and monsters had been written down on the Royal Guard Monstro Compendium — some, like the wendigo, required special approaches. This was not one of them. “It can be killed.”

Eventually, the thing quietened, its maws clamping shut. If Twilight strained her ears, she could still hear a distinct, muffled moaning emanating from its mouth. Glancing backwards, Twilight sighed in relief. Star Cell was gone. Thank Celestia. Her lips quirked as she noticed the eyes locking onto her, narrowed almost to a black slit. It didn’t quite turn towards her, but then, it really didn’t need to.

Her leg hurt a little, and there was a trail of red from where she had been — but that familiar pumping within her chest pushed it away. For the first time since she had entered the forest, Twilight was completely in her element. “Yeah. I hurt you,” she grinned, tapping at the ground. “What are you going to do about it, huh?”

It lunged.

Twilight grimaced, and jumped away, fur bristling as the monster’s claw whizzed past her, straight to the tree behind her. Wood splintered. Even though Twilight had expected it, it was fast. Or rather, it was simply too — Twilight’s eyes widened, and she skidded to an immediate halt. Just in time, as its other arm speared right before her snout — another step, and she would’ve lost her head. Growling, Twilight ran her sword against the offending limb. Silver spat, and gurgled; a dozen eyeball shivered, deflated before they slammed shut. A roar from the monster; a quake from the earth. Twilight glanced behind her, and clenched her jaws. Its other arm was closing in, dragging mud and dirt along with it — intending to squish her like one would to a mosquito.

She grinned. Her hooves dug into flesh, bloody eye holes turning into the perfect climbing steps, even as the monster’s shriek increased in volume; luminous silver drenched the bronze of her shoes, and sprayed to the purple of her fur as she scaled the limb. Like cornstarch and water, she grimly mused. She took another glance backwards — now! — and leaped. For a moment, she was floating, rotating in the air; below, the tree-sized limb breezed by. For a moment, Twilight understood why pegasi liked to fly so dangerously close to the ground; why daredevils existed — that close touch against death; that bumpbumpbumpbumpbump! in her heart, threatening to burst from its cavity. A certain euphoria that swept everything away; a fog that dragged reality, and common sense to the backseat: whatever happens, happens! Even if I die, I’ll die happy!

Then she fell. “Shit!” she gasped, hitting the ground. Scrambling up to her legs, Twilight grimaced. Her body screamed at her — worse, she had landed on her bad leg. A glance, and she realized there was no time for rest.

The monster was relentless. Reckless. It attacked mindless, repetitiously, and without sign of stopping. Twilight ducked as its claw tried for a grab, and ran as it tried to gore through her. She darted, rolling on the ground, before leaping to avoid another attack. A deadly game of whack-a-mole. Her sword swung instinctively, a whirlwind of steel on its own right; eyes popped, and deflated — silver blood sprayed, slathered her entire body until she smelled like… not quite copper, but something smokey. Like charcoal. Like ash. But even as the monster bellowed, screamed, shrieked, and flinched in pain, Twilight knew they were just mere surface wounds.

… And she was slowly losing blood. Her breath came in gasps, and out in wheezes. It felt strange — to be so alive when she was so close to death. Twilight bit her lips until it bled. Focus! Her vision blurred, and focused at the same time. How long had she been doing this — running around it, trying to stall for time? Had a minute even pass? Probably not. Battles always felt like they lasted forever. Especially when something great was at stake.

Twilight gritted her teeth. She… she can’t die. Not yet. She refused to. It was unacceptable. She… she wasn’t even a Royal Guard.

She needed a change of strategy —

A pop to the left — red light burned at the corner of her periphery. She glanced quickly. It was the emergency flare. Finally — and the monster flinch, its flesh wobbling and tensing. Hundreds of eyes looked away from her, straight towards the flare.

It shifted its body away, upwards. “... Mnyessie… mmnemere…” it moaned. Twilight folded her ears, grimacing. Like a vinyl record playing in backwards; scratched, cracked, and bent.

But now it had stopped its assault. Good. Thank you, Star. Twilight took a deep breath, facing the monster fully. She… she could try to seriously wound it; close in the distance, and damage its torso; hope for the best that she struck something vital. Risky, but it might slow it down. How? Charging immediately would be suicidal, even if it was distracted. One of its eyes would spot her first, and despite their size, its claws were more like a pair of prehensile swords, rather than a spear. She doubted a closer range would make her safer. I need to blind it first. Twilight glanced behind her — and just like that, it clicked; the final piece of the puzzle snapping in place. She got her plan.

Twilight grinned, pulling her sword close to her side. Magelight, being one of the three spells any unicorn wanting to join the Guards required to learn, was probably the easiest spell a pony could learn. Almost instinctual, really. In the first place, magical energy emitted from a unicorn could already produce light. Magelight merely attempted to emphasize on that aspect — in that sense, it was the natural progression into the world of magic.

Of course, casting the spell, and modifying it was a completely different beast altogether. A modified spell was a new spell entirely — a Magic Missile meant to pierce was different to a Magic Missile meant to harmlessly stun ponies, even if they belonged to the same subtype. And that’s the beauty of magic, isn’t it? Ever changing. Ever evolving. Never quite the same. Similar, but narrow your eyes a little, and you’ll find them unique. Even each attempt at a spell was different. It didn’t even have to apply to unicorns. Earth ponies, and pegasi; magic that was innate, seeped deep into their skin, flesh, and bones were unique to each other.

Ponies did so unconsciously. Unaware, they would change a spell to fit their emotions, beliefs, lifestyle, and worldviews. A seamstress would unconsciously make their telekinesis more meticulous — throwing strength for precision. A thug’s Magic Missile might be crude — rough, and inaccurate, but it would be strong. To change that was difficult for many reasons, akin to changing one’s nature at the tap of a hoof. But for Twilight? She understood it. Magic — that was her Cutie Mark. More than just a simple talent; it was her destiny. Her nature. Ever changing. Ever evolving. Never quite the same. Infinite possibilities.

The month that followed after her Cutie Mark manifested had been the happiest, and scariest month in her life.

Just a tweak here, and nudge there. Smaller. Compress it, and — there it was. Dark purple ball glowed dimly before her. A lightbulb at its final legs, minutes before dying. It flickered, now and then; tree root cracks running along its surface, filled with a cement of distant neon, throbbing like the veins in her hoof. For a moment, the ball wobbled; losing its shape. Losing its focus. It folded, slumping under its own weight, like an overstuffed water balloon — an accidental jerk away from bursting. Magic trickled from Twilight’s horn — another tweak, and it calmed. A crag-like surface sprouted around it, stabilizing it — a brittle glass to the wet paper she had before.

Twilight smiled, nodding. She glanced back up. The flare was still up — a veritable red star; an angry eye, sneering down at her. It reminded her of Star. Twilight felt her lips twitch. Somehow, the thought comforted her. The monster was still staring at it too, Twilight’s presence forgotten. A hundred eyes blinked, not collectively, but by the dozen. It let out a long groan, and for a moment, Twilight was struck with the image of Shining Armor, eyes wide in awe and fascination. It was his first Summer Sun Celebration — and the way he looked at Princess Celestia as she came down reminded her why she was who she was.

Her face twisted into an ugly grimace. This thing’s nothing like Shiny. “Hey, eyeballs!” Twilight shouted, and the monster’s eyes jumped to her. They blinked. Smirking, the “magelight” sailed off from her grip. “Catch!” it arced slowly, lazily into a parabola. A feather guided by the wind. The monster’s eyes latched onto it, following along its path. It rose, up, and up; away and away. Then, at the middle of the field, the ball of energy finally peaked.

Twilight looked away, raising her hoof over her eyes, and clenched them shut. She felt the click; the release on her horn — that twang of an arrow leaving its bow, echoing within her mind.

Then, pandemonium. A shriek pierced through the air, a hissing kettlepot that threatened to burst her eardrums. If her cuts had caused a scream of pain and anger, then this was that of agony, and fear. Twilight cracked her eyes open, and chuckled at what she saw. Black lines ran along its body, spreading and popping like cracked glass — eyes clenched shut; throbbing like veins. It flailed, thrashing its surrounding with wild abandon, leaving gashes onto the ground, chucking scoops of dirt in the air. Unfortunate trees and saplings exploded in bursts of splinters. A blind attempt to keep her away; self-preservation mounting whatever intelligence, or instinct the beast had.

Good thing that she was just out of its reach.

Twilight flared her nostrils, tapping quietly at the ground. One. Two. She took a deep breath, and exhale. Three. She wobbled a little, before blinking the blurriness away. Four’s the magic number, she mused as she stomped the ground hard. “Hey, Eyeballs! I’m here!”

Its reaction was immediate. A howl rent the air, and its head turned towards her. Its lunging attack was predictable in its suddenness and unpredictability. That’s its secret, Twilight mused as she threw herself to the side, instinct screaming at her. Not its speed, though it was still fast, but the lack of ‘tell’. Even Jaw Breaker, Equestria’s Current Lightweight Boxer Champion, famed for his quick jabs had ‘tells’. Every living being had. This monster did not.

Landing hooves-first on the ground, Twilight gritted; a hiss slipping through. Pain lanced through her bad leg, like a skewer straight into her spine. “Fuck,” she bit her lips, drawing blood. It… perhaps it’s not as light of a graze, Twilight thought. Covered in her and the monster’s blood, it was difficult to see how bad it was looking. She didn’t really give it a good look before either. Now’s not the time! Underneath, the earth rumbled, and the monster let loose another roar.

She turned to look, and let out a chuckle. Striking blindly and carelessly, the monster’s claw went straight into the abandoned mine’s entry — and deeper it went. It jerked its limb, or tried to. In response, the ground rumbled, and shifted. Stuck. With a grin, her sword went straight into the exposed arm. Deeper! Silver burst out, showering her with gore as the monster roared. She broke into a gallop, and jumped. Her sword held, and she immediately followed it with a hop. For a moment, she stumbled as she stood atop an unfamiliar terrain — squishy, sticky, and slippery. Muddy, almost.

There she was, on the monster’s limb. Right before her was a path, and for a moment, Twilight saw a familiar bridge — one of the academy’s excursion; an old hanging bridge, sloping upwards to a taller cliffside. It was old, and covered in slippery moss; another kilogram away from falling apart; a step away from a deadly accident. Twilight blinked, and the image was gone. She tugged at her sword free, and more silver sprayed the already bloody field. Another roar. Another attempt of the monster to struggle free, to no avail. Another failed one.

Twilight breathed. In, out — ragged. Blood loss was a bitch, and she didn't know how long she’ll last. Didn’t matter. She’ll get out of her alive. “M’not gonna die,” she muttered, glaring. With a growl, her sword went downwards. Deep into its flesh. Deeper! To the hilt! Through the bones! Through dark flesh, it ate, and drank the moon deep. With a roar of her own, Twilight galloped — beside her, the sword became her loyal companion, carving through a path of gore; a geyser of moonlight trailing behind her. A warm shower, drenching her body in liquid life. Her chest burned, and her leg felt numb — the panic in the monster’s moaning fed her with energy. Its other limb tried to swat her, but for once, Twilight could see it coming. She ducked, and it went wide. Her throat felt hoarse from the screaming, yet she couldn’t stop the glee from showing.

I know this feeling, Twilight realized numbly, stepping onto the zenith — the monster’s shoulder. Up here, she could feel some of the sunlight. Up here, she could hear the monster’s moaning better than ever: a pitiful, mewling noise that slipped between the slit of its maw. It sounded like a filly’s cry, lost in the middle of the Summer Sun Celebration, her Mom and Dad nowhere to be found, lost in the crowd. Only strangers there, until a golden hoof tapped —

— Maybe —

Twilight jerked her head aside, and her sword followed alongside it — a grand silver fireworks, blooming in the afternoon sky. I know this feeling, Twilight thought, stricken by a sense of dejavu. Steel flashed, before she hammered it back down — a veritable nail, digging into its joint. It began to carve — a Griffon Butcher working to separate the cuts. Each movement requiring a mental, and physical jerk. The hanging bridge swayed; tugged, and she wobbled for a moment. But it didn’t break. Didn’t pull free. It almost did, like that one last time, but it didn’t.

A cry — a mewl. A sob. Twilight blinked, feeling her head swim towards the surface; the blurry edges fading away. Something warm washed her back, crawling like pinpricks. In the corner of her eyes, the monster cracked its maws open. A black blur shot out. Her eyes widened. She — whoomph! — cried as the air fled her lungs, a creak crackling at her ears. For the second time that day, a sense of weightlessness took over. She blinked at the sun — at the flare that was still glowing brightly.

Then gravity returned, and a pair of hooves tried to crush her throat. She choked, blinking through the tears of pain. A filly, Twilight’s eyes widened, tears welling up as she scrambled at her neck for air. She felt the long gangly hooves around them. Her legs flailed, but there was no ground for her to stand. Blank, unseeing eyes — muddled in black ichor. A mouth, hanging open; a throaty mewling, and sobbing like a backward-playing record. Essie, Essie, Essie. Essie, Essie, Essie. Who’s Essie?

A pony can go on for three-hundred-and-sixty seconds without oxygen. Twilight snapped back to focus. She needed to escape now! Her eyes teared up as she renewed her effort. A pony can only last one-hundred-and-eighty seconds before losing consciousness. She needed to breathe! Her sword! Where — she couldn’t see it. Couldn’t reach it with magic. She growled, and slammed her head against the filly’s. Once. Twice. Nothing. She can’t —

— not yet —

I know this feeling, Twilight remembered as a strange sort of calmness settled in. Her hooves burned, and felt numb. Heavy. They dropped limply.

It’s when everything, and nothing matters.

She stared quietly at the filly in front of her. Coat and mane black as the monster’s — a pony made out of black mud. A pair of unseeing eyes, pumped with the night. There’s only her torso, Twilight mused, and a glance revealed why — it had no lower body. Or perhaps it would be more accurate that the lower body was the monster itself; a long trail flesh connecting the filly to the back of the monster’s throat. Filly’s the tongue. For some reason, Twilight found it funny. She heard that mewl again. A faint sob. That sound came from her, huh? She saw a pair of silver tracks trailing down from its eyes.

You look lost, kid. Weakly, her hoof twitched. Where’s your parents?

“Twilight!”

“Oof,” for the second time that day, Twilight felt the air escape from her lungs. Something slammed at her side, and suddenly, she found herself rolling… her vision blinded by… blue. A grunt that wasn’t hers echoed, followed by one that was hers as her back hit the ground. Something warm was pressed against her body; something that smelled of earth, sweat, and candies. Finally, they skidded to a halt. Twilight blinked, dejavu striking her like a hammer.

Star Cell stood over her, breathing ragged; coming in gasps, and out in wheezes. Sweat dripped from her body, fur matted over; wet, warm, and sticky. “You’re fine,” her eyes were watery, Twilight noted. “You’re,” she gritted her teeth, glaring. “You can’t die until my say so, understood?” she took a deep breath, and a familiar smirk formed on her lips. “And I haven’t given you the permission yet.”

Twilight blinked. In the background, she heard a howl. She peeked slightly to the side — there, on the sky, were three blurs. Pockets. Count, and Trigger? Something crunched against the grass, closing in on them. Coal. Twilight chuckled, before choking; her throat felt like shit. “What took you so long?”

Star Cell tittered, her voice strained. She stepped aside from her, finally allowing Twilight a proper look. “You said you’ll stall. I got every — can you stand — ” she paused, blue eyes settling at Twilight’s neck, and then her leg. “No, actually —”

“I can stand,” she growled, before wincing, rubbing her throat. “Monster’s still not down. I… I think I know how,” taking a deep breath, she rolled over to her belly. She gritted her teeth, bracing her hooves against the ground, and —

Something pressed her down — a hoof. “Stay down, Twilight. This is an order from your leader,” Star growled. Firm. Despite herself, Twilight found herself laying still. “At least let me bandage you first!”

“That,” Twilight grimaced, before nodding. Star moved her hoof away, and Twilight rolled to her back. “Alright. Thanks,” at least they were somewhat away from the battle, Twilight mused, her eyes staring at the forest canopy.

“You better be,” Star grumbled, pulling out the first aid kit from her saddlebag.

A strained chuckle came from her left. “You look like shit, Twilight,” Hard Coal muttered, his eyes going over her body. “Like. Real shit. How… how’re you feeling?”

Twilight closed her eyes, taking a deep breath — and stopping halfway, feeling her chest tighten. She rubbed her neck, before wincing. That’s definitely going to leave a nasty bruise. “Bad,” she returned, blinking the fraying edges of her vision away.

“Point for aptness,” Coal muttered. “How are you even awake? You should be out-cold now with how much blood you lost.”

Twilight snorted, feeling the sting as Star cleaned up the wound. “It's not that bad.”

“You're right,” Star's voice was cold. “It's worse. I can see the bones, you know. Now shut your mouth, and rest. It's an order. The others are taking care of it, especially that Trigger. Besides, you already did quite a number on it,” she muttered, then sighed — a hint of… something in her voice. “As always. Have faith in your subordinates, Twilight.”

Her throat tightened. “No. No, you don’t get it,” Twilight shook her head, before wincing. Can’t move her neck too much. She tapped at the ground. Essie. Essie. Es sie. S.C. Star Cell. Of course. It all made sense now. Licking her lips, Twilight met Star’s eyes squarely. “That thing can’t be stopped. They’re…” Twilight glanced to back to the monster, through the gap the trees had allowed her to see. Its left limb had been torn halfway through, hanging limply by silvers of silver flesh. From the distance, she could even see her sword sticking out. Despite that fact, it’s still fighting relentlessly, even with only one claw available. It’s distracted by the pegasi, and Star’s right; Trigger was something else, flitting and blitzing around the monster’s swings, practically toying with it as Count and Pockets piled in damages with arrows, and bolts. It’s still not losing, not really — and it’s not tiring itself either. Every now and then, some of the eyes would glance at their direction; at Twilight, and Star Cell.

Mainly Star Cell. Though it spared three out of ten eyes at Twilight herself.

Was that why it was so transfixed with the flare? Not because it was something shiny, but because it somehow knew who set it off? I had underestimated it, Twilight paled, as the battle frenzy began to lift its claws from her mind. It’s not dumb, not really. Just constantly and easily distracted, and extremely focused. And really, really angry at Twilight, for some reason.

It’s not roaring as much as when I fought it, for example.

“... Twilight,” Star growled. “Answer me. What don’t I get?” she bit out, annoyed. “Why can’t it be stopped? Why are you so sun-damned stubborn?” she spat in disgust, stepping away.

Twilight snapped back. “What?” She blinked. Where was — ah, right. A glance showed that her leg had been practically mummified. It… she felt numb. She bit her cheeks hard enough to bleed. Focus! She can’t pass out now! “It's targeting you. It's — it's a Revenant; a dark spirit of vengeance; the wendigo’s distant relatives. Somepony summoned it, and it possessed the Summoner to deliver that pony's wish at the cost of its body, and… Essie. It kept saying that. Over and over. It's looking for you, Star.”

“... What?” Star blanched. “Who in Tartarus would do that? And why?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight breathed out, trying to climb back to her hooves. This time, Star Cell didn’t stop her. Her chest hurt, but it didn’t feel like she had cracked anything. Just bruised. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand ponies who would resort to that,” hatred so large to sacrifice your soul to rely on Dark Magic — and she didn’t want to. “But there’s only one way to defeat a revenant — destroy its anchor; the summoner’s body.”

Star steeled her jaws. “Where is it?”

“It’s the tongue —”

A cry echoed around the field. It wasn’t the monster’s. Twilight caught the orange blur, careening away; a distant crack that resounding through the trees. “Cadet!” Count’s voice yelled.

“Pockets,” Twilight growled, grimacing. She made to move. “We need to —”

“Stand-by, Twilight,” Star ordered, eyes narrow. Twilight clenched her jaws. “Shit,” licking her lips, the she turned to the side. “Coal, hurry up and check Pockets! Get her to safety!”

“Right,” Coal nodded, face stoic.

First time seeing him this serious, Twilight thought as he galloped away. She shook her head, and turned to Star impassively. “We have to join them —” her vision tilted to the left. Grimacing, she recovered at the last moment. Focus — that wasn’t the main concern. “I can still fight, and we need every hoof available.”

“Like hell you will, Twilight,” Star hissed. “You could barely stand on your hooves. You — we can take care of this ourselves. You’re just going to be a liability.“

She’s not wrong. Star’s word echoed inside her head. Liability. Protocol demanded that a wounded soldier should retreat to get themselves taken care of. But what was she to do then? Lay back, then watch and do nothing as her allies fought? As they struggled, and bled, and grasping for every thread of victory? Run away? That’s worse. It was one thing if they won, but what if they lost? Would she have to watch in silence, as one by one, her allies were culled? It would be too late by then, wouldn’t it? Could one even gamble on that chance?

Faith — an errant comment and an equally errant thought. Was this what Star meant? Faith on your allies, to believe that they’ll do right regardless of opposition. Faith on your victory, to trust that everything would turn out alright; that Fate and Destiny both still have much in store for you?

Bravery, or cowardice; strength, or weakness, to sit on the sideline, and do nothing? She didn’t know the answer. It felt like one of those stupid questions where neither answer is wrong or right. Card Castle’s face flashed to her mind, face wrapped in bandage; she recalled taking a step, before wavering — something awful brewing within. Star was right, I’m not good at this. Despite the gravity of the whole situation, her lips couldn’t help but twitch at that. They thinned immediately into a flat line. She gave Star an unwaveringlook. “No.”

Star Cell stepped back. For a moment, she looked unsure. “No?” her left eye twitched. “No?! For Celestia’s — did you even hear what I just said? You’re injured. You — you could die, Twilight,” she hissed.

“I’ve suffered worse,” Twilight defended.

Star responded with a look.

“I haven’t suffered worse,” Twilight admitted. She returned Star’s look with her own impassive one. “Respectfully, Star Cell, I might be injured — heck, this is perhaps that worst I’ve ever been in. But I’m not out, and I can still fight. Maybe not in close quarters, but I still have my magic, and you’ve seen what I can do with magic. When it comes down to it, though, I’m not going to do nothing.”

Star glared, and Twilight caught it squarely. The battle felt like it had lasted for ten seconds, but it was probably less than a second — and when it was over, Star Cell was the first to look away. She clicked her tongue. “What’s even the point?” she spat out, turning around. “You’re Twilight Sparkle. I can’t even stop you even if I want to,” despite that, she unlatched the spear on her side, and handed it to Twilight. “Here, to cover your back. You said the weakness is its tongue, right?”

Twilight took the spear, sighing at the familiar weight. “Mhm,” she grunted, trailing after Star. “Even then, we need to make it show itself. Otherwise, it would remain hidden inside the jaws — and I don’t think we have the firepower to force it…” Twilight trailed off, wondering about that. She… she could let her magic run wild, but that would just replace one problem with another — or just add into it instead.

Star pursed her lips. “How did you do it, then?”

Twilight frowned in thought. “It was a last — no,” she shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows. That didn’t make sense. There were two reasons why a revenant might show itself. One was that it was desperate enough to utilize its greatest weakness as a trump card, and while she did manage to spill a lot of its blood, blinded it, and practically crippled the revenant… they were superficial. Maybe there was actual fear in there, Twilight thought with some satisfaction; some measures of desperation, but that couldn’t be just it. It’s deeper than that.

Twilight recalled the twin tracks of silver tears. It was crying, wasn’t it? Why showed her that — that anguish? It was most likely nothing — her mind putting meanings where there was none. Yet… a small part of her, buried deep in that deepest part of her mind pondered: was it a plea for help?

Twilight blinked, and then shook her head. No, that was impossible — when one’s possessed by the summoned revenant, the only thing left of you is your grief; that raw hatred, and thirst for vengeance that fueled itself, acting like a compass in the middle of a storm. Which led to the second reason why a revenant might show its achor… Oh. Twilight blinked, a chill touching her fur, spreading like hoarfrost. “I think I pissed off. Or really, really emotionally affected. Made it irrational.”

“So you annoyed it? Typical,” Star snorted, shaking her head. “If it was that easy, Trigger’s probably doing a good enough job at it right now.”

“No. Not annoyed, Star. Pissed off. It doesn’t just want me dead,” Twilight corrected, chewing her lips. She took a deep breath. “... But that doesn’t make sense. According to the Compendium, a revenant also reveals its true body willingly — its weakness — to the Summoner’s target.”

Star Cell blinked. “It wants to make it personal,” there was a tone in her voice that Twilight couldn’t quite put a pin on. “It wants you to know who’s killing you — so that as it could see the dawning realization on your face. ‘Look what you made me do!’ it shouts. Your despair, guilt, and regret It wants you to know why the summoner wants you dead, for you to think ‘If only I didn’t do this...’ as your flame extinguishes… it’s what I would do if I hate somepony enough to summon a monster, and sacrifice my body to it,” Star Cell admitted, before glancing back at Twilight. She returned it with a bemused look. Star smirked. “I guess you’re a good magnet for that sort of attention, huh.”

Twilight’s bemused expression only doubled.

Star huffed, a hint of laughter ringing at the back of her throat as she looked away. There was a pause. They stood just behind the treeline. The revenant’s eyes pierced through the shadows, straight at them, but it did nothing — merely stared. It’s waiting, Twilight belatedly realized. How courteous.

Then, in a low voice, Star spoke: “I guess I am too.”

There was something there. A heaviness in Star’s voice; the slightest tremor, revealing quelled emotions. Twilight felt her throat constrict. “You don’t have to do it. I can —”

“Let me stop you there, now,” craning over her shoulder, Star gave Twilight a warning glare. “No. You promised to cover us from the back — nothing more, nothing less.”

Twilight looked away. “You make it sound I’m planning to die,” she pointed out quietly. “Because I’m not — and it makes sense for me, the least able, to be the bait.”

She let out a low bark of laughter. “Really. You’re not?” Star snorted, sneering. “Could’ve fooled me, Twilight. But enough dawdling — keep to what we agreed to. For once, have faith in me, Twilight,” she whispered.

Twilight opened her mouth, then closed it shut. Nothing that came out of it would help, Twilight knew. Instead, she stared at Star silently.

The Manehattanite let out a quiet chuckle. It sounded hollow. “Good enough, I suppose,” and with that, they both entered the field.

.

7

.

There was something to be said about plans never surviving the enemy contact. For a certain measure of ‘plans’ at least.

The moment Twilight had stepped into the field, the destruction of her previous engagement was finally laid bare upon her: trenched and gouged earth surface; what used to be the mine’s entrance now collapsed into itself, and silver seeped into the ground. It all pervaded her senses; the stench of battle; that incessant drumming inside her chest — an imperceptible pressure, pushing down on her in a haze; a certain headiness that made that hind-part of her brain drunk.

I did this, Twilight marveled silently, and felt that feeling of helplessness, that prospect of fighting a foe beyond themselves, fade away.

Then the revenant’s other hundred eyes snapped towards them. Twilight froze, the beating of her chest coming to a sudden halt. Trigger and Count were ignored, a rain upon an unmoving stone — in the monster’s world, only Star Cell and Twilight Sparkle existed. Narrowing her eyes, Twilight began to count, waiting for its move.

One — like a stretched-out rubber band, the monster snapped into action. Trigger cried out in surprise. A roar of intent, of spite shattered the air as it barreled towards them. The earth trembled, and it finally registered to her what that meant. Barreled. It wasn’t lunging its arms in place anymore, but it was moving.

Once. Twice. In two speedy strides, it had crossed the field. It’s not fast, Twilight thought, her eyes meeting with Star’s. Not really. It was simply inevitable. But one’s more than enough — clenching her jaws, Twilight pounced to the side. Sweat and candy wafted into her nose as she crashed into Star Cell — a grunt that was less heard, and more felt. They rolled into a tangle of limbs. For a flash second, they seperated, and their eyes met. Star’s furious blue eyes glared at Twilight’s, but it didn’t really matter. Twilight’s hooves coiled around Star’s barrel, and as the rolled a fully one-eighty, she flung —-

Twilight’s eyes widened as her limbs refused to budge, and the roll continued to a full three-sixty. She struggled, and saw the smug triumph in Star’s eyes as her hooves left hers, flung back into that familiar sense of weightlessness.

“Trigger, catch Twi — !” Star’s command was cut off by a screech. Twilight’s vision of her cut off by a familiar, abominable limb.

Gravity jerked. A pair hooves grabbed Twilight by her shoulders. “Gotcha,” Trigger grunted.

Twilight ignored him — his voice was barely a drop in the violent ocean buzzing inside her ears. Dirt, and dust swirled as a tree snapped, forming a smoke screen. Then the monster reeled its arm back; a fisher-stallion gleeful for a catch. Inside its claw, Star Cell’s dazed expression almost felt like relief — she’s alive.

That snapped Twilight back to focus. “Throw me,” she growled.

“Alright.”

With a heave and a grunt from him, Twilight sailed through the air. In the corner of her periphery, Trigger was already moving. She saw the frustration — the silent fury in his eyes as he carved his sword into the monster’s leg. Up above, Count continued his barrage of arrows. The sun, and the blue sky reminded her that it was still afternoon. Her hooves finally touched surface. Slippery, almost oily, flesh wriggled underneath her — eyelids opening and blinking. Growling, Twilight drove her spear down into one of the eyes. Star’s sword stuck out from the monster’s wirst, its blade glinting. An idea formed inside her head, and with a clench of her jaws, it slid out, spurting silver blood.

The monster replied with an annoyed rumble — with how much hurt it had been soaking in, Twilight would be surprised if that was barely a prickle. No matter, she gave the blinking Star one last look before she turned on her heels. With a grim smile, Twilight broke into a gallop. Without its arm held by the abandoned mine, it was way trickier, Twilight mused as the monster tried to shake heroff, limb flailing up and down. Gravity shifted not once, but twice and many more times. But Twilight refused to be moved. Driving Star’s sword into flesh, she held tight on its hilt.

The Extreme and Unusual Terrain Trekking Course finally paid off.

The revenant’s annoyed rumble grew into a frustrated growl. Each step was harrowing, and she could feel her innards flopping and shifting, but each step took her closer to its maws. There was a grunt, and Twilight blinked as her belly dropped. She held tight to her sword, and grunted as gravity reasserted itself once again. A whoop of triumph resounded. Trigger managed to do enough damage to its leg. Twilight glanced backwards, and saw Star’s glare — she had recovered; a spear in her magical grip, trying to free herself. Her heart soared as she advanced. This was it — either the monster would let her lop its arm off, or it’d attempt the same trick with its tongue. Either way would be beneficial —

A shadow fell over her. Star’s cry was mixed with Count’s. Twilight blinked, and stared up. “That’s —” impossible. She didn’t have the chance to finish her word as the monster’s other hand descended on her. Cursing, Twilight leaped —

— too late. Darkness enveloped her entire body, and for a quick moment, Twilight wondered what was going to happen. Then there was a lurch — an impact, and Twilight felt something break. A cry — hoarse and soundless tore through her throat. She wriggled, trying to move, but she couldn’t. Am I — no! Twilight gulped. Something warm trailed down to her chin. Blood, or tears? Did it matter? She couldn’t move, but it wasn’t because of the break — merely the monster’s claws imprisoning her. Something broke, but it’s not my spine. Twilight gritted her teeth. She needed to get out. How? She didn’t have her sword or spear, and the monster was too strong —

Magic.

Right. Twilight took a deep breath in, and reached out. Cold sweat streamed out of her pores. A unicorn’s natural telekinesis was never meant to be used against another living being, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t feasible. The revenant’s flesh felt oily, and Twilight realized that it extended beyond the physical means. More oily, Twilight noted. Like trying to grasp a lubricated rubber ball with one lubricated hoof while standing in sheet of oil. Other unicorns would’ve given up — deemed it impossible.

Twilight Sparkle was not “other unicorns”. By all account, her Cutie Mark was one of a kind: Magic. Nothing more and nothing less, yet it meant everything and anything. If a simple telekinesis wouldn’t do, then she just needed to change her tactics.

She took a deep breath.

Griffons and Minotaurs had always fascinated her. Ponies were strong, and sturdy; buck or a hoof-punch could brutalize anypony with ease. Add to that even more by the natural magic that coursed through them — and by proxy, hers — the pony physiology and morphology were made to last against all odds, even under the harshest of circumstances. Survival above all.

But Griffons and Minotaurs were made for battle; for war — combat was in their genes, and their body reflected that. Minotaurs had their perfectly sculpted muscles that allowed them to bend steel with ease, and claws that could turn the toughest meat into ribbons, but more than that — they were capable of handling tools, and weapons with such precision that a pony without a horn couldn’t possibly compete.

A shapeless form began to appear inside Twilight’s mind. Force Blast was the next natural progression to Magic Missile — a wave of spread out force meant to push ponies in a certain radius away. Magic Missile’s less precise cousin, so to say. If she cast that spell here, she would probably end up breaking herself from the backlash.

She took a deep breath. A dim purple glow emanated within the tight confine, before Twilight began to push. She imagined Celestia’s hoof; mighty, powerful, and unstoppable — and her sun filtered through the cracks. A giggle fled from her throat when she had enough space to shift, and stand on four — three — Twilight realized what just broke — of her hooves. She grunted as the claws cracked open, allowing limp out. Belatedly, as she felt the ground beneath her, Twilight realized that the monster had torn its crippled arm to trap her.

“Twilight!” Coal Hard immediately appeared by her side, his shoulder keep her standing. “Thank Celestia,” he paled. “Fuck, you look worse. We need to —”

Twilight stared at the monster. Trigger was coated in blood, and not all of it was silver. Count was now in close-range. Star was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Star.”

“I — “ Coal faltered. “The monster ate her,” he whispered.

Twilight recalled what Star had told her. The monster was now… less focused. Its arm made a few token efforts to ward off the pegasi even as they tried to kick its head — trying to force it open, to no avail. But... “She’s still in there,” Twilight whispered, though she couldn’t know for how long. Her eyes fell onto the revenant’s limb. Her horn glowed, recalling to the altered mish-mash of a spell she just did. Direct telekinesis wasn’t possible without tiring herself, so indirect was the next logical progression — picking up an oily rubber-ball with one hoof was near impossible, and so was two, three, four, and five. But a hundred? Two hundreds?

Beside her, Coal let out a gasp followed by a muttered curse. Twilight opened her eyes, and chuckled as the enormous limb floated by her magic. It strained, and ached, and hurt, but while she wasn’t one for theatrics, the ensuing silence — the way the revenant’s eyes stared at her, but with actual disbelief, and fear that was thicker than before. Hah. Gently pushing Coal’s support, Twilight stepped forward, and the revenant took a step back. Haha. Everything hurt, and if every part of her body wasn’t at least cracked or bruised, then she’d be extremely surprised. Her leg was bleeding profusely, and that was definitely broken.

Twilight took a deep breath, and watched in grim satisfaction as she drove its arm deep into its gut — silver geysered forth; black claws bursting at the other end. The revenant tried to return the favor by slamming its other claw onto her — but she was the Duelling Champion here, not the monster. With a strained growl, she jerked her new weapon to the side. It tumbled, and the claws missed her by a meter instead. She pulled her weapon back with a slurching sound, much to its futile struggle. This time, Twilight lunged her limb straight towards the monster’s other shoulder. Without much resistance against her attack, the offending arm disconnected itself from the monster’s torso.

Her head burned. It felt like somepony had shoved her entire head into a hot over. Twilight had never pushed her magic this far — not since she had first got her Cutie Mark, and as she lifted up the other arm, adding it into her arsenal, Twilight wondered why she didn’t. If she had bothered, things would’ve gone this far. If she had added more spells into her arsenals rather than spending it swinging swords and spears, and learning knots, this would already be over. Unlimited potential. All the open doors was at the tip of horn, and all she needed to do was reach out and everything would be hers.

So why didn’t she?

Because there’s nothing more terrifying than never knowing what you’re supposed to be. Because if I could become everything, then what’s the point of even bothering?

Twilight blinked. Ah. That’s right, Twilight mused as the monster finally toppled over to its back — legs, and body practically too flimsy and unrecognizable to even support its own weight. Idly, she drove both giant claws through its stomach, pinning it deep onto the earth. Finally, the monster let loose a pitiful, mewling howl that echoed within the silent field. It was cut suddenly with almost a choke.

Twilight didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at nothing in particular. It felt like an eternity, but things like these always felt longer than they were supposed to be. Everything felt so hazy; the darkness fought against the edge of her vision, trying to claim her. “No. Not yet,” Twilight told it, and the darkness listened.

Then she saw Star Cell’s hoof wriggling out at the slip of the revenant’s maw. Trigger and Count immediately flew towards it, and pulled Star Cell out. A gentle pressure pushed her down. Relief. Twilight smiled, and sighed.

“Okay. Now,” Twilight mumbled, and darkness finally reclaimed her.

.

8

.

Four.

That was the amount Twilight Sparkle had gone into the hospital — not the infirmary. Four. Unfortunately not three, but certainly below the unlucky number. It was a strange thing to be proud of, but it was something she was proud of. Four was considered a lucky number; the number of the seasons. And four times to the hospital were less compared to other ponies she knew.

As a young filly, a late bloomer among late bloomers, that had been a point of confidence. It made her feel… special, in a juvenile sense. Made her feel better. And some weird, and vague way, that fact almost felt like a badge of honor; an acknowledgement of what Fate and Destiny had in store for Twilight Sparkle. It meant she was strong compared to others; healthier, and much more fit compared to those who had to go to the hospital each time they tripped on their hooves. It meant that, when she decided she wanted to be a Royal Guard, she wasn’t fooling herself. Being ‘superstitious’ was something that a young Twilight Sparkle would ardently deny, but looking back on it with a pair of lenses that time could only provide, ‘superstitious’ was definitely a fitting word for it. It was certainly better compared to ‘pitifully hopeful’ or ‘grasping at straws’, at least.

The first time Twilight Sparkle had gone into the hospital was for a particularly stupid reason: magic exhaustion. She had pushed, and despite knowing her limit, pushed harder. Mom and Dad reacted badly, and immediately rushed her to the hospital when they found her wriggling on the floor, holding her head in pain. She had learned from her mistake. Second time had been for her shots, and some check-ups. Number three had been that dumb fight with Card Castle that Twilight can't even remember why. Fourth time was when she had been much older — a sparring accident where the other colt didn't understand that sparring did not equal an actual all-out brawl. At least the other colt had it worse than her.

Fifth… well, this would make it the fifth time — and the first time she had woken up in a hospital. Twilight blinked blearily at the white ceiling, a fog clouding her mind. Bits and pieces coming together, somewhat enough to paint picture. Twilight Sparkle breathed deeply. The cold, and detached antiseptic air of the room pooled inside her lungs, and slowly expunged. It reminded her of the school’s infirmary. For some reason, Twilight mused idly, she had pictured herself reacting much dramatically. Rally Forth did, at least, screaming and flailing like a stallion possessed as he desperately asked, and called out for his friends.

Were they her friends? The question came so suddenly, Twilight had to pause. No, they were not friends. Closer than before, perhaps, but not quite.

Not yet.

There was a gasp by her side. Twilight twitched a little, catching a glimpse of blue and white in the corner of her periphery. “Sis! You’re — mom, dad, Twilight’s awake!”

“Shiny?” Twilight breathed out, wincing at her voice — or near lack of one. Her throat felt incredibly dry.

A pair of white alabaster hooves clambered at the edge of her cot, depressing the mattress somewhat, as the owner grunted. Bright blue eyes, and a messy mane of alternating blues; a stub of a horn growing out of his head, barely even starting to mature. Shining Armor blinked a pair of red-rimmed eyes. “Y-yeah?” he stuttered, voice hoarse and soft. “Um. Water?”

Despite herself, Twilight couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, sure,” she nodded, and received a small smile back as Shiny carefully floated a glass of water to her lips. Cold, and soothing. Licking her lips, Twilight sighed in relief. “Thanks, Shiny.”

“No problem, Sis,” there was a pause. Shiny’s lips quivered slightly, before he leaned closer, pressing his muzzle against her shoulder. His breath felt like home. “A-are you — I thought you wouldn’t —” Shiny paused, his muffled voice trailing off. Twilight felt herself crumble when she registered the growing wetness on her shoulder. “I was really worried.”

“Y-yeah,” Twilight murmured. Guilt had never felt so damn awful. Her forelegs were perfectly fine, so she placed one over Shiny’s withers. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you worry,” she whispered, caressing the back of his neck softly. Shiny replied with something, but her fur muffled it into incomprehensibility. Twilight hummed back, before pausing as a thought occurred to her. “How are you —” . Right. She sighed. She was probably in Canterlot Saint Caramel Hospital, and even if she wasn’t… huh. Shiny’s previous words finally registered. She blinked. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but that didn’t make her veins feel any less cold. “Wait,” Twilight croaked, paling. “Mom and dad’s here?”

“Yep,” that popped ‘p’ answered her question. From the far side of her room, Dad and Mom stepped out from their chair, and entered her periphery. They look like a mess, Twilight thought, biting the inside of her cheek. Dark baggy eyes, rimmed with bloodshot red. Scruffy fur, and bedraggled mane — locks of stray hair sticking out, and tangling up with one another; their color greyed, and faded from the lack of care and attention.

A chuckle broke her observation. “Eyes up here, Sparky,” Dad grinned. It was tired, and forced, lacking in his usual exuberance, and carelessness. Despite herself, Twilight shrunk into her bed. “... How’re you feeling, buddy?”

“Good,” Twilight replied, swallowing the knot in her throat. She didn’t even want to know the expression on Mom’s face. “Better than I expected, to be honest,” she admitted, tracing a hoof against her lightly bandaged sides, before staring at her casted leg — held hanging by some slings. It felt… well, it felt fine. Some twinges, and itches, perhaps, and a faint numbness.

There was a long stretch of silence. Left to stew inside her own thoughts, Twilight decided she didn’t like it at all. What a joke of a Guard I am, Twilight mused, before pausing: Am I even a Guard? Did I pass the test? Not that knowing the answer would help breaking this choking silence.

But she didn’t need to. Dad let out a hum. “Well, that’s good to know. The Doctor said you weren’t in much danger. Just some cracked ribs, extreme loss of blood, extreme magical exhaustion — just exhaustion in general, and a broken leg that required several stitches. Nothing that a little sleep, magic, spit, and elbow grease can’t fix, eh? At least our expensive health insurance finally paid off.”

Twilight stared for a very long time. She wasn’t the only one. Shiny looked at Dad as though he had just grown another head — even Mom looked… not surprised, but something. Bemused “... I think the Crown’s going to cover pretty much everything, health insurance or not,” she instead found herself say. There’s a beat of pause. Twilight followed it with a weak chuckle.

Dad blinked, and then rolled his eyes — a chuckle leaving his lips. “Well, what a waste of money then, that. I’m sorry, Sparky,” Dad sagged. “Didn’t mean to go off the handle on you there. You didn’t deserve that.”

An exasperated sigh. Mom’s. A light smile played on her lips; tired, but genuine, before she nuzzled Twilight’s neck. Twilight closed her eyes at the familiar embrace. “We’re just… so scared,” her voice rumbled, coursing through her body. Mom’s lullaby. “When we heard the news, and when found you there…” Mom shivered, before pulling away from her embrace. Sky blue eyes gazed deeply into Twilight’s purples. “Tell me, Twilight… is this going to be something we have to expect when you finally become a Royal Guard? Will there be a next time?”

“No,” Twilight answered immediately. Then a pause. Twilight squeezed her eyes shut. “... I don’t know,” she finished lamely. “But it isn’t something you’ll have to expect.”

“I see,” Mom didn’t sound surprised at that. Cracking her eyes open, Twilight realized it didn’t make her look any less saddened. “You know, it’s moments like this — where you ended up getting hurt, or hurting somepony else, I can’t help but wonder how none of these things would’ve happened if I hadn’t said yes, years ago.”

Twilight flinched.

Dad frowned. “Velv, dear.”

“I know, Light,” Mom returned, a guilty look on her face. After a moment, she focused to Twilight. “And I’m sorry, dear,” her hoof felt warm against her mane. “I lost control there.”

Twilight’s lips twitched in wry humor. “Not for the first time, yeah. At least this time, it was Dad who lost control, and not you.”

“Haha,” Mom deadpanned. “Very funny.”

Twilight smirked.

“We’ve heard what happened from one of your friends. Star Cell,” Dad chimed in, and Twilight’s ears perked up. “She told us that you did the most in dealing with the monster — and that you also saved her life twice. Bit strange, after what we just said,” he admittedly, chuckling. “But we’re proud of you, Twilight.”

“Well, I’m not,” Velvet mumbled. Dad gave her a knowing look, and Mom flushed, looking away. “Well, maybe a little.”

Twilight giggled — feeling another set of weights lifted off her shoulders. She had already taken a hopeful guess, but it’s still nice knowing that Star Cell’s fine. More than that, she welcomed the fading tension from the room. In the end, it was always like this.

“Just promise to be careful, alright?”

Twilight nodded seriously. “I promise.”

Dad grinned. Mom sighed under her breath; a sad, watery smile on her lips. Twilight averted her eyes away. Out of all of them, Mom had always been against Twilight’s choice of career.

“I…” Twilight’s eyes twitched towards Shiny. For the very first time in a while, he spoke; voice soft, and hollow. Watery blue eyes fixed upon the seams of the hospital tiles. “I don’t get it,” he raised his head, glaring. “How… why are you guys acting like…” he trailed off. “Why are you guys acting like there’s nothing wrong with this whole thing?! Sis, you’re hurt. And for what?! Some… some stupid test?”

“Shiny…” Twilight sighed. Mom and Dad understood — they had to, raising a filly who dreamt big. It’s why they accepted her answer “easily”. Shining Armor didn't, at least not to such an extent. Gone were the days where Royal Guards would get sent out to vanquish great evils, or looming threats — a proverbial adventure where they might meet interesting characters along the way. Or maybe that had never been the case — an ideal immortalized in fictional books that Twilight still adored.

As everything oft to be, the reality was much less engaging, filled with the monotony, and bureaucracy a small part of four years in the Academy had drilled into. But even though she, and her classmates were oft called “decoration soldiers” and “toy guards” by the other cadets, that didn't change the fact that they were Princess Celestia's Sword and Shield — her personal agents.

And when it came to managing Equestria’s peace, Twilight Sparkle would bet her soul that Princess Celestia wasn’t one to be idle.

“Even if I wasn’t hurt today, then it might be tomorrow, and even if it was today, it could still be tomorrow,” That doesn't just apply to being a Guard, Twilight mused. Police officers, firefighters, and more. “What I'm trying to say is, I've accepted the risks, Shiny. I have been for ten years. Mom and Dad don't, but they knew,” Twilight explained.

“Well I haven't, and I don’t like it,” he stamped his hoof on the floor glaring at everypony. Silence, then broken by a sniff. “I hate this,” Shiny mumbled.

“I don’t expect you to,” Twilight mused aloud, reaching out for Shiny. He didn’t push her hoof away, and instead reclaimed his place by her side. Her shoulder grew wet again, but that was a laughably small price. Mom and Dad stepped closer, piling their body against Shiny; against Twilight. Bodies pressing, radiating a warmth Twilight hadn’t felt for weeks. As far as family hug went, it was the least comfortable, and the most awkward — but it was definitely one of the best. If not the best ever.

Twilight tried to ignore the sudden clog inside her throat. “How… how long have I been out?”

“One and a half day,” came Mom’s answer

“Oh.”

Silence again. Then somepony sniffed — Twilight didn’t know who. It could’ve been her. It was probably her. But whoever it was, it didn’t matter, because that had been the fuse to break the dam. Burying her face into Dad’s chest, the tears that welled in her eyes began to spill — the years training, and mastering her emotions forgotten, and thrown aside for now as she silently wept, body shaking as snot dripped.

I’m alive, Twilight thought. Everyone’s fine. Star Cell, and everyone, they’re alive. Mom, Dad, and Shiny are all here. Even though it had only been a couple weeks at most since she last saw them — even though it had only been two days or so after the terrifying encounter with the revenant, where she had nearly died… a strangled choke escaped her throat at that, and she dug her face deeper. I nearly died, didn’t I? It wasn’t just a street scuffle, or a duel competition — it was a real life or death situation.

In that heat of the moment, running on the magical fumes that was adrenaline, and putting her everything into dodging, and swinging her sword like a cravened lunatic, Twilight didn’t have the time to truly think about it —

But there was a real chance, wasn’t it? A very real possibility that Twilight was never going to come back home — that she was never going to see Mom, Dad, and Shiny again.

Her cry was an ugly thing. Snot running from her nose, and spit spilling over her mouth — yet, it was also a joyous thing. Weights Twilight never knew she even had fell off her shoulders, leaving only a sense of relief — palpable, and real; like sweet air to a drowning mare.

“... I-I-I’m,” her voice hitched. “I’m home.”

Author's Note

Once again, thanks to Sunglow for proofreading this one.

Twilight Wants to Become a Royal Guard

Summer that year was particularly unbearable. A tiny error in the Weather Factory, that snowballed into something bigger; a minor misalignment of the tried and true method. A measuring machine that had been deemed outdated, and in requirement for dismantlement kept in the back of a storage, never ever seen by the sun — dug out because the original machine was broken, and a quick replacement was needed. Even then, it wasn’t the fact that the old machine was deemed inappropriate to use that caused everything to fall, but merely the fact that the Weather Engineer that had been working on it wasn’t familiar with the outdated Starswirl Unit System. The end result had been devastating. Clear blue skies, with no clouds and rains to stave off the worst of the Summer sun.

It had become a nation-wide crisis over Equestria; daily public warning posters and signs strapped, stamped and planted on every corner of the street, reminding ponies to drink, and keep under the cool shade — or just stay inside at home. Widespread cases of heat strokes, from the young to the very old. It was bad enough that there had been a petition to cut the day short. Inevitably, some ponies did pass away from the unexpected heatstroke, which had led so many legal battles against Equestria’s Weather Factory, and played a reason why Princess Celestia nearly agreed to it. Still, cooler heads prevailed, and it never went pass the board. Nopony knew what cutting the day short might’ve done to the Earth on the long run, and nopony was eager to experiment. It had taken one month before the problem was finally fixed, and consequently, either to make up for it or to keep with the schedule, the second month that Summer had been particularly un-Summer-like.

Still, clear sky with nearly no sign of clouds unless you’re highly upper class, or living near large farms meant one thing — clear night sky, and ponies were nothing if not capable of taking the good from the bad. That month, grassy plains across Equestria were covered with checkered picnic blankets, and families — and couples — gathered under the night sky, enjoying the cool breeze, and pointing at the stars that seemed brighter than ever. Laughter, whispered gasps, and noises of awe filled the air. There had even been a few opportunistic Unicorn students looking for a quick buck, volunteering to cast an Anti-Insect Shield Spell on them for a few bits.

Fortunately, Night Light’s effort to live up to his name had made him knowledgeable on the matter. “And that one is Orion,” he pointed. “The Great Griffon Hunter, Orion — that is to say,” he added quickly, realizing how that might sound. “He’s a Griffon that hunts, not someone who hunts Griffon.”

Sitting by his side, Twilight Sparkle perked her ears up — and then frowned. “Wait, he’s not a pony?”

Night Light blinked, and turned to stare at his daughter. “... Pretty sure he’s a griffon,” he furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing the bottom of his chin. His little Spark was so smart even he doubted himself at times, he thought, feeling chagrined and amused. “Yeah, he’s a griffon,” Night Light nodded confidently, before peering curiously at his daughter. “Why’d you think he’s a pony?”

“Oh. W-well,” she mumbled, wringing her hooves together. “... Even though it’s not historically, or astronomically correct, ‘Rally Forth, and the Hunt for the Sun’ is still a good book! It’s well-written, funny, and heartfelt! Sure, every book follows the same formula, but it more than makes up for it with the chemistry of the characters, e-especially between Rally and her canine sister-in-arms Vulpin! A-and the epilogues all feel satisfying, so…” Twilight trailed off. Her eyes widened in horror as her hooves leapt up to her mouth.

Night Light opened his jaws, and then closed it. His eyes went glassy for a moment. Rally Forth, and the Hunt for the Sun — it was that really, really old trilogy series when he hadn’t even met Velvet. It had never caught his attention, but the reviews he skimmed at the end of the Canterlot Daily described them as “popcorn novels” at best.

Well, that came out of nowhere. Not only that, he was also pretty sure the books were rated above eighteen, and last he checked, his little Spark was eight years below that. “Oh. Huh,” distantly, he felt that he should be asking how Twilight managed to get her hooves on them, and another more distant, yet everly-looming was the thought of how Velvet might react if she had decided to join them tonight. “... Is that why you weren’t having much sleep these last few nights?” he asked.

Bearing the look of a criminal caught in the act, Twilight let out a sheepish giggle. “Y-yeah. Um,” she cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you guys would… approve.”

“Your mom sure as the sun won’t,” Night Light chuckled, trying to imagine that — and felt his throat dry up immediately. “Heh. And I’d be a bad parent if I don’t do anything… on the positive, I guess you’ve already learned about the birds and the bees,” Night Light chuckled again, and if he sounded a tad shrill, nopony was there to point it out.

Twilight blushed. “Well, I already knew what it was from the biology books I read, but… it’s different, I guess, when written the way it was written. Though in defense of Mrs. Harness, the first two books were actually rated for my age, and were pure of action, heroics, and close camaraderie...”

Night Light smirked. “Camaraderie, huh? My daughter’s growing up without my guidance…” he sighed melodramatically. “Whatever shall I do?”

Twilight pouted, before looking at dad carefully. “... are you gonna tell mom?”

A hum. “Well, what’s done is done. So no, I won’t,” he shrugged eventually. At his daughter’s surprised look, Night Light chuckled, placing a hoof over her head. She made a vaguely protesting noise at the back of her throat, but didn’t make any effort to pull away, hanging her head instead. “That is to say, I’ll keep it a secret until you’re eighteen. Gotta give your pops some power, here,” he grinned. “Still,” he added. “I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of books — fiction, I mean. You’ve always buried yourself in those sciency, and magicky books.”

There was something there in Twilight Sparkle’s eyes, lingering as she shuffled on her haunches. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “But one thing led to another, and… well… it seemed exciting.”

There was something there, and Night Light felt that this was his only chance in unearthing what that was. “What is?”

For a long moment, Twilight didn’t say anything. She stared at the ground; at the checkered red-and-white blanket, hoof tracing along the line back and forth. “It’s, erm, uh,” her cheeks darkened. “Being a Royal Guard. A Knight. Rescuing damsels in distress, and rushing into danger. It was a history book, at first,” she switched the subject. “About the military. And there was a lot of feats in there, and — do you know what a Sonic Rainboom is? It’s when you move so fast you need gravity to help you that you break the sound barrier, and it would be boom and you could feel the shockwave spread through Equestria, and see —”

Night Light felt a small pit inside his stomach. He raised a placating hoof. “Sparky, breathe.”

Twilight stopped, licking her lips. Slowly, she raised her head and stared at Night Light. The expression those eyes carried felt both familiar, and unfamiliar. Familiar because he had once done the same, and unfamiliar because he had never seen it in his daughter’s eyes. That pull from places beyond, telling you that you should go through it, whatever it takes. Historical poets loved to dub it ‘the pull of Destiny’. Night Light liked to call it resolution. “Dad, I want to join the Guard.”

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