They gathered in a quaint rural manse in the northern part of Vanhoover’s chilly forests. Only three such gatherings had taken place in Chrysalis’ memory, though the leaders of each race used other means of contact when the situation bid. Well-placed eavesdroppers said this meeting spot was a favorite of Celestia’s – a chance to see her peers away from ostentatious palaces, and settle issues over good food and pleasant jokes. Perhaps that favor would lower her guard, and perhaps not. It mattered little.
Masked as a household maid, Chrysalis watched her allies gather. Over there walked Adolphus the griffon – beloved by his folk for leading them to prosperity with wealth gained from Equestrian loans. He fancied what came next a master-stroke, and kissed Celestia’s hoof with as much charm as always.
Lady Minosa stood off to one side, so huge as to seem like furniture in the cozy feast hall. Strength belied nerves, for while most would only see the minotaur’s tree-trunk arms crossed stoically in front, Chrysalis noted her fingers picking at the elbow fur. Across from her, imbibing just enough wine to dull his guilt stood the Yak King Grunder. Poor, withered old Grunder – so anxious to pass on a kingdom strong enough to survive his halfwit son’s rule.
Closer to the entrance, President Bruno chattered to Celestia so nervously Chrysalis wondered if he’d give up the plan right there. But he couldn’t, of course. The dogs’ land of Diamondia crumbled under his reign, with anarchists prowling the streets and senators debating impeachment. He starved for political victory, and so became both Chrysalis’ weakest ally and her strongest.
Chrysalis sniffed gently at the air. Sweat, nerves, and fear from every conspirator. The moment of decision had come, but the lack of such scent on Celestia told they had all stayed the course. The old mare was without a clue, though she doubtless sensed her guests were not at ease. Few met her eyes, and thus Celestia bid them all sit down and get to business.
The changeling queen smiled within the mask, for Celestia surely noted they all sat opposite her around the wide square table. Chrysalis timed what came next perfectly, for she puttered in plain sight as Celestia finally asked, “Who called this summit?”
To her sight, the maid turned with glowing green eyes and fanged, victorious grin. Magic swirled as Chrysalis grew to full height and shape and – flanked by Minosa and Grunder – announced, “I did.”
That Celestia did not gasp or shout was not surprising. The mare was sharp, and far tougher than her doting demeanor let on. But Chrysalis did not miss the widening of her soft pink eyes, or hardening of the frown. Her surprise was real. Even more telling was the glance she sent around the room, showing not one of the other lords had given Chrysalis a second look. Grunder’s lips tightened and Bruno tugged breathlessly at his silk collar, but all remained seated.
“What is the meaning of this?” Celestia’s stern voice only lent Chrysalis’ smile a twisted edge.
“We are here to propose a…” Chrysalis let the vowel hang, relishing what she fancied to be the first bead of sweat on Celestia’s brow. “…‘Readjustment’ of our borders. Adolphus, if you will.”
The spindly griffon imagined himself chief among the conspirators – testament to the old changeling adage that none were more foolish than a clever fool. He produced a scroll-case from his vest and held it out to his one-time benefactor. His cheeky grin wavered under Celestia’s glare, but ultimately yellow magic accepted the tube. The tall mare pulled out its parchment while raising a small wooden case from her golden collar. She removed and unfolded a pair of square, silver glasses, set them on the bridge of her nose, and began to read.
Surely, she could multitask. The words demanded to be spoken, and Chrysalis judged her compatriots could use a bit of stiffening. She explained, daintily pouring herself a glass of wine.
“It is the opinion of all assembled here that your kingdom presents an existential crisis upon the globe. Your magical abilities and research have created dangers they are unequipped to restrain. Ponies panic at the drop of one hoof and party at the other, creating a society of frivolity and idle waste of precious resources. You are utterly unfit for self governance, and it is the duty of strong, firm-minded races to save you from yourselves.”
Utter bunk, of course, but it was something to feed the public. “Therefore, the following is proposed: The eastern coast of Equestria from Manehatten to Horseshoe Bay belonged to the griffons before plague drove them across the sea. These lands are rightfully Griffonstone’s, the ponies that live there are rightfully its citizens, and so it shall be. Southern Equestria all the way up to Ponyville and Canterlot shall be placed under the protection of the Black Throne of Chrysalis, while northern Equestria from Vanhoover to Neighagra shall be ceded to the yaks. The western coast to the Whitetail province shall become vassals of the Minotaur Kingdom, and all the Macintosh Hills and Ghastly Gorge shall be given to the Republic of Diamondia, along with all mining rights that may entail. Canterlot shall be jointly occupied by all parties, and become a free city beholden to none.”
The last part removed just a little triumph from her voice. Chrysalis wanted Canterlot more than anything – its mines and palaces, its culture and command of the railroads crisscrossing the land. But all others wanted it too, and this was the only compromise they could reach.
...For now. Even reluctant Grunder could not be so dense as to think Equestria’s fall would end the game.
“These occupiers shall be guests of the Equestrian royalty, who will continue to rule their city. You and your extended family shall serve as spiritual leaders of the pony race, preserving their sense of normalcy and ensuring Cloudsdale’s rain schedules remain unaltered. You shall also rule the Unicorn Range west of Canterlot so as to continue to experiment of pony self-rule. This shall be a rural state, with no schools, railroads, or irrigation built without permission from neighboring powers. You will find all our names undersigned agreeing to this treaty as the surest means to preserve the peace and prosperity of all. Only your own signature remains to be made.”
Celestia said nothing, and continued reading as though Chrysalis had never spoken. Three minutes of silence passed, broken only once by Bruno’s audible gulp and twice by nervous taps of Adolphus’ claws.
With the last page read and pen at her side, Celestia’s magic glowed once more. Her glasses seemed to tremble as the yellow grip placed them back in their case. Soft pink eyes looked fearlessly to their nemesis, then around to the others.
“This proposes the dissolution of Equestria.” Celestia spoke like she would to a nasty child, and Chrysalis released a low sigh as Minosa winced. “No ruler in history would agree to such a treaty without first a mighty war in defense.”
Chrysalis had done her homework, and sneered. “The war would not be mighty. You have twelve battalions of guards at your command, numbering some twenty-thousand ponies. Twice that number is ready to strike from Griffonstone and Yakyakistan. Triple that of minotaurs and changelings stand armed and ready for our signal, as well as five times that number of dogs. Your defenses will fall everywhere, and you will be left with no territory or time to gather reinforcements. You will visit a hell of futile war upon your ponies, and the moral cost for such useless agony will be yours.”
“Do not lecture me of morality, Queen Chrysalis.” Celestia fixed her rival with a matronly glare, and it was credit to the mare’s authority that, helpless as she was, Chrysalis’ stomach did a back-flip.
She braced, but that was all. Celestia deflated, raising the pages again in her magic. Not bothering with the glasses, she squinted and leaned close as though re-reading the words might change them. Thinking, planning, stalling for time. Chrysalis knew all the tricks. But there was no out, no gap for the nearsighted old mare to latch on to. Following the wait Celestia would wheedle, threaten, and bluff, and these would be worthless before the strength gathered against Equestria.
The defeat over those next, quiet minutes took a practiced eye to watch unfold. The imperial frown on those white lips grew soft as inescapable truth loomed high. Celestia’s breathing came faster, and her glaring eyes took a glassy hue. Her horn raised a little less tall as she lifted her gaze from the paper.
The voice which came gave no hint of anything but regal indifference. “This is folly to the point of madness. Have you all forgotten I move the sun, and so may bring annihilation upon you?”
“A fine spell, but we both know which of us is stronger.” Chrysalis gave a lazy smile and sipped at her wine.
She even knew Celestia’s next play. “You may kill or imprison me, but what of the sun? Five years without and you’ll be kings of a wasteland.”
Another sip. “Unicorns once moved the sun, and shall do so again.”
“At tremendous cost,” Celestia said. “Five of them, with shattered horns forever for one more day of light.”
“It is their purpose.” Chrysalis let one fang slip over her grin. “Indeed, we have reached this stage of events precisely because Equestrians ignore their place. Earth ponies decline to farm, forcing less-suited races to grow their own food. Pegasi become soldiers, sports stars, or florists. Your very existence divested unicorns of their place as sun-bringers, creating a race of idle artists and educators. The rest of us know where we belong, and so must teach it to your ponies.”
With her threats expended, the white regal mask slipped. Calm, placid Celestia finally gave a full-throated snort and slapped the air with a hoof. “Enough, enough of your nonsense. Your ‘place,’ hm? Your place as overlords? I’ve heard it before, with Sombra and the crystal ponies. Nonsense then and nonsense now, just raw inventions of petty tyrants. Heil and Sieg. Do you remember those words, Minosa? Do you remember the metal things that screamed them, and how we fought back-to-back to save Minotaur Island? Or is five-hundred years too long to recall a lesson?”
Minosa shuffled against the despairing, wet-eyed glare, but matched it stoically. “A lesson, yes. To never be weak. To build, expand, and prepare for the next crisis to come. It is you who did not learn, and you who fell behind and became vulnerable. There is nothing to blame but your own blind passivity.”
“Spending wealth on rails and schools is blind?” A shrill edge entered Celestia’s tenor voice. “The pursuit of empathy on an international stage is passive? Damn, Adolphus, is there any bridge or hospital in your own land I didn’t pay for?”
The griffon was unprepared to be in the spotlight, and gave an embarrassing half-cluck and hard swallow before speaking. “Ah… yes, yes of course. But if you think about it, there’s really no reason for me not to do this. I can wipe our debt, expand our territory, and make Griffonstone the richest nation on the continent in one fell swoop. It’s nothing personal. Even if I wanted to help you, we couldn’t stand against the other four.”
Bruno nodded, still tugging at his silken collar. “There’s a saying in Diamondia – dog-eat-dog. Sorry, Princess, but I need this to happen. I’d sign on if I were you; by the First Flame, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Live in a palace, go to operas, dance, feast, and all that without the stress and tedium of having to rule. All the good, none of the bad. I hope we can stay friends after, but like I said, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Celestia said, quiet and breathless. The shrill edge was lost to sadder emotion. “It never had to be. Folk can be friends, if only we choose to be. What of you, Grunder? Have I wronged you?”
“Never once in my ninety years.” The old yak hid his eyes beneath their bushy white brows. “My kind have no paragon. I do not live as long as you, Chrysalis, or Minosa. The life of a mortal king is a life spent preparing for death. With this act I give my son wealth and strength enough to secure his reign. No cause is greater to me than Yakyakistan, so I accept Chrysalis’ dagger and now plunge it into your back. May your next decision spare us all a grim war.”
A little hardness returned to the pink eyes as they found Chrysalis – a patch of ice in Celestia’s melting strength. The voice could not even match. It was calm and hopeless, like prayers in a graveyard. “Your dagger, hm? How long did you work at this, Queen Chrysalis? What promises did you lie?”
It was a five-year journey, begun the very week pony magic ejected her from Canterlot. Threats and promises, bribes and blackmail. Setbacks, clandestine meetings, and tense negotiations. All these would continue. Five powers would stand where once the continent had six – give it a decade, and who can say there won’t be four?
That would not be shared, of course, but Chrysalis’ barbed wit deserted her as the ice fled Celestia’s eyes, leaving a great depth of sadness. Of course she was sad. This was the end, and sympathy welled up and took Chrysalis by surprise. She didn’t hate Celestia, older than her by a long three-hundred years. Fits of pique aside, she never did. Celestia was always the mirror – the anathema – the anti-Chrysalis. Her gentleness against Chrysalis’ strength, so that even when defeated her allies carried the day. Trust versus guile, kindness versus callousness, love versus fear. Two incompatible means of rule. Surely, Celestia believed herself right with all her generous heart until now.
So strong a mare, to withstand the apocalypse of her dream with so little outward sign! Yes, Chrysalis could admit she stood infatuated in her moment of triumph. Her mind turned to fantasy, imagining Celestia would come to admire Chrysalis as the genius who at last supplanted her with a greater truth than her own. Chrysalis would be guest of honor at Canterlot’s balls, as she always deserved, and spend friendly evenings instructing her host in cruelty and subterfuge. Then, some engineered griffon drama against the pegasi would place Celestia firmly in her camp for a new war to come. And centuries later she would stand by the throne and whisper advice as Chrysalis ruled all from Canterlot, the just victor of the ancient game.
Yet as her cheeky squint and fanged grin matched Celestia’s gaze, Chrysalis stomach grew very queasy and she could not understand why.
A second look showed the glossy sadness gone from from those huge, pink wells. Not strange itself – Celestia had made a decision, and the skilled statesmare replaced emotion with steel. But the eyes were not cold or determined, either. They stared right to Chrysalis, but seemed to look through her to the wall beyond. Utterly distant, despite the locking of their gaze.
Chrysalis felt sweat tingle beneath her wings as an analogy came to mind – the gaze one gave to a dissected frog. Vague interest and no emotion. But this was different, this was the opposite. Celestia seemed to convey a very distant and muffled despondance as she studied the changeling queen. Not meeting the eyes now, but roaming the face.
Chrysalis blinked, and the gaze had turned to Adolphus. Another silent moment and it moved again, studying Minosa like a portrait on a wall.
Then Grunder, Bruno, and back to Chrysalis. Like Celestia was committing every detail of their faces to memory. Portraits on a wall.
Gossamer wings twitched at Chrysalis’ side, giving a faint buzzing sound before she arrested them.
Bruno had finally opened the silk collar which gave him so much trouble. Yes, it was warm in here. But that was just nerves. Chrysalis finished her wine, and its pleasant burn rallied her thoughts. That gaze… whatever it was, merely another tool of Celestia’s. A last effort to substitute insubstantial diplomacy for power. Already she abandoned it to read the scroll one last time.
Adolphus laid his claws on the table and swayed back and forth on his chair, looking left and right for any excuse to stand. Bruno panted noisily and slurped at his water, while Grunder sat rock-like, his expression dead to emotion.
But Minosa was most damning of all with a single word. “Maybe...”
Chrysalis kicked her under the table, and the minotaur queen fell silent. No going back now. Not five, but seven-hundred years culminated this day. Endless webs of intrigue held them all to her side, strong enough to survive this final, silent threat.
Celestia rolled the treaty and tucked it back into the case, unsigned. Very well.
“Abandon this,” said the white princess. “I would be your friend, all of you. But I will not condemn my race and yours to the world you are creating.”
“No,” Chrysalis sneered, and the others concurred with their silence.
Celestia turned her distant stare once more around the room. She sighed, and shook her head.
“So be it.”
A noise like flint on steel blasted through Chrysalis’ ears and heart. She gagged and jerked with the blow, her gaze knocked wide to behold Bruno rising to flee and Grunder sitting rock-still. White and heat stole the world, followed an instant later by a numb and empty darkness which stole Queen Chrysalis away.
The explosion which obliterated the quaint Vanhoover manse sent shock-waves through the nations. Only Celestia survived, plucked concussed and battered from the rubble. Other realms entered a scramble of recriminations and fear. Dog ambassadors howled endlessly of changeling treachery, privately terrified their own anarchists had done the deed. The Minotaur Kingdom entered a shock of mourning for their ancient ruler, while Yakyakistan glumly coronated the one already called “Mad” King Rutherford. Griffons sent trembling missives asking their financial lifelines not perish with their beloved ruler, and changeling nobles enacted long-made contingencies of alliance and betrayal as they fought for the empty throne.
All had cause to be grateful for the steady hoof still guiding Equestria. Celestia moderated, negotiated, and aided as needed, replacing blind threats to retaliate with calm investigation. Tempers and worries cooled with her labor, bringing the lands back from the edge of war. Theories of dog anarchists and wandering dragons were discussed and shrugged upon, for no criminal or nation took credit, and no valid proof was ever found.
That Celestia called a new meeting of the rulers was expected, given all that transpired. The location was another rural mansion, this time in the Unicorn Range. Far warmer and closer to Canterlot, with Wonderbolts circling above and guards in the upper floors and gatehouse. Packages and guests were screened thoroughly as each new sovereign arrived, and each met gratefully with their host. None mentioned the white wing still splinted at her side, or the faint bruises on her head.
Celestia greeted the newcomers as politely as ever, though with a cold defensiveness that shocked their memories of her. She seemed harried and worried, smiling through a strainer as they took their seats.
“Now to business,” she said, assuming a perch on her own chair. And she removed Chrysalis’ treaty from its case and passed it around the table.
Celestia had no idea there even was a conspiracy before that fateful gathering. She had no idea how deep Chrysalis’ hooks had plunged, or how many here today were involved. Some? All?
They read the treaty down to its signatures and looked to her – her pensive face, her worried posture. They saw an outmatched monarch fearing for her kingdom, wondering if the alliance survived its authors. Unaware of just how badly they needed her to steady their tipping thrones.
The new griffon king Auroch put on a very great show of puffing his brown-feathered chest and squawking with indignant fury. A thick, taloned fist slammed the table hard enough to slop mead from his cup. “Treason! That is all that can be said for Adolphus.”
Acting-President Yella of Diamondia polished her glasses frantically, her nervous, yipping voice quick to follow the prevailing view. “Yes, quite so. For us, that is. All dogs only wish the best for Equestria, and we are creatures of loyalty. Had this cruel war gone forth you would have had nothing to fear, for Diamondia would have risen up against our corrupt leader and marched to your rescue.”
The yak at the table gave a thin smile and rolled her eyes. Khani – a female, slight by her race’s standards. Doubtless sent by Yakyakistan to conceal their new king’s weakness for as long as they could. “All posturing aside, this was a horrific betrayal of Yak Honor. What blackmail the changelings held to force King Grunder’s obedience, I cannot say.”
“Let’s find out, hm!?” Another fist crashed to the table, solid and bull-like to make Auroch’s seem puny. A silver mug collapsed like tin beneath it as Regent Hornulus of the minotaurs bellowed his challenge. “I want to know how Chrysalis made Minosa go against her oldest friend. So how ‘bout it, little bug? You expect us to think your momma kept her own whelps in the dark? Heck, This meeting is for peaceful nations. Why are you even here?”
The replay came tersely, emerging from a shadowed end of the table the others shunned. “Because I was invited.”
There sat Morphus, the new changeling king. Young and precocious, slight and quiet, unlikely victor of the bloody coups that followed Chrysalis’ death. Peering his blank blue eyes defiantly as he sat heartbeats away from war, with hooves folded around a simple collared shirt.
The voice was scratchy and high. “Chrysalis did not make us aware of her plan. If, indeed, she was the architect.”
“‘If?’” Khani gave a droll smile, and Celestia decided she did not like her. “Come off it, bug. How stupid do you think we are?”
A hard thunk sounded off as Celestia brought her hoof to the table. Softer than the posturing kings, but all’s attention moved instantly to her.
Her face, still worried, bespoke of guarded hope. “Slurs do not become us. But the urgency of my cause bids me reclaim the conversation and ask if any of you press these demands against Equestria, and threaten war if they are refused?”
A chorus of chest-beating loyalty sprung up around her. Morphus quietly, others with escalating volume. Celestia gave what many fancied to be her first true smile of the day – fully natural of one who expected enemies and found friends. They burned the treaty as a symbol of unity, and toasted each other by the fireside. Angry musings fell away to companionable laughs, and a few promptings from Celestia ended all talk of blame. All agreed the conspirators were dead, and none desired anything more than the status quo.
Hours passed with food and fellowship, devolving once to a drunken contest of stacking cups before Celestia gently reminded her guests she would be quite busy the next few days. She shook hooves, claws, and hands as each one left, relief still evident on her face as she accepted straggling promises of friendship. Auroch took wing for his own land, while the rest headed to comfortable Equestrian hotels.
The sun dipped low, its coppery red a fine counterpoint to the yellow glow around Celestia as she eased it downwards, then passed the burden to Luna’s distant grip. She finished the evening on a hill just outside the manse, affording a beautiful view of the fields stretching into twilight.
A scratchy voice came from behind. “I have something to say.”
She turned to find the small, quiet King Morphus. The eerie blue eyes watched her, and a trembling swallow preceded the words.
“I was involved. So was Hornulus. I don’t know about the others.”
Celestia smiled, very gently. “The claim was abandoned. We have no grudge, if you do not seek to make one.”
“I don’t,” he said. A low graveling entered the voice, betraying emotion behind the featureless eyes. “I have something else to say.”
“Then come say it.” Celestia’s melodic words flowed easily. She gestured with neck and wing for him to close the ten steps still between them.
Morphus did not budge, and the graveling lent his words a thick air of intensity. “I know what destroyed them.”
Celestia went still for just one second before giving a blink and twisted smile. “My agents have tracked a dozen nearby dragons, pressed as deeply as we could into the criminal underground, and even interviewed anarchists from Diamondia. They seem no closer to determining the truth than when they started. But if speaking your theory makes you happy, I shall be your audience.”
Two seconds passed before he responded. Long enough for Celestia to wonder what hidden gears had turned when he said, “The First Flame. Your folk know the legend.”
“I trust this will go somewhere,” Celestia said, letting the barest hint of amusement play upon her face.
The expressionless eyes did not waver as Morphus told the story few books still cared to print. “Dark things conquered the world at its birth. Twisted, ugly abominations of slime and grotesque monstrosity, making the weak and kindly creatures who lived here their tortured playthings. Continuing for an eon until a wanderer came from the stars. A being of flowing silver and light, who took pity on the agonized world and liberated it, burning away the god-demons with fiery might. She was the First Flame, and is the reason for all that came after.”
“It.”
The soft correction hung between them an extra moment before Celestia spoke quietly again. “‘It’ was the First Flame. The legends do not assign it a gender.”
Morphus seemed to consider his response, letting poignant silence enunciate the nigh-imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. “Your legends don’t. Ours do so freely.”
Celestia released an annoyed sigh, imperfectly masked by her smile. “Please speak directly, for I see where this is heading. You believe I am the First Flame? Leaped from the storybooks, wearing the guise of an alicorn for… some reason?”
The black, hairless head nodded, ending with an arched nose. “I do.”
A velvety, but undeniably humored laugh barked forth, then was cut short by a cough and blush. Celestia swiped a fetlock over her lips and shook her head. “Forgive me, please, but excuse me as well. That is ridiculous in every way. Recall that I lost to your mother in Canterlot and ask if such is the work of a world-saving messiah.”
“Mother talked often of you.” Morphus paced to the side, growing no closer as tension settled in his voice. “She called you her mirror, her antipode. You trust others, you make friends, you help them along. You care for them. Precious ponies are potential casualties if two great beings unleashed their might in a wedding hall.”
Pink eyes followed his every move. “Not as many casualties as there would have been if Chrysalis won.”
“But she didn’t.” Morphus gave a quiet cough. “The ponies won bloodlessly, the way you always strive for. A strange result after you so completely lost control, and a triumph for your doctrine of trust and fellowship. I have studied – that has been the pattern of Equestria’s history. Heroes rise and monsters fall with nigh-universal bloodlessness. Your own hoof in things is always so small, yet the result is always similar.”
Celestia smiled patiently. “I teach, and they act. My heroes know me. My opinion has been steady, and it is no majestic secret. Each and every one of us is precious and unique. There is no one exactly like you, I, or anyone throughout the whole of the past or future, and so every life must be celebrated and nourished as befits an irreplaceable thing of beauty. I have taught this consistently, and so my heroes have achieved consistent results.”
The smiled faltered. “And… if you are saying I caused that explosion and killed your mother, that would seem to end the allegation my record is somehow too perfect.”
Now it was Morphus’ turn to give his lips a thin upwards curve. “Mother laughed so hard when I told her my theory. I am an academic, obviously, so my opinion was never considered worthwhile. She could not shake the romantic notion you were her only equal, or accept any idea of the future without her astride Canterlot.”
“Her humor was not misplaced.” Celestia bowed her head, maintaining a serious tone. “To be an academic is a noble passion, and one too often divorced from politics. You will be a fine ruler. But it is an eccentricity of scholars like yourself to find links in thin air, and attribute pet theories wherever the canvas is blank. I can only believe you have fallen into this trap.”
Morphus listened politely, but pressed beyond her words. “It was mother’s crowning moment, when momentum was finally to swing irreversibly in her favor. Your heroes against her armies, no chance. Your trusts betrayed, your friendships corrupted. Not one day ever went by without a changeling in Canterlot, and in pouring over their notes she fancied she knew you better than you knew yourself. Every out you ever had was accounted and mitigated, every space on your board in checkmate. For the first time, the first time in all history, Celestia was in a trap she could never escape. I read those plans in minutia. Honestly, I carried some of them out. You were doomed. And then… a convenient, untraceable convocation of fire, bringing it all to naught. Backed into a corner as you were, what choice remained? Princess, I know I cannot prove it, but I have never been so certain.”
“You accuse me of murder,” Celestia said.
“I accuse you of nothing.” Morphus finally ended his pacing and turned to her. “It was going to happen. She would never have accepted defeat. Not unless the First Flame revealed herself in bright silver glory… that could have saved her.”
He swallowed, and trembled with the next words. “That could… save everything.”
“Ridiculous,” Celestia said quickly.
Low and intense, Morphus went on. “Mismanagement and corruption in the Griffon Kingdom. Yakyakistan’s idiot new king, the civil strife in Diamondia… us changelings, we squabble and stab to get ahead. I don’t even know how long I expect to live, and you can change it all. Bring enlightened rule to the continent and world.”
The response was cold, and rapidly spoken. “The First Flame, if it ever existed, would not have any business ruling the world. The legends attribute it with nothing but destruction. Destruction of evil, yes, but destruction all the same.”
“You excuse yourself of responsibility,” Morphus said. “Why the charade?”
“Why the insistence? I am an alicorn, as others before me. Made worthy by my deeds to be paragon of the Equestrian race. Nothing more. Do you forget I have a blood sister, who shared my womb?”
“She is not your blood!” Gravelly triumph entered Morphus’ voice. “Changelings saw you. Even then we were among ponies. As your power grew we sought word of your past, and one wanderer told of a weeping blue babe in the mud, discarded in those hard times. And he told of the very young mare with deep, pink eyes. Appearing as a child of six, but without gangly movements or trembling gait. Nor was there hint of trepidation as you placed the babe upon your back and raised her with motherly wisdom to call you sister.”
Celestia gave a grumbling whinny and shook her head. “Your leaders of antiquity surely offered reward for information about me. This wanderer made up a plausible little story and cashed in.”
“Princess, all is not well in the world and you can change it. You saw how easily those in power are swayed by the promise of more. We are petty, self-wounding little creatures. You could end it. Bring peace.”
Celestia sniffed. “You are not as wise as you believe if you equate a god with peace.”
“What about just my realm, then?” Morphus stepped forward and reached. The blue eyes wobbled beneath a thin sheen of tears. “We are hungry. Violent. You can help us.”
“And I shall,” Celestia said. “Aid and support will be forthcoming. The rest is up to you, King Morphus.”
“You can rule us.” Morphus strained his leg forwards, though never quite touched. “You are–”
“Celestia.”
The word came gently, softly, and in doing so ended the conversation. The temper was gone, leaving a doting smile. “Princess Celestia, co-ruler of Equestria. Nothing more.”
The reaching hoof slid to the ground. Morphus breathed out jaggedly, then bowed and spun to walk away.
Now bathed in velvet dusk, Celestia gave a final call. “I am sorry about your mother.”
“You could have saved her.”
The voice was low, defeated. Morphus did not look back, and soon vanished into the gloom.
Celestia watched him leave then sat upon the hilltop, submerging her mind into feeling. Smelling the grass, hearing the breeze and chitter of crickets as wind blew through the ethereal silver in her mane. No thoughts, no plans, just the strange transitory sense of being mere part of a whole before cool, pleasant night gave way to day.
Nothing lasted – lives or gentle evenings. Every moment was a precious gem.
“You could have saved her.”
She dreamed – yes, she could have.
Flowing silver and flame. Power and glory, queen of queens, god of gods. A world at her hooves, held still beneath its master in an illusion of peace.
But enough of dreams. She rose and began the short trod back to the manse. Princess Celestia, and nothing more.
A thin, ghostly smile hovered at her lips, for there was one truth Morphus failed to pierce with all his books and wisdom. One truth banished to the dark of total ignorance, where perhaps the whole legend would follow.
Those cruel god-demons of ages past, who enslaved, mocked, and slaughtered life until the First Flame took pity on the agonized world and destroyed them… they were not demons at all. Not dark, twisted creatures cavorting from abyssal depths.
They were beautiful beings, of silver and light.
Author's Note
"If I were to construct a God, I would furnish him with some qualities and characteristics which the present lacks.
He would not stoop to ask for any man's compliments, praises, flatteries; and he would be far above exacting them. I would have him as self-respecting as the better sort of man in these regards.
He would not be a merchant, a trader. He would not sell, or offer to sell, temporary benefits of the joys of eternity for the product called worship.
He would value no love but the love born of kindnesses conferred; not benevolences contracted for. Repentance in a man's heart for a wrong done would cancel and annul that sin; and no verbal prayers for forgiveness be required or desired or expected of that man.
In his Bible there would be no Unforgiveable Sin. He would recognize in himself the author and inventor of sin and author and inventor of the vehicle and appliances for its commission; and would place the whole responsibility where it belongs: upon himself, the only sinner.
He would not be a jealous God – a trait so small that even men despise it in each other.
He would not boast.
He would keep private his admirations of himself; he would regard self-praise as unbecoming the dignity of his position.
He would not have the spirit of vengeance in his heart. Then it would not issue from his lips.
There would not be any hell – except the one we live in from the cradle to the grave.
There would not be any heaven – the kind described in the world's Bibles.
He would spend some of his eternities in trying to forgive himself for making man unhappy when he could have made him happy, and he would spend the rest of them in studying astronomy."
-Mark Twain
