Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

Mother

==============================

The broad windows darkened, revealing the room as a spacious balcony with sparse furniture—chairs, cushions and mats; all empty save for the large easy chair on the slightly elevated platform.

Years upon years had bleached Queen Chrysalis’ carapace to bone-white and in addition to that change, a webwork of tiny metal stitches covered countless hairline fractures, holding her chitinous skin together. Her mane hadn’t escaped discolouration either—not into the silver of an elder but a faded hue of its original seaweed colour. Nor did it hang loose anymore, made into an elaborate headdress of braids. Only the queen’s eyes refused to subdue to the onslaught of time—venomous green, they slyly twinkled behind a pair of dainty glasses.

Atop her natural exoskeleton, a delicate golden filigree framework of artificial joints rested like a full-body set of intricate jewellery, softly glowing crystals embedded into it casting pale rose shadows on her alabaster body. Strangely enough, Chrysalis’ head wore no crown; only a cherry-red comforter on her shoulders, embroidered with… pink hearts.

Trixie’s voice suddenly came from my side.

“Sunset? Sunset Shimmer?” she called. “You’ve survived?”

“As have you,” a figure by the changeling’s side replied with a cryptic smile.

My gaze shifted to the mysterious equinoid—a mare with a frame of an unremarkable design. Her mane copied that of Trixie, a projection resembling flames—a red mass with streaks of yellow hugging a horn. Her paint matched those bright colours with a fiery orange. She might have belonged to a construction site if not for the energy bubbling in the gaps of her plating—dark shapes with cyan edges pulsed inside the body of a Former One.

Surprisingly, it was not only Trixie who seemed to recognise Sunset—Luna stared at her as well, with wide eyes full of pain. To my further confusion, the Former One met that look with a glare of disdain.

Chrysalis cleared her throat to disrupt the staring contest, but her lungs refused to cooperate and she had to fight an overwhelming coughing fit. Sunset levitated a glass of water from behind the chair but the queen waved it off.

Finally, she regained the ability to speak.

“I’m sure you have many questions to ask,” Chrysalis said in an only slightly raspy voice, looking directly at me, then addressing the others, too, continued, “and while I’d very much like to entertain you with my company I’m afraid there are pressing issues at hoof calling my attention right now.

“Each one of you will be treated as the dear guests you are, provided with a room… and more.” Flashing a toothy grin, she practically purred, “Geode Gleam.”

Barely holding herself upright, Wire still scowled at the ruler of Canterlot.

A gilded hoof pointed at the doors at the opposite half of the room, a set mirroring those we entered, and they opened, revealing a duo of changelings flanking two ponies.

The two mares shared their constitution and appearance, though one was older than the other. The younger one anxiously shifted her prosthetic hind legs, whilst her companion’s head swivelled, sightless gaze futilely looking for something.

Wire let out a strangled cry before instantly bolting to them—Hollow Druse and Roche Dust, I realised. However, her joy might prove premature; I took a step forward, preparing to drag Wire back with my magic, but an arcanium-clad hoof stopped me, clicking softly against my breastplate.

“They’re real,” Rainbow whispered.

The changeling queen diverted my attention back to her, as she struggled to speak over the frantic sobs of the happy filly and her family.

“Clandestine Delight.”

My pegasus friend instantly froze, one uncareful word away from fainting.

“Moths are heroes to my Swarm. Thank you for saving my children.”

Chrysalis climbed out of her seat and deeply bowed, much to Delight’s fluster. Wincing, she returned to her seat and addressed the next pony, “Trixie Lulamoon, your services to the Crown and city haven’t been forgotten.”

A schematic, slightly tattered and singed at the edges floated out from behind the great chair, held by the crimson glow of Sunset’s magic, black and cyan appearing along the edges.

“We recovered and repaired your mechanical body,” the Former One commented.

“Tin Flower,” Chrysalis declared, making the filly nervously look at her. The elder changeling let out a short laugh, giving me a brief smug sidelong glance. “A friend of my friend is my friend as well.”

Squinting at her, I remained silent and ignored Flower’s confused look.

“Luna…” Chrysalis smiled in an unreadable way, displaying a mouth full of fangs—not a single one missing. “I trust you to treat my children fairly as they’ll treat you with all the respect a Princess deserves.”

Luna pressed her lips together and bowed her head.

As the only one yet to be graced by the queen’s attention, I locked my eyes with her, a firm look on my face. Chrysalis met it with a pleasant expression, though her gaze bore a distinctly enigmatic quality to it, betraying her politeness being a mask.

“I believe you’d like to visit our mechanics’ workshop,” she nonchalantly said, giving my body a measuring glance—the journey did take a heavy toll on it. Then the changeling added, her words matching the look in her eyes, “You may find something there you might want to fix as well.”

The doors, both sets, opened once more and at least a dozen changelings entered, accompanied by an equinoid. Whilst the changelings split into pairs, approaching each member of our group (except Rainbow), the artificial pony went straight for me.

“Lady Sparkle,” she addressed me in a melodious voice, giving me quite a low bow. “Allow us to guide you to our home.”

Before I could even think of how to react, Flower caught my attention with her stubborn refusal to leave with the changelings—she practically fought them. Pressing my lips tight and casting a wary glance at the strange equinoid, who still waited for my response, I trotted to the filly.

“I don’t want to go with them, Twilight,” she loudly whispered, shooting two changeling mares a glare tinged with fear.

They answered it with sheepish and somewhat toothy smiles—not exactly the best combination.

When I turned back to the equinoid, she met me with an expressionless face—not that her one-piece mask could show anything else. Yet, she almost imperceptibly nodded and left with another curtsey.

“Where are you taking her?” I asked the mares, holding back a very heavy sigh.

“To the infirmary.”

“Do you mind if I join?”

My presence failed to inject enthusiasm into Flower’s attitude towards the changeling race, but at least she complied, letting the two actually quite lovely mares lead us to the first-aid point.

Despite its size, the small clinic had managed to organise a few separate rooms, albeit divided by thin walls—I could hear (though not discern) Wire’s hoarse voice gushing to her family about the journey, and Delight’s timid questions.

Flower herself remained silent as a changeling medic examined her and applied bandages and ointments even to the smallest scratches—his unsure movements and constant hesitation hinted at a struggle with pony biology.

With Del being out of sight, I could still sense her presence—her judgement—as I sat an aloof sentinel by the filly’s spacious hospital bed. Each time I had indulged in interaction with Flower, I fed her dream with hopes—right now was no different, if not one of the worse offences.

The concept of adopting a child didn’t strike me as unacceptable, but the timing kept being the most inconvenient—Chrysalis certainly didn’t invite me into her home out of the sheer kindness of her heart and until I knew why, accepting any new responsibilities would be quite unwise.

On the other hoof, the queen must have felt Flower’s love towards me, so if she wanted to use something as leverage, that cat was out of the bag.

Deep in my thoughts, I not only failed to notice the physician taking his leave but also Flower emptying the tray of food—not that it could take her long.

One meal was all it took to turn her apprehension towards the Swarm around—Flower seemed not only comfortable but rather content with the situation as she bundled herself under the blanket.

“My mother used to sing me a lullaby,” the filly quietly said.

I let out a sigh—one of my ideas suggested waiting out Flower’s inclination in the hope she would see me as not the best candidate.

Carefully measuring my voice, I asked, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit pushy?”

It didn’t help—she bit her lips, and her eyes started to glisten.

“Sorry, I just…” she trailed off, choking on her words.

“Flower,” I hastily began. ”There’s nothing wrong with what you wish for, but it’s not a decision I can make without giving it a proper thought.

“I never was—” I cut myself off, and tried again, “The closest I had to raising anyone was a baby dragon and that’s completely different, not to mention Princess Celestia had been a lot of help.”

No tears rolled down Flower’s cheeks, but her expression remained—that of trepidation. Boring into me with ‘puppy’ eyes, she practically whispered, afraid of her own question:

“But would you at least consider it?”

Her pleading face failed to cause my rationality to falter but forced it to double up on me. I had to admit—my reluctance to accept her daughterhood stemmed not from the worry of my inability, however true it was, but from the simple fact that I strived to be Twilight Sparkle and she never had beena mother in the full sense of that word.

“Yes,” I replied.

My answer meant not as much as the consideration she asked for, but thinking about who I was and wanted to be—something, I seemed to haven’t finished figuring out yet.

Unbeknownst to that, Flower smiled contentedly and her eyelids drooped—the stress of the past days rapidly caught up with her now her worry had been, if not soothed, then postponed.

Wincing as my joints screeched from the grit of the journey, I otherwise silently left my post at her pillow and headed to the exit only to be challenged with keeping back an urge to shriek.

The moment the door opened a creepy one-piece mask stared at me.

Hoping that my face failed to convey my actual emotions, I said, “Sorry for making you wait.”

“It’s nothing, our Lady.” The equinoid’s voice betrayed nothing but sincere amiability. “We’ve waited for almost five hundred years, what’s another hour?”

Changelings returned to the corridors.

They trotted around, stood near the walls chatting or walked into and out of the countless rooms full of terminals or other busy-looking chitinous inhabitants of this place. The Hive resembled an ordinary office building on a gigantic scale—a seat of government that ran a country.

However, my curiosity kept returning to the mechanical mare.

Thirteen claimed himself to be the Crown’s ‘property’, which explained a lot, starting with his uncanny appearance. The equinoid that led me through the bowels of the Sky Palace bore no resemblance to the race of shapeshifters, and yet she was unlike any equinoid I had seen so far.

Glistening with varnish, porcelain covered her delicate frame like an armour of polished bone. A metal skeleton gleamed through the gaps, dark bones braided with neatly arranged incarnadine tubes and wires. She had no mane or tail, but a silk veil, red and with a few purple stripes, hung from her ears. Above her perpetually serene face, a ceramic horn protruded—part of the mask; a pale rose pulse suggested it being not just an aesthetic feature.

It was the second time since meeting Alnico Sermon that I had encountered an equinoid unicorn. In theory, equinoids shouldn’t have magic, since they had no connection to Harmony—no cutie marks.

But this mare had one—number seven in a black elaborate gothic font.

“Is something wrong, Lady Sparkle?” she commented on my frown.

“No,” I lied, but gave her no chance to press on. “What’s your name?”

“Seven,” the equinoid readily replied. It sounded like she shyly smiled.

I couldn’t help but shoot her a surprised look—somehow her reciting the digit from her flank struck me as exceedingly weird, even though I already knew Thirteen; which only added to the mystery.

“Is there something bothering you, our Lady?”

“Yes.” I instantly tried to correct myself, “I mean, no!”

I let out a deep sigh.

We had just made a turn into what seemed to be some sort of a service passage and I followed Seven silently, trying to figure out which of the things that bothered me about her I should speak of first.

“Why do you keep calling me Lady?”

“You gave us the gift of life, Lady Sparkle.” As I gawked at her, she continued, unperturbed, her voice dripping with gratitude, “Lady Moon Dancer created our bodies, but the Prime Code was written by you alone.”

My thoughts sped up to a full gallop as I tried to align everything I had learned from Svarka, Trixie and now, Seven. Some things refused to make sense, however.

“What happened to Moon Dancer?” I quietly asked, harbouring hope she had become a Former One and would be able to shed light on the riddle of the Machine Goddess legend along with the creation of artificial life.

Seven hung her head.

“I’m sorry, our Lady, she passed away many years ago.”

We emerged into a wide walkway opening into the hollowness of the Sky Palace. The entire level was designed into a terrace; changelings walked about or lounged in the sunlight reflected by the complex system of mirrors set up to light the vast space.

Even more greenery peeked at me beyond the railing—a beautiful garden sprawled at the bottom of the shaft, though I failed to recognise the alien and exotic vegetation. A spire of unmistakable twisted architecture towered in the middle of a thicket—the entrance to the actual Hive hidden in the depth of the mountain.

That sight offered only a momentary distraction.

I didn’t expect Moon to still be alive by this time—I didn’t want her to be.

Rainbow had spent centuries serving the Swarm and that had jaded her into a shadow of the mare she used to be; though perhaps, the weight of sins committed by ponydom could be blamed for that as well. Despite having many memories of her, I failed to reestablish any meaningful connection with the pony who was supposed to be my friend.

Turning to Seven who patiently waited out my reverie, I regarded her sorrowfully—as created in my another life, I would never know how servitude had changed her.

“Our legacy became the queen’s toys,” I lamented with a deep sigh, addressing nobody in particular and in a sort of retrospect realising that I meant even more than just ponies of metal.

“Toys, our Lady?” Seven gasped, incredulous. “We’re treated by the Swarm with as much respect as any changeling. The magic bestowed by Lady Moon Dancer allows us to do things nobody else in the Sky Palace can.”

“Why don’t the changelings just make new equinoids? Like Thirteen?”

Surprisingly, Seven baulked, as much as it could be said about a mare barely capable of conveying emotions when she didn’t speak. And then she did, her voice lost its tunefulness—shame replaced it.

“The Swarm helped with the frame only, but none in the Sky Palace has the magic to breathe life into a crystal heart but us.” She paused, bowing her head in penitence. “Our Lady, we ask forgiveness for creating Thirteen—it wasn’t our place.”

Confused by the conversation—it added only more levels of mystery to the whole equinoid-creation situation, frowning as I had no idea what she meant, asked, “Why is that?”

Seven looked to the side, almost unnoticeable bitterness slipping into her overwise guilty tone.

“The Prime Code is incomplete—Thirteen could never find peace of mind, that’s why he left. We’re able to create, but not nurture.”

A few elevators and technical passages later we came to the technical wing of the Sky Palace; the place Rainbow had led us through before.

White tiles ceded to uneven dingy plaster and changelings changed from the resting citizens to determined workers, hurrying around with tools and boxes. Many passages opened into large rooms taken up by industrial machines. The smells of hot metal and oil, smoke and other acrid chemical aromas wafted from the tight halls between the workrooms.

The ceaseless labour of countless mechanics reminded me of a particular equinoid—Svarka—and the way she addressed me, according to my serial number.

Instead of asking if I was One or Zero, I inquired from Seven, “There are twelve of you, aren’t there?”

“All interlinked.”

Another question readied itself on the tip of my proverbial tongue, but I swallowed it as I already had the answer—the Unity; the paradise of mind promised by the Church was a reality at the Sky Palace. I still had little idea how it worked, however.

“Can the rest of you hear me now?”

“Of course, our Lady,” Seven replied mirthfully.

All of a sudden, her voice came from further away and differently, “We can see you as well.”

Turning my head from Seven I found myself in the doorway of a spacious workshop, full of tools of all kinds, innumerable spare parts hanging from the walls.

And eleven equinoids, eleven unmoving faces had their stares locked on me.

Seven joined them and another porcelain pony, a stallion model proclaimed loudly:

“Our Lady!”

Twelve muzzles touched the floor, producing a singular perfect click.

“Mother,” the twelve voices uttered in a unison chorus of reverence and love.

Moon Dancer had a doll—a peculiar thing of antique design once belonging to her grandmother and quite possibly her gran’s grandmother. Countless hugs of little hooves burnished its yellowed by generations porcelain. I always failed to understand what she found in that toy’s perpetually amiable expression and glossy eyes staring unblinkingly and unnervingly at me.

Yet, Moon prized that doll over any of her possessions—a dear friend equal to me, especially when I decided to choose books instead of a tea party. She called that doll Kismet—a funny (kiss-me-tee) word she’d read somewhere—much to the chagrin of her parents, as the toy already had a name passed down from mother to daughter. Moon went even further—she replaced the old joints.

And I had Smarty Pants—a miserable thing of cloth and buttons, that ‘came with her own quill and notebook’; a toy so unremarkable, it might as well have come out of nowhere, where it eventually ended up.

Whilst Moon’s adoration made the lifeless ceramic muzzle smile at her, my mind filled Smarty Pants’ cotton brain with the reflections of my aspirations and knowledge—it knew advanced algebra and loved it no less than I. We had no tea parties—we solved mathematical problems together.

Those dolls had been left in childhood, but some things couldn’t be laid on the shelf.

When Moon and I conceived those twelve fillies and colts, what did we think?

I might never learn the answer and it didn’t matter—they were here, twelve neither Kismets nor Smarty Pantses, but genius ponies of ceramic and metal, living.

If I had the audacity to call myself Twilight Sparkle, then I must find in myself the humility to accept myself a creator of life.

Wherever Moon Dancer’s and my children expected any reaction from me or not—they showed none themselves as I kept staring back at them, my jaws whirring helplessly. However, eventually, the silence became uneasy, and a pair—a mare and stallion—approached to lead me to one of the workbenches. Nudged by somehow enthusiastic ceramic hooves, I climbed upon it.

Out of all questions, I asked one of that, perhaps, mattered the least:

“Why do you have numbers instead of names?”

Four replied to me, sorrowful, “We once had different names, but Lady Moon Dancer removed that memory. She believed Queen Chrysalis unworthy of knowing them.”

“Do you agree with her?”

“We don’t remember,” Nine deadpanned.

“That’s… not exactly what I meant,” I squinted at her; she either had no sense of humour or had a perfect poker face. “Do you think of Chrysalis as unworthy?”

“She had treated Lady Moon Dancer well.”

“Has she treated me well, too?”

The Twelve abruptly fell silent and exchanged looks—a weird gesture, considering the shared consciousness. Somehow, they seemed torn about speaking, choosing to redouble their ministrations.

They danced around me, using a variety of tools aimed to disassemble my wrecked body.

The bent and torn plates, barely having any lavender paint clinging, floated from my sight first. My grime-coated skeletal limbs followed, protected from direct damage, but driven to their breaking point by the onslaught of sand sneaked inside. But the Twelve didn’t stop there—more and more parts of my body continued to be removed.

Soon, nothing more remained but the enchanted crystals wired together, pulsing with my consciousness as cooling systems washed the heat away. Even my eyes were gently plucked out in the end.

In a flash of blinding light, my vision returned.

The porcelain face of one of my daughters filled my view as she adjusted my eyesight, the picture blinking and changing colours. Then a ceramic mask was lowered onto my metal skull—to my disappointment as I didn’t have centuries to learn to express my emotions with voice only.

Yet my dismay didn’t last.

Seven’s horn glowed rosy and a tendril of pink magic reached inside my body; a moment later it lit up with magical projections—the bone-white plates shimmered with lavender neon. Twelve levitated a mirror and an arcane illusion peered at me, bearing an authentic expression of astonishment. I even had a mane and tail like that of Trixie and Sunset Shimmer.

Disturbingly on cue, the mysterious Former One called me from the doorway.

“Enjoying your stay, I see.”

Despite her leaning on the wall in the display of a laid-back demeanour and her being tone lighthearted, I caught a subtle taunt in her words.

The mare in the mirror scowled.

I had yet to come to any conclusion about Chrysalis, but on top of being in her service, Sunset Shimmer knew Trixie; I would bet my crystals on them having worked together in the Coven.

However, my apprehension didn’t faze her; the Former One smiled, glad that I’d met her expectations. Pushing herself from the doorway to stand upright, she asked, “Mind if I steal you for a while?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You aren’t a prisoner.” Sunset shrugged.

Chrysalis had clearly rubbed off on her—with only a few sentences she’d sowed seeds of curiosity; not that she didn’t have a head start already.

Taking a step forward I felt a rush of air and ceramic beat a staccato against the metal floor—One and Two stood by my sides.

“No need for that,” the Former One commented with a chuckle. “I’ll return her safe and sound.”

My children didn’t budge.

I considered my options and the intent look Sunset kept giving me.

Turning to my entourage, I shook my head and they hesitantly backed; the porcelain couldn’t hide their disappointment and concern.

The sounds of hard work had faded long ago and clouds of dust rose in our wake. Barely lit passages set me on edge with the state of complete abandonment. The mare, eldritch energies bubbling under the plates of her metal shell, helped that none.

My mind tried to conjure the list of Coven members, but the RCRC worked with the reports of the damage—who caused it didn’t matter, only how to negate it. I suddenly realised that we never had to account for living shadows attacking the Equestrian army.

However, I had another piece of that puzzle.

“You seem to be acquainted with Luna,” I said.

Sunset’s brow furrowed.

“She’s the reason why I’m here.”

The explanation, if Sunset even intended to elaborate, had to wait as a set of heavy metal doors barred our passage. Below dust and creeping corrosion, runes glimmered with the trademark iridescence of arcanium.

The Former One approached a small display on the wall and pressed a button—a flickering green glow yanked her grim muzzle from the shadows. She typed a password and the doors moaned plaintively, sliding open—only one of them.

We squeezed through and trotted for a bit before Sunset finally broke the pregnant silence.

“I was young and stupid, but more than that I was ambitious.”

She paused, her jaw working futilely, letting me peek at two rows of ethereal fangs and a long forked tongue.

“Those qualities led me to a fight with my teacher. I grabbed a few random artefacts and hopped into the magic mirror leading to another reality. One day Luna came to me, looking for the items I’d stolen and brought horrible news—my teacher had been killed and my homeland was at war.”

I gaped at Sunset but dared not to interrupt.

“I instantly volunteered to go back to Equestria.” Her expression grew hard and glaring forward at nopony in particular, she snarled, “Luna allowed me on one condition—I join the Coven as a spy and after the war, my crimes would be forgiven.”

The last surviving Princess’s sole contribution to the war cause—sending a mentally unstable failure of a sorcerer to the stallion she knew to be a warlock.

As if reading my thoughts, Sunset continued, “Things didn’t go as well as they were supposed to. Luna dropped all contact with me in less than a year and the transformation magic started to cause… permanent changes.”

I regarded the Former One carefully—she had yet to earn my pity.

“And how did you end up as Queen Chrysalis’ friend?”

“After the war ended, I had no way to get back to Canterlot by any direct routes. A series of ancient tunnels dug by Diamond Dogs connected their mines to the Crystal Caves inside Mount Diamond Point.” Sunset grimaced. “I all but bumped into Chrysalis’ flanks and she made me an offer I couldn’t reject.”

Another set of massive doors stopped us and beside a password, it also demanded a crystal key—a citrine card that made the arcanium seals in the thick steel flare.

There was no tunnel—a catwalk spanned the chasm of an enormous artificial cave.

The cavern surrounding the Royal Palace.

The ivory towers, once gleaming in rays of sunlight, visible from almost any corner of southern Equestria, now knew only the subterranean blackness. Like mould, darkness infused the pristine plaster with a web of ebony cracks. Tarnished golden spires couldn’t reflect even the decay of the rotting pearl of Equestria. Above the faint wailing of draughts, echoes of tiny debris cluttering played a dirge to the deterioration of the sundered castle.

“Why?”

“Moving the Royal Archives, especially the restricted wing, proved to be harder than we thought.” In a quiet voice, she added, “More importantly—it serves as a containment area.”

Crumbled off parget, dust and decomposed wood mounted by the walls like barrows. Moth-perforated tapestries hung limply and forlornly—standards of fallen soldiers. The stale air melancholically entering and exiting the broken windows rattled the shards of stained glass.

The feeling of unease reached its crescendo when we stopped before the sturdy doors of the main chamber. Wishing I had a throat to swallow the phantom dryness, I pushed the door depicting an alicorn raising the sun.

Across the throne room, upon the rotten carpet, a winged and horned equine glowing with a brilliant golden light treaded lethargically.

She didn’t notice that we’d entered, lifelessly and ethereally stepping to the window to gaze into the abyss of the empty cave. Then she turned away, her eyeless muzzle finding a shear on the wall curious. She just stood, staring at the damaged stone, mindless.

“Is…” my voice failed me. “Is she a ghost?”

There could be no such thing, but I had no other explanation.

“An arcane vestige—an afterimage, if you will. The true alicorns wield tremendous power but the laws of magic are the same for everypony.” Sunset let out a deep sigh. “So, when Princess Celestia died, the arcane part of her entity lingered, unable to quickly return to Harmony.

“Chrysalis tried to use that to return Princess Celestia but only managed to stop the reabsorption process—the amount of consciousness attached to this shade is almost nonexistent.”

We watched the apparition of sunlight climb the steps to the throne and take a seat, its unseeing eyes fixed on nothingness.

“Why not let it go then?”

“This thing remembers who killed Princess Celestia and she’s the only one with enough power to undo that spell.”

I screwed my muzzle.

“It’s beyond me how you’ve found it in yourself to forgive Chrysalis.”

The Former One let out a vexed sigh, but said calmly, “She would never admit that it was an accident—the whole invasion was a mistake. But she didn’t do it for fun, her children were dying.”

I opened my mouth to retort and Sunset’s raised hoof stopped me.

“I didn’t bring you here to discuss Chrysalis. We might speculate endlessly if her usurpation of power doomed ponykind or benefited it, but in the end, she caused the direct deaths only of so few.” Sunset took a shuddering breath. “I turned Manehattan into a heap of smouldering ash.”

My hooves backpedalled me away from her on their own will.

Being a bane on the battlefield didn’t justify the deaths, but every combatant knew the risks. Innocent ponies, millions of them, didn’t sign up for cremation whilst still alive. Sunset didn’t commit murder—she was a sentient weapon of mass destruction.

“At what point did you decide that genocide fit the pretence of being a witch for the greater good?” I hissed, struggling to contain the urge to erase her from existence.

“I did it to lure Luna—I wanted to do something so atrocious that she’d regret ignoring me and would do so no longer,” Sunset muttered shamefully. Her armour bulged, barely containing a body of death incarnate as she yelled in rage, “She betrayed me, she let me rot with my only options to either press on as the tool I had become or to surrender to Sombra!”

The desire to do anything to her dissipated in a wake of sheer disgust.

“Pathetic.”

She bristled half-heartedly, snarking, “Yes—I was afraid to die. You can ask Trixie what happens to traitors, and speaking of her, I couldn’t compromise her position. Who do you think gave that naive fool the means to betray him?”

That knowledge brought into a new perspective some of the facts I already knew, but the weighing pan of crime on the scales of justice didn’t stir.

Eyeing Sunset’s slumped form with persistent aversion, I wondered aloud, “And you just confessed all that to me because..?”

She straightened herself, though the haunted look refused to leave her eyes.

“I’ve watched you—we all have been since the Twelve tipped us off.”

I rolled my eyes—of course, they did; the entire Swarm must have been making bets on how many of us would get killed. And my children should get my sincere gratitude for ratting me out to the changelings.

Ignoring my annoyance, Sunset continued in a firm voice, staring me in the eyes with an unreadable expression, “Unlike many you’ve met, I don’t care who you choose to be, but there’s something you should know if you still want to bear the name of Twilight Sparkle.

“When Chrysalis kicked her from that research centre, she needed lots of bits for the transference project. So Twilight stripped the Prime Code off the parts that she couldn’t make work and then sold what was left of the enchantment formulas to the TCE.”

Sunset left me a statue staring into space, no different from the arcane corpse of Princess Celestia shambling around.

I wish I could catch up with her and scream, “Liar!”

But the truth couldn’t be denied—if Moon Dancer never gave up the Prime Code and none in the Sky Palace could access it, then someone else had surrendered the AI enchantments to the public.

Crippled and helpless, Twilight Sparkle had become obsessed with fixing everything, starting with her broken body, unaware of her broken mind. Blind as much figuratively as literally, she threw the miracle of life to the timberwolves for the ring of a coin. So she could end up as a fancy duster in an abandoned library.

Where Sunset set ablaze the most populated city in Equestria, Twilight condemned an entire race of equines to five centuries of slavery only saved from executions by a memory wipe. The irony—although she was considered a goddess by her creations, she was the lowliest being in the entirety of Equestria; far ahead of the changeling queen, a mad alicorn and any of Sombra’s disciples.

So, who was I, again?

Unable to stand the presence even of the gravestone carved of sunlight, I left the chamber, wandering, waiting for Sunset to pick me up so I could thank her for giving me a chance to be alone after she’d opened up my eyes.

No different from the rest of the palace, the Royal Gardens poorly withstood the flow of time. The once fertile soil backed into cracked dirt, the desolation disturbed only by half-rotten stumps. Even mushrooms refused to settle in that little wasteland.

As such, nothing obscured the patch of white shining amidst the withered orchard.

The stonework could be mistaken for clouds, so airy the structure was. Masterfully chiselled marble formed the mausoleum’s delicate canopy painted in beautiful murals. The elegant columns offered access to the coffin and the golden plaque shone as mockingly as the day it was set into the tomb.

Here the Sun sets for the last time

It will always keep shining in our hearts

Princess Celestia

Dear sister, beloved teacher, wise ruler

I blinked—not from tears.

Two pairs of flowers lay at the base of the monument—moonflowers, Princess Celestia’s favourites, and two exotic blooms. Someone who knew her personally left the former, but the latter? Perhaps, she did regret it, after all.

However, not only was the unexpected tribute new to that place—in the shadow of the mausoleum a piece of marble protruded from the ground.

Under a six-point star surrounded by five smaller ones an inscription read:

Twilight Sparkle

3rd Era, 984 – ...

The most faithful of students

The most magical of friends

Until we meet again

Twilight Sparkle wasn’t remembered as a mother, not that she deserved that; still, I found it strange that the practically religiously reverent Twelve hadn’t added that line to the gravestone.

They knew, their porcelain masks couldn’t hide that, even though I had failed to notice the subtle hints.

Suddenly, I found myself reluctant to meet them again, to ever look in their eyes.

If I pressed on as Twilight Sparkle, how could I dare to call—to see—them as my children, to accept their pure love? And if I gave up…

“Sorry for lying, but I’m just a random equinoid who remembers some of the stuff your mother did. I’ll be on my way.”

How fragile were their masks of forgiveness?

My eyes wandered across the marker—not artistically done; despite how neatly and painstakingly the words were carved into it, the rectangular pillar itself resembled an untreated slab. Nicks and scratches covered the uneven surface, especially near the epitaph; but the futility of those attempts suggested enchantments protecting the tombstone.

Could I call it my resting place, a grave someone had tried to unmark?

“Until we meet again,” Moon Dancer wished—nobody else had been left to bury Twilight. I knew she never believed in the afterlife, but she would have faith in me returning, maybe, even before she died herself.

But should Twilight Sparkle return to Equestria?

Surprisingly, two flowers lay beneath the last words Moon said to her friend. Not the same exotic blossoms, but still those that grew in the Swarm’s garden. Sunset didn’t care, Rainbow just wouldn’t do it and to the Twelve, their mother had never died...

“Feeling better?” Sunset’s voice started me.

“Has visiting a cemetery ever made anyone feel better?”

The Former One grimaced.

“I have to go—Chrysalis is gathering a city council and as a de facto ruler I have to make some arrangements.” To my raised brow she slyly replied, “You were partially right—she used to not know how to properly treat ponies and now she trusts me to decide for her. Anyhow, she also asked for you to come.”

“Luna’s and my fates are going to be decided there, I assume?” I asked in a tired tone.

“You wish.” Sunset mirthlessly chuckled. “The fate of Canterlot will be. When you’re ready to leave—one of the Twelve has thought she could follow us discreetly.”

I didn’t linger for long at the surreal ruins nor did I chide Seven when I found her waiting for me at the lop-sided palace gate. To her credit, she managed to muster every bit of expressiveness she possessed to look guilty.

Not that I let my eyes divert into her direction in fear she would meet them. Sensing my awkward avoidance or, perhaps, successful at overhearing Sunset and I, she had mercifully absolved me of any conversation as we slowly and awkwardly trotted back.

We found none of the Twelve at the workshop—hardly a coincidence and Seven herself left almost instantly, leaving me to wander around the chamber.

I passed by the racks of ceramic limbs, plates and other spare parts; marvelled at the collection of perfectly maintained complex tools; even had enough curiosity to phlegmatically poke a terminal, though soon retreating in respect.

To my surprise, I found myself in front of a door, half-hidden behind a row of porcelain hooves hanging from the ceiling. My curiosity flared up again and won over every other stimulus.

My eyes instantly fell on an object that had no sense being in a corner of the palace occupied by equinoids—a bed.

Blueprints and sketches of various mechanisms blotted the walls of the tiny room with the low slanted ceiling. Multiple shelves laden with books, both ancient tomes and modern-looking covers. An exquisite tea set, yet showing signs of frequent usage. A sturdy oak table fit for a spacious study and not that ‘closet’.

On the polished wood—an antique doll leaned on an ornate vase.

I gingerly took Kismet with my hooves—I didn’t trust my magic—and stared at Moon’s favourite toy for a long time.

And would have continued to do so if a soft tapping on the door hadn’t distracted me.

Returning Kismet to rest by Moon’s side, I opened the door and my brows shot up.

An equinoid stood in the doorway, bearing a striking resemblance to the changelings and smiling sheepishly. In his trademark voice buzzing with insect wings, Thirteen greeted me:

“Thought I would swing by—say hi.”

My mind blank, I blurted the first thing that came into that void, “I hope you aren’t mad at me for wrecking your archives. Hi.”

“Ha! I always loathed that place.”

The spell of unease dissolved like that, but not for long—neither of the Twelve nor of the TCE, Thirteen still was an equinoid. And if the Twelve knew, then he ought to as well.

“Thirteen.” I paused, struggling to decide if I should finish that sentence. If I wanted to know the answer. “Do you think of me as a mother?”

His face fell into pensiveness.

He quietly uttered, “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since you entered the Royal Archives.” The black metal plates of his muzzle rustled forming a grimace. “I hate Twilight Sparkle and the moment that filly waltzed in and you spoke in her voice…”

However, when Thirteen looked me in the eyes, his bore no anger; only bitterness directed at himself.

“The gems inside you—I stumbled upon them not so long ago and threw them away in a fit of temper, watched as the little thief scurried away and smiled knowing I’d put an end to what remained of Twilight Sparkle.”

My eyes went moon-sized. He gave me an understanding look.

“And then you came, except…”

I clenched my jaws before finishing for him, “I’m not Twilight Sparkle.” Scowling, I barked, “It’s frustrating how everypony tried to convince me I was her and when I finally accepted it, they started to do otherwise.”

Thirteen met my outburst calmly, his muzzle betrayed nothing; nor did his expression change as he thoughtfully regarded me.

He spoke even more softly than before, “When I used to live in the Sky Palace, I was obsessed with her. They made me an archivist for a reason—I’ve gone through every recording, found every piece of knowledge that might tell me why Twilight betrayed her creations.”

I closed my eyes—this equinoid could as well have bucked me. Silence lingered for a few very long seconds.

“Do you still want to know?”

“No. It won’t change anything—but I think you can.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.