Records of Equestria: The Elements of Power

by Gearcrow

Chapters

Prologue - Legends of Equestria
Part I - Ch. I - The Less You Know
Part I - Ch. II - Parish-By-The-Sea
Part I - Ch. III - In the Shadows of Legends
Part I - Ch. V - A Little Bit of Chaos Remembered
Part I - Ch. VI - Salted Wounds Never Fester
Part I - Int. I - When Once Again I Hold You Near
Part I - Ch. VII - What Matters Over Mind
Part I - Ch. IV - What You Have Done to the Least of These

Prologue - Legends of Equestria

“There are so many kinds of magic.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“Well, where does it all come from? I mean it has to come from somewhere, right?”

“I don’t know, I never really thought about it that way. Doesn’t it just come from us? No, that can’t be right?”

“Can’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean there’s ambient magic right? Stuff that just kind of floats around.”

“Like the Everfree Forest?”

“No, no, the Everfree Forest is… it’s different. The opposite actually. More like, the seasons not
changing.”

“Isn’t that just how things are though? I thought seasons changing on their own was unnatural.”

“You would think.”

“What’s so funny?”

“I think we may be the most unnatural things here.”

- Starswirl the Younger and Unknown

1002 EoH

The sun hung late in the sky and bathed the wheat fields outside Maple Hills in a deep and orange glow. The wind whispered evening secrets as it rippled through the heavy grains, and the whole world seemed sleepy and ready to retire from its labors. Tumble was dragging an empty, yet still very heavy, wooden bucket back to the barn from the chicken coop, and since he wasn’t much larger than the bucket, it was slow going. He stopped for a second to catch his breath and to look at the setting sun. Young as he was, he could still appreciate the majesty of Equestria and the stunning beauty of nature. Many a night, Big Pa would gather everypony on the farm together around the hearth in the great hall and tell stories about the bounties of the earth and the magic that lived in all growing things. Tumble loved his stories. He knew what Big Pa said was real and important. He wasn’t sure why, but he could feel it all the way from his ears down to his stubby little legs.

He bent his head to grab the bucket again but then stopped. The farm seemed unusually quiet. He cocked his head this way and that to see if he could hear birds or farm animals or even the distant gleeful shrieks of his obnoxious sisters, but aside from the wind in the fields, nothing stirred. Then he felt a warm tingling sensation in his chest and an irresistible urge to turn around and look back across the fields towards the chicken coop and the woods beyond.

In the field right by the fence, not more than five paces behind him, stood a mare. She was large, much larger than any pony he’d ever seen, and looked strong enough to knock a barn down with a single kick. She looked at him with deeply knowing eyes the color of wet morning grass and smiled. The sight of her made his breath catch and caused his legs to tremble, though not from fear. He couldn’t say for certain why, but he knew instinctively that she meant no harm. The wind tossed her mane and tail and for a brief moment Tumble could smell the sweet fragrance of apple pie and freshly gathered hay. Her sun dappled coat seemed to emit a warm and comforting glow, and he thought to himself that perhaps she wasn’t a pony at all, but rather one of them nature spirits Big Pa always went on about.

“Hey there, little one.” She sounded like she might have been from Appleloosa, except that somehow Tumble could hear the tilling of fertile soil and the creaking of ancient trees in her voice. He tried to respond, but her presence was so overwhelming that for many long seconds all he could do was open and close his mouth in stunned silence.

Eventually, he was able to squeak out a very quiet “Hi.”

The otherworldly mare chuckled, a deep and throaty sound that contained the rumbling mirth of a mountain. “It’s a nice farm you got here. You must be real proud of it?” The sound of her kind joy put Tumble slightly more at ease.

“I guess I am. Big Pa says we’re, um, blessed to live on such good land and all.”

The large pony looked down at the dirt under her hooves and Tumble thought she looked an awful lot like his Ma did when she looked at Lil’ Hayseed. There was love in her eyes, like the dirt was special somehow.

‘Uh, I’m Tumble. Are you a nature spirit?”

The mare looked up at him and laughed. “Maybe a little bit, but mostly I’m just a hardworking earth pony. Like you, I reckon. My name is Applejack.”

Tumble, feeling much more comfortable around her now, squinted at her suspiciously. He was still young, and so, admittedly, didn’t know much about the workings of the world, but he was pretty sure you either were a pony or weren’t a pony.

“How can you be ‘a little bit’ a nature spirit?” he asked. Again, Applejack laughed.

“Well, I guess I’m just an earth pony then.” She leapt gracefully over the fence onto the path and walked right up to him. “Why don’t you grab that bucket, and I’ll walk with you back to the barn.”

Tumble sighed and looked with dismay at the thing, but his Ma hadn’t raised no quitter, so he grabbed the handle with his teeth and began to walk. Surprisingly, the bucket suddenly weighed almost nothing at all. He still had to crane his neck back to hoist it fully off the ground, but he found that he felt both strong and rested despite all the work he’d done that day, and so lifting it really wasn’t very hard at all.

“Well, aren’t you a strong one,” Applejack said with a sly smile on her face. They walked along in silence for a while before Tumble stopped and put the bucket down again.

“My Big Pa tells stories about an Applejack. He says they’re from long ago when the Princess was still around, but they’re about you, aren’t they?” Tumble thought he caught a brief glimpse of sadness in Applejack’s bright green eyes, but she was smiling when she answered.

“Your grandpa is right; those are very old stories.”

Tumble nodded to himself and felt that he’d understood something important. “Those are my favorite stories,” he said before picking up the bucket and continuing on his way. He didn’t look back, but he knew that Applejack was gone. Still, the bucket was light and easy to lift all the way back to the barn, and when he entered the house, he felt stronger and more well rested than he’d ever felt in his short little life.

Ma was sitting in a large green chair by the fire with Lil’ Hayseed curled up between her legs, sleeping. Big Pa sat across from her in his rocking chair. His eyes were closed, but Tumble knew better than to assume the old pony was asleep.

Sure enough, as soon as he got close Big Pa opened his eyes and stared at him. “Took you a mighty long time to feed them chickens. It’s already dark.”

Tumble just grinned at him and sat down on the rug in front of the fire. “Sorry, Big Pa. Just lost track of time.”

“Long ago, in the magical land of Equestria, there lived four princesses. They ruled in harmony, each one disposed towards benevolence and compassion. First among them were Princess Celestia and her sister, Princess Luna, immortal alicorns charged with the raising of the sun each morning and the moon each night. Celestia, the elder of the two, governed the day and managed the affairs of their kingdom, while Luna governed the night and the realm of dreams. The third princess, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, ruled the Crystal Empire far in the frozen north. She embodied family and nurtured the love that grows in every creature’s heart, using that power to bring joy to all those she served. Youngest of the four was Princess Twilight Sparkle, who embodied the most powerful magic of all, Friendship, and who kept all the inhabitants of Equestria, as well as the lands beyond, safe from the evil things that lurk in the shadows and conspire in the dark.

“This story is about her—and her friends, of course—because what is the Princess of Friendship without her friends? They were the Elements of Harmony, the pillars of all Equestrian magic. Among them: the mighty Dame Applejack, Element of Honesty, renowned for her herculean strength and great deeds of power; the swift and indomitable Commander Rainbow Dash, Element of Loyalty, bravest and fastest of all pegasi to ever take to the skies; Prelate Pinkie Pie, Element of Laughter, possessed of otherworldly powers despite being an earth pony and who, more importantly, brought smiles to the faces of all whom she met; Saint Fluttershy, Element of Kindness, patron to the sick and injured, blessed with the magical ability to heal all ailments of the body and the soul; and Archduchess Rarity, Element of Generosity, who ensured that no creature ever wanted for food and shelter.

“These were the heroes of ages, and they labored tirelessly to ensure the safety, security, and happiness of every living creature. Their legendary exploits would go down in history, and if not for them, there would be neither life nor laughter in the ages to come. This is the story of their greatest battles and their most heartbreaking struggles. This is the story of how the Magic of Harmony would go on to last forever.”

Author's Note

So yeah, this prologue is completely different from the original version. For those of you who read and loved that version, don't worry, it'll make an appearance eventually, in a slightly different form. Thank you, any of you who are reading this. It means the world to me. I really hope to get this venture right this time around.

Part I - Ch. I - The Less You Know

“Are you kidding? She’s smart and organized and cool under pressure. There’s nothing she can’t handle.”

- Unknown

The sound of distant bells wavered through the stretching darkness accompanied by a faint chorus of voices. Her hooves splashed against the invisible floor, as she turned to see where she was. It was wet, cold, and black as pitch.

“Hello?” she asked, but the sound was swallowed by the surrounding darkness and answered only by the whispered half-words of the ghostly choir.

“…hold… th… ...ess ...eth ...hold...”

“He... hello?” she tried again, to no avail. She was alone. She would always be alone.
Somewhere a train was leaving.

100 EoH

In a dimly lit study, high in the northernmost tower of the Castle of Friendship, somepony had once placed a desk. It was a monstrous opulent thing, appropriately fit for an immortal alicorn princess, or, as the case may be, a particularly fussy librarian. All brass and mahogany, the desk clashed terribly with the rest of the castle’s crystalline blues and purples. It was covered in beautiful carvings of the Elements of Harmony engaged in a variety of historically important events, though most appeared embellished, and some were entirely fictional. The brass accents on the desk were sculpted into large vines, feathers, and elegant symbolic abstracts. The artist–a Chiseled Leaf of Hollow Shades–had boasted that they were meant to capture the essence of the Elements. Though garish, the desk carried with it a sense of age and gravity, things a certain princess found essential for the successful execution of royal affairs.

On top of the desk lay an open copy of Hornmouth’s Collected Annotations on Bicuspid Development in Adolescent Dragons. It was an older book, one which hadn’t left the study’s bookshelves for many decades. It’s owner, Princess Twilight Sparkle, had pulled it out in a fit of depressive nostalgia but had tired while reading and was currently snoring away, face pressed against the pages, drool pooling against her cheek. Next to her stood a fluted brass tripod supporting a metal latticework cage in which rested an item of unusual and conspicuous appearance. As Twilight lingered in the realm of dreams, the object shifted its shape slowly from complex polyhedron to perfectly smooth orb and back again. It appeared to be made of some kind of smoky opaque glass, and as it shifted and moved, it emitted a barely audible chime every six seconds with unerring accuracy.

A golden anniversary clock on Twilight’s desk struck nine twenty-five and began to emit a fuchsia light, the insistent chirping whistles of nightingales, and the soft hooting of owls. Twilight groaned sleepily and closed her eyes tighter before relenting and sitting back up. With a deep sigh and much blinking, she cast a silencing spell on the enchanted clock before staring bleary eyed at it, trying her best to collect her wits. The clock was enchanted to wake her—should she have fallen asleep—to daytime appropriate birdcalls whenever somepony set hoof on the first step of the tower stairs leading up to her study. It was a beautiful piece using a torsion pendulum, and though it was less accurate than most other clocks, it had been a gift, and so Twilight had not the heart to replace it. Besides, it served less as a time-keeping device and more as an early detection system.

Feeling slightly more alert, she looked down at her book and frowned at the wet pages she’d been sleeping on. Every book in Twilight’s castle, and every book in the Ponyville Library, had protection spells placed on them to guard against damage, but still, she thought the book deserved better. She cleaned it off and floated it back to its place on the bookshelves along the wall. She felt foolish, foolish and tired. If old age was supposed to bring clarity and wisdom, it was doing a piss-poor job of it. These days, Twilight felt as stressed as ever. Though she was less prone to manic episodes than she’d been in her youth, the anxiety inside of her roiled and heaved like an angry volcano.

Of course, Celestia was likely to point out that one hundred and whatever it was—twenty four?—that one hundred and twenty four wasn’t particularly old for an alicorn and that Twilight was already plenty wise and would only grow wiser as time passed. And despite being so monumentally wrong, she’d saunter off with that easy thousand year old gait, satisfied she’d imparted some nugget of wisdom without really clearing anything up at all. Sometimes, Twilight hated that mare. Not real hate, of course, but the frustrated sisterly kind made constantly worse by Celestia’s habit of being so often—though not always—right. It certainly didn’t help that the Princess of the Sun was so stubbornly humble about it too. It had taken Twilight nearly five decades to realize just how performative that humility was. Though shocking to her at the time, she’d found that with each passing year, she sympathized a little bit more with Luna’s past indiscretions.

Twilight knew well that her sullen reflections, her sleeping, her re-read of Hornmouth’s Collected Annotations on Bicuspid Development in Adolescent Dragons, were all distractions. Distractions from the fact that all the organizing and debating was over; that the facilities were all completed with a million safeguards and precautions put in place; and of course, that in two days, two and a half years’ worth of planning would come to fruition, and it would either be a resounding success or a terrible horrifying mistake.

A knock on the door interrupted her increasingly frantic thoughts. Without waiting for a reply, Starlight Glimmer, Twilight’s centenarian seneschal, stepped into the room. She shot Twilight a knowing look then levitated a tray with two empty cups and a steaming teapot onto a gilded serving cart in the corner of the room. Though normally a pale lavender, the elderly pony looked almost purple under the dim lighting, but her warm smile made the effect cozier than it was eerie.

“Were you reading?” Starlight asked, her voice dry and thin like aged vellum.

Twilight hated lying to Starlight, even about the small things and even when it was embarrassing. “No, I was sleeping,” she said, sighing and sinking a little deeper into her chair. She glared at the shapeshifting orb next to her and frowned.

“I see,” Starlight said, following Twilight’s gaze. She rolled the cart over to the desk and began to pour some of the divinely smelling tea into the porcelain cups. It was a secret recipe Starlight had brewed up with Pinkie Pie. The one time Twilight had tried to analyze it to figure out its ingredients, her lab had “mysteriously” exploded. Pinkie took the term proprietary very seriously.

Twilight tried to smile at Starlight. Despite her dour mood, she appreciated that her friend didn’t immediately press her about her troubles. Starlight had known and worked with Twilight long enough to not intrude with unsolicited advice, which she appreciated immensely. There was no shortage of other ponies who clearly felt the incessant need to insert themselves in her affairs, always with suggestions about how to feel or act or legislate. As with Celestia, she did her best not to be resentful. She sighed again. It was hard sometimes… most of the time, and it was unbecoming of her station.

“You’re being awfully sighful tonight,” Starlight said after finishing her preparations. She took a seat in a small armchair across from Twilight and took a dignified sip from her cup. Twilight fought the urge to point out that “sighful” wasn’t a real word and grabbed the other cup. She stared dolefully into the dark liquid for several seconds before settling on a somewhat true response. Perhaps, she was more willing to dissemble than she cared to admit.

“Oh, well... you know, I just miss Rarity and Pinkie,” she said. “It’s been a while since they left, and you know how we get when we’re apart for too long.”

Starlight raised a skeptical eyebrow but played along. Twilight tried her best to smile and look as sincere as her awkward face would allow but gathered from Starlight’s expression that she was doing a rather poor job of it.

“Ok! Yes fine,” she said, cracking under the scrutiny, “I’m worried about the trials.”

Starlight pressed her lips together in a resigned half-smile. “Twilight, did you honestly think I didn’t notice that all this was getting to you? It’s understandable. I’m worried too, and I’m not even the one in charge of the logistics—” she looked down at her tea and smirked, “—for once.”

“Stop that,” Twilight said, failing to repress a smile. “Just because you’re old and you’ve known me my whole life doesn’t mean you get to sit there and be clever.”

Starlight chuckled. “Well forgive me, Your Highness.”

“Still,” Twilight said, “I wasn’t lying. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends trying to break this awful curse while also juggling all the prep for the trials. I know that Applejack thinks it’s a waste of time, but I can’t let it be. Rainbow Dash can’t spend more than a couple of months at a time in Canterlot or Cloudsdale, and Rarity has to maintain most of her boutiques from a distance. Same thing with… with the hospitals. It isn’t fair to them.

“Well, in Applejack’s defense, I think she’s just worried about how little time Dash already spends at home. If you press her, I’m sure she’ll agree that breaking the curse is for the best.”

Twilight took a sip of her tea, trying to let the warm liquid soothe her mind and her nerves. It tasted how a freshly made bed on a rainy night felt, and not for the first time did she envy Pinkie’s talent. “It doesn’t really matter what any of them think, does it? I still haven’t been able to figure out how to break the curse without severing our connections to the Elements of Harmony. I can’t risk it if it means we won’t be able to defend Equestria or if… well… you know.” Twilight let the terrifying implication hang silently between them.

Starlight laughed and gestured to herself. “If it means this?” Twilight stared into her tea, unwilling to look her friend in the eyes.

“I can’t lose them,” she whispered. “Not them.” She felt Starlight’s hoof on her own and looked up to be greeted by a warm and gentle smile.

“It’ll be alright, Twilight. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Not always,” she replied. “Not always.” They sat in silence for a moment before Starlight cleared her throat and gestured towards the orb.

“So, what about the trials?”

“Ugh! Yes, thank you, Starlight, that’s a much better topic to talk about. Not stressful at all!”

Starlight giggled, which would have been an odd sound coming from such an elderly mare if not for their familiarity. “Come now, I’m sure your worries are more specific than, well, everything.” She gestured non-committedly at nothing in particular.

“Not by much,” Twilight said. “I guess, I’m mostly worried that I’m wrong. What if I picked the wrong po… uh, creatures. I’m not omniscient.”

“Isn’t that the whole point? To see if the creatures you girls picked actually pass muster? Besides, you didn’t pick them all yourself. I think half the guards selected were recommended by either Applejack or Rainbow Dash.”

“Please,” Twilight said dismissively. “Nopony is taking this less seriously than Rainbow Dash. She’s been in my ear constantly about how this is all a huge waste of time and how it’s making all her guardsponies shirk duty and skip practice.”

“I think she’s just upset all the Wonderbolts made the cut and that there won't be any shows until this is all over,” Starlight said. Both of them laughed at that, though Twilight’s laughter was somewhat subdued.

“Pinkie and Applejack were very adamant about making sure the process was fair,” she said. “So, I think the trials are more about that than anything else. This way, every creature has a chance to prove us wrong by making the cut. I guess it does ease my mind a little bit, since it will show us if we overlooked anything when making the initial selection. Five hundred individuals give us a pretty solid sample size and an opportunity to correct any errors in judgement.”

“Fair seems a bit relative,” Starlight said, scrunching her nose in thought. “You’ve stacked the odds against them pretty hard. Like that gordian-death-knot thing you made for the first trial? It almost seems like you don’t want anypony to pass at all.”

“Passing or failing isn’t really based on completing the trial itself,” Twilight explained. “It’s got more to do with other… more ethereal factors. And it needs to be difficult. These applicants might have to go into battle alongside me and the girls…” She looked at the orb, sensing its magical aura pulsing weakly through the room as she spoke. It tingled a bit, almost like electricity. “I can’t think of anything more difficult than that.”

“Difficult? I think you mean dangerous.” There was a faint hint of reproach in Starlight’s voice, and Twilight couldn’t blame her. She set her cup down and pulled a thick stack of papers from one of her drawers, placing them on her desk. The papers were covered in mathematical formulas, and most of them were discolored from repeated exposure to magic.

“Yes, I know, I know, but I’ve been over this with you and the others so many times already. I’ve literally run thousands of simulations. The odds of a fatality or a life altering injury are very low, less than one in fifty thousand, and with F… with Fluttershy there, those odds drop even lower. I’m absolutely certain no lasting harm will come to any of the applicants. These trials are necessary, you know that.”

“Well, no, I don’t know that,” Starlight said, “but I do trust you. Like you said, Fluttershy will be there, so that’ll help. And honestly, I can’t think of any situation that neither you nor Discord aren’t over-qualified to resolve. Don’t let my worrying get to you.”

Twilight thought that Starlight was well within her rights to worry. She herself was worried! Very worried! There were so many things that could go wrong, and this whole endeavor was based on vague warnings from a source that was dubious at best and sinister at worst. Still, Twilight had to maintain a brave face. If she didn’t show faith in her plan, nopony would.

“Thank you,” Twilight said, glad for Starlight’s comforting presence, “and thank you for bringing the tea. You know you didn’t have to.”

“True, but if the servants did everything around here, your head would get too big, and I’d never get to see you. A princess of friendship who never sees her friends doesn’t seem particularly useful to me.”

“You’re right, as always,” Twilight said. She meant it. She didn’t know if it was some trick of physically aging, or if Starlight just naturally picked up on things that Twilight kept missing, but more than even Celestia, the mare had an uncanny way of cutting straight to the heart of things. Twilight was maybe, though she didn’t like to admit it, a little too prone to ignoring the things that made her uncomfortable, a vice apparently absent in her friend.

“Twilight, if something goes wrong, you’ll stop the trials, right?

“I… yes, of course I’d stop them. But, Starlight, trust me, it won’t come to that.” Twilight ignored the painful knot of anxiety bubbling maliciously in her stomach. Nothing would go wrong! She had to believe that. She had to believe the Orbuculum hadn’t lied. She was strong enough to prevent anything bad from happening, and she was strong enough to keep Fluttershy from having to help… again. “Like you said, I’ll be there and so will the girls. What could possibly happen that the four of us, plus Spike and Discord, can’t deal with?”

The old mare looked Twilight in the eyes, and she must have seen something there, because she placed her cup down on the tray next to the teapot and magicked the serving cart back to the corner of the room. She then came around to Twilight’s side of the desk and gave her a long hug. Twilight carefully hugged back, feeling the warmth of Starlight’s friendship flow into her like a brook into the sea. Starlight gave wonderful hugs, though Twilight always worried that she’d grip her friend too tightly and hurt her. Unicorns aged gracefully, but Starlight was... well, Twilight was pretty sure Starlight was doing something to extend her lifespan, though she’d never asked her about it.

“You’re right,” Starlight said. “Everything will be just fine.”

After what felt like much too short a time, she let go, and Twilight sighed, feeling both better and worse at the same time. Much of the stress about the trials and the spell had now been replaced with the bitter unavoidable pain of watching most her friends and family grow old and pass on.

“You know we love you, Twilight.”

Twilight took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah.”

“We’re always here for you if you need us. Me, the rest of the girls, Spike, the other princesses, even Discord in his own admittedly odd way. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together.”

Twilight wanted to reassure Starlight that she was okay, to echo that they were all in this together and that everything would be alright, but her heart betrayed her. “You know that’s not true…” she said instead, hoping that the hitch in her voice sounded less pathetic to Starlight than it did to her.

Starlight furrowed her brows, a stern but surprisingly motherly expression for a mare who’s only child had been born more than half a century earlier. “Fluttershy loves you too, Twilight. She just needs some time. I know she believes in this plan.”

“I messed up so bad,” Twilight said, hating how gray the words sounded. Inside, she was aching, but the pain refused to pass from her heart into her voice. “I hurt her, and I hurt you. She’s right to stay away.”

“No, she’s not!” Starlight placed her hoof on Twilight’s cheek. It seemed so small, but it was warm, and it was steady. “I forgave you, and she will too, if she hasn’t already. Grief and anger are hard, you know that.”

Starlight was about to say something else, but Twilight cut her off. “Please… I know. I… thank you.” She looked away, trying her best to regain some composure. The two of them had been through so much, but Twilight knew it wouldn’t be long now… and she needed to be more–better–than she’d been so far. She couldn’t keep breaking down in front of her friends, or worse, members of the Royal Household. “I’ll be ok,” she said, donning the same impervious expression she’d seen on Celestia a thousand times before. She couldn’t force Starlight to keep playing babysitter and therapist to a princess who frankly should know better.

Starlight nodded. “Do you want me to take your cup?” she asked, and the understanding in her eyes was almost enough to make Twilight drop her mask again.

“No, that’s alright. I’ve still got some tea left.” Twilight levitated her cup back and forth to demonstrate and–to her horror–accidentally spilled half of what was left on her desk. So much for appearing regal, Twilight! She groaned and felt her cheeks heat, but Starlight’s laughter made it worth it.

“Alright,” Starlight said, “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.” She floated the tray off the cart and turned to leave but stopped at the door with a sly smile on her face. “Try not to stay up all night reading.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “I don’t actually need to sleep, you know.”

Starlight’s smile went from sly to wicked, and she affected her most syrupy baby voice when she spoke. “Yes, but you turn into such a grumpy wumpy wittle princess when you don’t.”

Starlight fled from the study with a squeal of delight entirely unbecoming of a unicorn her age, and the teacup Twilight had hurled across the room shattered quite harmlessly against the door behind her.

Twilight’s first thought was that she might have Strawberry Patch replace Starlight as seneschal sooner rather than later. Her second was how much she loved Starlight, and how much dimmer the study seemed whenever she left. She magicked the wall sconces to burn a little brighter, then levitated the spilled tea and shattered cup into the trash bin under her desk.

She really did try to be happy, and sometimes it was easy to forget how horrible she constantly felt. But no matter how hard she tried, Starlight’s looming mortality demanded her attention every time she saw the mare, screaming loudly in her mind, rattling around her skull like a magic pinball out of control. Unfortunately, the only things competing for space in her mind were the curse or worse, Fluttershy. Twilight often tried to tell herself that Fluttershy would be present at the trials because she was the Element of Kindness and Twilight’s friend, and not because the likelihood of grievous bodily harm to a contestant was greater than Twilight wanted to admit. The thought always rang hollow.

She looked accusingly at the Orbuculum and its mocking pulsing light, but trying to shift the blame for… well, everything onto a mostly inanimate object was childish. Starlight and Fluttershy had both been forced to carry the weight of Twilight’s failures–her neurosis–for too long, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

She sighed and turned off the lights, getting out of her chair and marching off towards her sleeping chambers. Better to sleep–reading in bed was pretty much sleeping–than to brood alone. As she walked, she focused on the one thing that gave her comfort. Twilight was powerful, very powerful. She could protect her subjects, all of them, and she would use that power to protect Fluttershy as well. As long as Twilight was there, the Element of Kindness would never have to suture another wound again.

“I’m not a bad princess,” she muttered to the empty halls, “just a bad friend.” Nopony answered.

Ponyville was known for several things. It was quaint, despite its growing size; it was exciting, what with all the monsters and the general mayhem it tended to attract; and it was prestigious, tremendously so. Aside from Canterlot, Ponyville was the most famous city in Equestria, and outside of Equestria, it was certainly the most famous, being the seat of Princess Twilight Sparkle and all. Its residents were a proud and hardy lot who, at this point, were notoriously difficult to surprise. In fact, it was widely rumored that Las Pegasus barred Ponyvillians from most casinos and all card tables, as they were known far and wide for their peerless poker-faces. Once you’d seen a chaos wielding earth pony and a pegasus faster than sound defeat monster after incomprehensible monster, well, a royal flush just wasn’t that impressive.

Here, the excesses of other courtly townships were mocked and ridiculed. Let the ponies of Canterlot and the deceptively named Crystal “Empire” whisper gossip in their exorbitantly gilded halls and manicured gardens. The residents of Ponyville had no time for rhinestone gowns and waxed mustaches. They were busy tilling the land, clearing the skies, and providing the industry that clothed, fed, and supplied a third of Equestria. It was a responsibility that lay comfortably on their stout shoulders. After all, what greater feeling could there be than pulling up a chair by the hearth down at Berry’s on a Friday afternoon after a long week of hard work?

While all of this appealed greatly to Captain Winter Shield, he was still shocked to find that, aside from the colossal coliseum that had materialized overnight behind the Castle of Friendship, the town seemed extraordinarily normal. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting. More monsters? The Everfree violently encroaching on the town’s borders? The place was supposed to be a hotbed for magical mystery mayhem, but somehow, it looked exactly like every other sleepy hamlet in Equestria. Sergeant Rust had told him it would. He’d said that was part of the trick when he refused to come along or even apply for the trials. The bat pony was a surly squirrely fellow, but he was usually right about things like that.

“Takes yer breath away, don’t it, Ser.” Sergeant Drill Bit said, awestruck like a foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve, her large amber eyes glowing through the early morning mist. “Heard it’s made of clouds, like they do in Cloudsdale.”

They were standing in a wide field north of the Castle of Friendship, surrounded by hundreds of other creatures, all staring up at the coliseum. Winter was covered in a layer of thin morning dew, and though the sun was slowly beginning to disperse the cold wet remains of night, some of the mist seemed determined to linger.

“Oh yeah, for sure. I bet Commander Dash built the whole thing herself,” he chided, “and in one night to boot!” He shot his sergeant a skeptical glance and was rewarded with an embarrassed blush.

“Harr harr, Ser. Just because you up and lost yer sense of wonder don’t mean the rest of us gotta.”

Winter chuckled at that. “Fair enough. And I’ve got to admit, this is all awfully shrewd of her. Might scare some applicants right back out of Ponyville.” At least, he hoped it would. The coliseum was massive–the largest in Equestria for sure–and looked, well, archaic and militant were probably the best ways to describe it. For months, the Princess had insisted that these trials were no gladiatorial games, that the martial components were not going to be as barbaric as the Canterlot elite whispered they would be. Though he didn’t know the Princess himself, he’d seen her once, and that had been plenty enough to realize that she was lying through her teeth. Whatever claims she might make to the contrary, that mare was made for war… He stood there for a moment, lost in memories, staring at nothing in particular.

“Uh, Ser, you good?”

He blinked twice and looked over at Drill Bit who was eyeing him with concern. “No, yeah. Sorry.” He shook his head and took a deep crisp breath. “The rest of the squad still at the hotel

“Yeah, figured there weren’t no point in dragging them all out of bed this early when we ain’t technically on duty.”

“Ah well, they’re going to have to get ready real quick then. We need to be all moved into that monstrosity within the next two hours,” he said. “Got a letter yesterday saying all of us need to be housed here for the duration of the trials.”

The letter in question had magically appeared right in front of his face while he was eating breakfast, flapping aggressively at him until he finally grabbed and opened it. Some of the patrons at the hotel had been just as astonished as he was, but many of them, the locals he guessed, hadn’t even batted an eyelid.

“Why dontcha head back and get everypony ready? I’m going to have a look.”

“What, and let you get a head start on the rest of us? Mind you, we’re competing now, Ser,” Drill Bit said, winking playfully. Winter shook his head but smiled.

“Make sure those hooligans get all their junk out of their rooms. We might not be on duty, but we still represent Her Majesty Celestia. Let’s try to act like we belong here.”

“Alright, alright, whatever you say, Ser.” Drill Bit saluted and turned to leave. Instead, she stopped and looked towards the faraway center of town. “Kinda looks like Hope Hollow, don’t it? Except, you know, bigger an’ all.”

Winter let his gaze wander over Ponyville, and he couldn’t say she was wrong. Surprisingly, Ponyville came with fewer rainbows, but the two towns definitely gave off the same soothing happy-go-lucky energy. He missed home, not much, but enough to think about it. Maybe that’s why he felt so at ease here?

Drill Bit punched him on the shoulder a little harder than was comfortable and smiled up at him. “Ah, I miss Appleloosa too, though by all rights, Canterlot feels more like home by now than anything. Did you know, I’m distantly related to the Apples? Real point of pride, that.”

Winter chuckled. He did know, as Drill Bit never missed an opportunity to mention it. “Oh, for true?” he said instead. “I had no idea.”

This time it was Drill Bit who rolled her eyes. She punched him again, less hard this time, and headed off to the inn they’d been staying at. “See ya later, Ser. Don’t do anything dumb.”

Despite his previous jest to Drill Bit, the coliseum had in fact appeared overnight. No doubt, some powerful magic had gone into its construction. It towered in the northward lee of the Castle of Friendship, a good twenty minute walk from the town square and another ten minutes from the makeshift tent city that had popped up near Sweet Apple Acres as a result of the national mass migration to Ponyville. If nothing else, this whole event would certainly be a spectacle.

He made his way through the milling throng of creatures, passing griffons, hippogriffs, changelings, kirin, diamond dogs, and even a few dragons. Of course, most of the crowd was made up of ponies, though the majority were out-of-towners. Several of those ponies shimmered in the early morning sunshine, betraying their northern origins. A few others were clearly desert folk, adorned in make-up and outlandish headpieces, and there were even a handful of zebras and abada from Farasi.

Several of the creatures in the crowd were unrecognizable to him. One particularly belligerent individual appeared to be some kind of bipedal shark, and another looked like a very tall cat? He’d heard of Abyssinians, but he’d never seen one himself and was pretty sure that Abyssinia and Equestria weren’t on the best of terms with each other anyway.

After much jostling and bumping–and almost getting shoved face first into the wet grass–he made it to one of the many open arches that surrounded the ground floor arcade. He wasn’t sure why, but as soon as he passed through, the crowd thinned significantly. Whether because of deference or something else, it seemed like the majority of the gathered creatures were unwilling to actually enter the coliseum which suited him just fine. It was brighter in here than it had been out on the field, and Winter was forced to stop and stare at the magnificent architecture that now surrounded him.

Drill Bit had been right about the coliseum being made of clouds. They’d been shaped and sculpted using more than just pegasus magic though, as the marbled floor and supporting pillars were smooth and hard to the touch. He assumed the frescoed ceilings were as well, as they supported massive crystal chandeliers hanging on gold chains. Winter wasn’t exactly a history buff, but he read as much as the next unicorn and was pretty sure the frescos depicted various events from the last hundred years of Equestrian history. He could only see a few from his vantage at the entrance, but each of those depicted one of the Elements of Harmony engaged in some famous feat of strength or kindness.

There was one of the Duchess standing on a rock under a barren tree passing out food to hundreds of starving creatures. Another showed Dame Applejack hoisting a massive boulder on her shoulders while changelings all around her fled to safety. Still another showed the Prelate hurling an oversized cupcake at a mismatched red and purple being with horns and green scales on its back. So on and so forth it went. The paintings were incredible in their size and detail, and he couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Princess Twilight was conspicuous by her absence. He wondered if perhaps it was a display of humility? If her absence was meant to make the place less intimidating, then she’d failed splendidly, as Winter had rarely felt as small as he did standing there under the watchful gaze of legends.

He looked away from the ceiling, hoping to regain some confidence. He’d intended to pass through the arcade into the arena itself but found that the interior arches were all blocked off by a series of vibrant oil-slick force fields. While this confirmed that there were clues there for the first challenge that the Princess wished to keep hidden, it was the force fields themselves that really caught his attention. Princess Twilight’s magic was famously fuchsia or magenta colored–depending on who you asked–and the combined magic of the Elements was usually rainbow colored. This magic was a glossy iridescent black that seemed to spark and hiss from time to time.

Living quarters all but forgotten, Winter moved closer to the arches, eager to figure out what they were and how they worked. Unfortunately, his plans were quickly thwarted.

“Captain Winter Shield, formerly of Hope Hollow, Canterlot Royal Guard, Eight Company, Solar Auxiliary.” The voice echoed strangely and seemed staticky, as if it came from an old-timey radio or a poorly maintained psychic link. The later was likely the case here, as the voice came from a floating purple orb that had descended from the cavernous ceiling and settled in his path.

“Uhm, yeah, that’s me,” he said, shooting the orb a suspicious glance. Element of Magic indeed.

“Hello, Winter. I am a guidance orb, pre-recorded by Strawberry Patch, aid number one-three-two-eight to Princess Twilight Sparkle. I have been designed to contain a set of answers to a variety of questions and will be guiding you and the other members of your retinue to your chambers.” The orb shook and spun in a quick circle. “Where are the other members of your retinue?”

“Oh, they’ll be around later. I sent my sergeant back to round them right up. Should be here within the hour, I’m sure.” Winter was a seasoned traveler and by most ponies’ reconning he’d seen and done quite a bit, but inanimate liaisons were new, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that it was making him feel just a bit uncomfortable.

“I understand. Remember that Honesty and Loyalty are key tenets of Harmony. Still, ambition is often rewarded around here. Now please, if you would follow me, I will guide you to your quarters. They are located on the second level. I will move at whatever pace you set. Feel free to ask any questions you wish to. My archive of answers includes responses to over three thousand different queries.”

Winter blinked slowly at the orb. Though both Drill Bit and the orb were correct about the fact that he was trying to gain an advantage, he was a bit insulted by the insinuation that there was anything dishonest or disloyal about doing so.

“Oh for… very well, lead the way then,” he said. The orb began to move slowly towards a nearby set of stairs along the inner wall. Winter sped up a little and so did the orb, never closing the distance between them. Tamper proof, he figured. The orbs were probably magicked in such a way to prevent anypony from actually touching them. Wise. It was no secret that Princess Twilight was held in the absolute highest regard by most Equestrians, but seeing this–and everything else leading up to the trials–Winter couldn’t help but be impressed with her care and common sense. He’d often found that Princess Celestia seemed a bit too trusting in her dealings with the public.

As they walked, he figured he might as well learn everything he could about the trials.

“So then, how many other applicants are there?” he asked, hoping this Strawberry Patch would have anticipated the question.

“There are exactly five hundred applicants.”

Winter stopped and shook his head. Five hundred? Exactly? That seemed off. Had the Princess capped applicants? Or had she weeded out undesirables to bring it down to five hundred? If so, what had her process been? The orb hovered in front of him, waiting for him to keep walking.

He rephrased his question. “How many creatures, in total, applied to be part of the trials?”

The orb shook in place for a few seconds before answering. “One hundred thousand and ninety-two creatures applied in total.”

Winter stared in disbelief at the orb. His chest tightened and he felt that familiar burst of adrenaline that always shot through him before a fight. Over a hundred thousand applicants… That meant the Princess, and probably the other Elements, had cherry picked five hundred creatures from the total and had felt that he, specifically, warranted inclusion.

“Oh, jeez.” He steadied himself and took a deep breath before continuing to walk. “What… er, what parameters did the Princess use to determine which applicants were selected for the trials?”

“This question was anticipated. To ensure the integrity of the trials, I am unable to answer.”

A logical response, he supposed. Knowing which particular traits and characteristics had been selected for would no doubt affect how the applicants performed and bias them towards certain behaviors and decisions.

They passed up the stairs to the second level, which looked much like the first, except narrower and lined with rooms along the outside wall. The interior wall had the same open arches as the bottom floor, and though they were covered in the same magic, Winter guessed that they probably lead into stands for spectators. Why the Princess had opened the trials up to public viewing, he had no idea.

“So, er, I supposed I’d be a real fool for asking what the trials are actually going to entail?” he asked, one eyebrow raised hopefully at the orb. For a split second, he could have sworn he heard the thing giggle, but it might just have been the jingling noise it made as it vibrated before answering questions.

“I am not designed to determine the nature or validity of any inquiries, only to answer them. I have, however, been authorized to inform you that there will be three primary challenges,” it said.

“Huh, well I’ll be. Can you tell me what they are?”

“The challenges have all been designed to test for the presence of attributes deemed necessary to perform your duties should you pass as well as your proficiency in said attributes. These attributes include, but are not limited to, problem solving capacity in a crisis, your understanding of the Elements of Harmony, your ability to work with others, and of course, your combat prowess.”
Winter chuckled at the non-specific answer. He, and probably everypony else who was there, had already guessed at all of that. “That doesn’t really answer my question,” he pointed out.

“My apologies. If my response did not meet with your satisfaction, you may file a complaint in person or via written correspondence with the office of Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle.” Again, the orb jingled in a way that seemed entirely too amused for a non-sentient ball of magic.

“Why are the force-fields black?” Of all the questions to ask, this one was probably the least relevant to his own success in the trials, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and it just kind of slipped out of him.

The orb did its little spin and jingle, then again… and again.

“To ensure the integrity of the trials, the Princess has chosen to employ a series of non-standard measures. The magic currently preventing entry into the arena is of umbrum origin–what you would refer to as dark magic–and it is impervious to tampering by most other forms of magic and alchemy.”

The revelation that the force fields were made of dark magic, while shocking, was not what immediately caught Winter’s attention. The orb had sounded almost contrite, as if it was apologizing, and he was beginning to suspect that despite the earlier lecture on honesty and loyalty, he had been lied to at least once already.

“We have arrived at your quarters.”

The orb was hovering in front of a large white door inscribed with Winter Shield’s name and rank, as well as Drill Bit’s and the remainder of the guards who had accompanied them from Canterlot. His group consisted of only five ponies, but it was a coed group, and there was only one door. A problem for later, he supposed. The orb began to float away, apparently satisfied that its job was done.

“Wait!” he called, suddenly afraid of not asking the one question that every creature in and out of Equestria had been asking since the trials were first announced. The orb shuddered and stopped, spinning a few times, before hanging still and patient, waiting.

He hesitated for a brief moment, then plunged ahead. “Why now?” he asked. “Why did she decide to create her own guard now? She’s never needed one before. I mean, they’re the Elements of Harmony, and, well, they’ve never... they don’t need one, do they?” He blushed at the hint of fear that crept into his voice and cleared his throat, trying his best to seem a bit less… nervous?

The orb didn’t respond immediately, and Winter worried he might have kicked the proverbial hornet’s nest, but when it finally did speak, it had lost all of the staticky and distant quality it possessed before. The voice that now poured forth from the orb was strong and clear, as if the speaker was standing right in front of him. The power behind the voice made his body ache.

“Captain Shield, the world is much bigger than you know, and my reach is not unlimited. Prepare yourself. The challenges awaiting you and your friends will push you further than anything has before. Take care that you do not break. And remember, so much of magic is just illusion.”

With that the orb shuddered one last time before vanishing into thin air. He stared at where it had been, his throat feeling very dry all of a sudden. He knew that voice. Everypony knew that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to anypony named Strawberry Patch.

Winter sat down on the floor, feeling a deep chill settle in his bones. Winter’s grandpa had been just a little foal when the Princess had ascended. He’d been there for the coronation, which had apparently been a mess, and he’d raised Winter on stories of her exploits. It had been ingrained in his mind, as it had been for all ponies his age, that she was invincible, so long as she had her friends. The Elements of Harmony had placed all of Equestria on their shoulders, and then they’d hoisted the whole darn thing into an unprecedented era of safety and prosperity.

And so, the Princess’ announcement that she was organizing an additional auxiliary unit of the royal guard–one that would be serving her directly and be headquartered in Ponyville–had been understandably met with worry, concern, and not a little bit of curiosity.

The explanations forthcoming so far had all made their own kind of sense and had certainly placated most Equestrians. Ponyville was growing and needed formalized law enforcement for when the Elements were off protecting the world. A royal guard provided all kinds of utility to the Princess and her friends and would be useful in ceremonial events and diplomatic missions. They could also help secure the borders of the Everfree Forest and would make it easier to send aid to Equestria’s southernmost towns and villages, which had long struggled alone far from the protective shadow of Canterlot. But Winter and many of the other senior officers and officials had suspected that something different, something more sinister, was actually at play. What he’d just heard certainly didn’t ease those suspicions.

“Ominous, isn’t it?” a voice behind him said.

Winter swirled on his haunches, crouched and ready to face the speaker. It was… he wasn’t sure what it was. A gargoyle maybe? He’d seen paintings of them in the Canterlot Library of Magic, and this particular one looked a bit like the ancient Queen Haydon, but more fierce and certainly hairier.

“Whoa there,” she said, holding up her hands. “I come in peace. I think I’m roomed next to your group.” She pointed at a door a little further down the arcade.

Winter stood up, once again blushing at his own skittishness. “I’m so sorry. I’m Captain Shield,” he said, bowing formally.

“Captain, huh? Fancy. I’m Skarn, but you can just call me Skarn if you’d like.” The gargoyle laughed at the joke, and Winter found himself smiling. “So that orb thing, pretty freaky, right?”

“Yeah, that sure was something.”

“I asked the same thing you did,” Skarn said, “about why this is happening. It yelled at me too. I think it might actually be a part of the trials… somehow.”

Winter felt the blood rush from his face. He’d not considered that the ability to ask questions from the orb was itself a way to test the applicants. “Winter, you fool of a pony!” he said, stomping a hoof on the floor. He would definitely have asked different questions if he’d known.

Skarn laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I didn’t think of it either until after the thing disappeared.”

“Still, that’s some helpful insight. Thank you. Though, if you’ll excuse me being blunt, I’ve never met a gargoyle before. I didn’t know your people were particularly interested in Equestrian politics.”

For a third time, Skarn laughed. It was a barking jovial sound that was quick to lift Winter’s spirits. “Oh, no, we definitely aren’t. But when the Great Vanquisher calls, well, the Elders thought it’d be prudent to answer.”

“The great what now?” he asked.

“It’s what we call your princess.” Skarn straightened her back and a look of concentration settled on her face. “The Great Vanquisher, youngest of the Sky-Gods! It was by her might and cunning that Tirek the Outcast was banished, and so we honor her.” There was a glow of reverence in Skarn’s face as she spoke, and Winter wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Sure, some ponies viewed the Princesses as almost divine, but this seemed like something more. More fervent?

Skarn relaxed and continued. “It’s why my father dragged our clan halfway across the world. He’s offering up our greatest warrior to serve in Her new guard force. He thinks it’s a way to start paying our debt and to prove our loyalty.”

“Oh, for true?” he said. “I guess that’s you then, your clan’s greatest warrior?” He smiled while he spoke to indicate the jab was made in jest, and Skarn seemed to take it in stride.

“You betcha,” she said, making fun of his accent in return. She grinned down at him for a silent moment, the two of them suddenly very aware that they were rivals in what promised to be a very difficult competition.

“So,” Skarn said, eyeing him carefully. “That fancy magic of yours must help you get a leg up on all those pegasi and earth ponies? Good for you, what with being so short and all.”

“Ah, well, we all have things to overcome. Living so far from Equestria, for example, it must be pretty difficult to study and learn about the Elements of Harmony. Seems like that’ll be pretty important, don’t you think?”
“Hah! You think you know more about the Elements of Power than I do?”

Winter furrowed his eyebrows at that. The Elements of Power?

“Aw, look at your confused little face. I think you’re going to realize pretty quickly just how limited your knowledge really is. Be careful about making assumptions once the trials actually start. Your closeness to the Sky-Gods is probably more of a handicap than an advantage.”

The goodwill Winter felt towards Skarn was slowly beginning to fade, but he knew better than to rise to the bait, and it was definitely bait. Skarn seemed too intelligent and well-meaning to insult without purpose. She was just trying to knock him off his stride for the trials.

“Even if that’s the case, I think you’ll find us ponies aren’t the easiest nut to crack.”

“No doubt,” Skarn said, voice devoid of joviality. “No empire I’ve heard of was ever built by the weak.”

And at this, Winter lost his cool. “Equestria is a kingdom, not an empire,” he said, jaw set.

“Oh, is it?” Skarn said.

“Yes. It is.”

“First of all, Equestria has never had a king, only “princesses”, so it’d really be a principality. That aside, you might want to ask the Kirin, Dragons, Changelings, Minotaurs, and Buffaloes if they agree with you. You can call it whatever you want, but an empire is an empire.” Skarn must have recognized the anger building in Winter’s face because she quickly continued. “Look, I’m not blaming anyone for anything. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe in the vision of the Sky-Gods. The raising of the sun and moon benefits everyone, and if the expansion of Equestria’s borders is the cost of peace and safety then it is a price we are more than willing to pay. Running around in the desert, constantly searching for water and trying not to get eaten by monsters, is not how I want to spend the rest of my life, no matter what the Elders say.”

Winter looked into Skarns eyes and saw only sincerity there. He took a deep breath, not entirely sure why this had been the thing that angered him. It had been swift, and he was concerned about how quickly he’d let that feeling overtake him.

“You’re wrong,” he said without bite or aggression. “But you’re here to help serve and protect Princess Twilight, and I can’t rightly fault you for that.”

“Think what you want,” she said, throwing a hand up in resignation. “I have a trial to get ready for.” With that Skarn turned and walked away, leaving Winter alone with his thoughts.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Skarn. She seemed brash and contentious, and she’d certainly said some things he didn’t agree with, but she’d also displayed a keen mind, and it was impossible not to notice the muscles rippling under her fur as she moved. She was probably strong enough to take on an earth pony or a yak. Princess Twilight could certainly do worse than having this gargoyle by her side.

Author's Note

Again, events have been moved around or altered for this version 2.0 of the story. Thank you for you patience, and expect more of the same moving forward.

Part I - Ch. II - Parish-By-The-Sea

“Applejack, darling, anypony can do “fine”. Twilight asked me, so clearly, she's going for fabulous, and fabulous takes time.”

- Rarity

When you live for a very long time, your perspective begins to change. The things you prioritize shift. You cling desperately to whatever constants you can, as almost everything around you turns transient and unreliable. More often than not, you retreat inward. Sometimes–often really–Rarity would get lost in her mind. She’d sit and stare at nothing and think about all the things she’d felt, was feeling, and would feel. Weeks would hurtle by faster than she could blink, and she’d feel like she was walking through water, unable to go any faster while the world sprinted towards some distant goal.

Oh, sure, when they’d all first realized they weren’t really getting any older, she’d been ecstatic. How thrilling! How divine! Eternal youth and beauty! But then Sweetie had gotten older and older… and older. And now, Rarity enjoyed it all a little bit less. Still, she was proud of the coping skills she’d developed. And even more so, she was glad for the days when none of that mattered. Days when she was far from home in the company of one of the only five other ponies who really understood. On days like that, it was easy to forget. It was easy to imagine that she was in her twenties again, kicking villains in the face and brokering peace between rival claimants to a throne. Well, at least she could say that some things never seemed to change.

Seagulls cried out in the gray sky above, slowly circling the shallow shore, periodically diving for the occasional crab or insect. Old crusted feathers and half buried chunks of rotten driftwood lay strewn about the beach, covered in bunches of brown kelp and stringy algae. Rarity’s normally pristine hoofs sank into the dark spongy sand with every step, and a strong salty breeze was wreaking havoc on her mane. Any other time, she’d find the whole thing absolutely dreary and miserable, but today the crisp tangy air lifted her spirits and gladdened her heart.

“Whatcha smiling about?” Pinkie Pie asked, literally bouncing along next to Rarity. The soft sand didn’t seem to be impeding her lift in any meaningful way, and Rarity, for the thousandth time, marveled at the strangeness of her friend.

“Oh, nothing really,” she said in her sing-song voice, looking off at the flat ripples of the sea and not at Pinkie Pie, who was grinning slyly and fixing Rarity with lidded mischievous eyes.

“Well, ok then,” Pinkie said nonchalantly, and then did something very un-Pinkie Pie like by not asking any follow up questions. Rarity narrowed her eyes at her friend, immediately suspicious, but said nothing and focused her attention on needlessly straightening her saddle bags. This was a trap of some sort.

Pinkie started whistling a cartoonishly conspicuous tune, but Rarity ignored her. Then Pinkie started humming, and Rarity continued to ignore her. How interesting all the, uh, flotsam was to study. Maybe she could find something in it to inspire a new line of beach wear? Pinkie took a massive breath, no doubt preparing to break into song, and Rarity finally broke. She cleared he throat quickly, preempting the song and catching Pinkie’s attention.

“Why do you ask, dear?” She tried her best to sound merely curious and not as guilty as she felt. Which was ridiculous. Why should she feel guilty at all? She hadn’t done anything wrong and if Rarity happened to be feeling certain things, well, that wasn’t wrong either. Not that she was, you know, feeling anything particular. Or pining for anypony. Certainly not. If Pinkie was jumping to conclusions, then that was entirely her own problem.

“No reason,” Pinkie answered, grinning wickedly. “Just thought you might be excited about finally seeing somepony in particular.”

Rarity felt a hot flush creep slowly up her regrettably pale cheeks and was possessed by an urgent need to change the subject.

“Pinkie, darling, I’m just excited to be going home. It’s been quite some time you know, and I’m sure both the school and the boutique are in desperate need of my particular touch.”

Pinkie smiled at Rarity. “The school hasn’t needed your touch in years, silly,” she said. “I’m sure Sweetie is doing a super-terrific job, as always. But yeah, I’m happy about going home too.” She pulled a cupcake from her mane with her forelock and stuffed it unceremoniously into her mouth. The mare wasn’t nearly as much of an airhead as the uninitiated often assumed, and she knew well enough when to leave a subject be. It helped that Rarity and Pinkie knew each other about as well as any two ponies could.

Rarity, the meticulous journal keeper that she was, had kept close track of every adventure she’d ever embarked on and with whom she’d gone. Pinkie Pie had by far been her most frequent travelling companion. They’d embarked on three hundred and eight friendship missions together, though, admittedly, many of the more recent missions had been of a decidedly non-friendly nature. Of all the Elements, excepting perhaps Fluttershy, Pinkie was her closest friend. The two of them had become remarkably efficient at dealing with even the most rough-and-tumble excursions.

They continued in comfortable silence for the better part of an hour. Their destination, a quaint harbor town called Parish-By-The-Sea, was clearly visible on the horizon, and Rarity was certain they would reach it well before sundown. On the morrow, they’d have to catch a ship back to Baltimare, but getting into town early would thankfully allow for at least a small amount of rest and relaxation. Rarity glanced with disgust at some of the more ingrained stains on her coat. A bath was sorely needed. And a glass of wine. A very large glass of wine.

“Pinkie, do you think there’ll be any room at that absolutely adorable little inn we saw down by the ship-docks? You know, the one with the brick tower and the climbing ivy?” The place had caught her eye on their first pass through Parish and possessed a kind of elegant country. It was marked by an intricately painted sign swinging from well-oiled chains over a red stable door, and Rarity had at once been struck by the fortuitous name stenciled there. The Magic Cellar, in gold letters, under a remarkably accurate depiction of a certain purple princess looking rather drunk. Rarity and Pinkie Pie had both had a giggle at that.

“I reeeeeaaaaaaaaally hope so,” Pinkie said, “because I have so much sand in my ears right now, and I could definitely use a giant cotton swab.” To demonstrate she tilted her head and giggled at Rarity’s appalled expression, as a flood of sand came pouring out of her right ear.

“I uh, I don’t think they make cotton swabs in the giant variety, but I’m entirely sure your lessons with Discord were meant for things other than disturbing visual gags.”

“Pfft, have you met him?” Pinkie said, pulling her ear clean off her head and shaking the last of the sand out of it. Rarity rolled her eyes.

“Please put that back on before we get into town. We attract enough attention as it is.”

“Fine,” Pinkie said and reattached her ear with and exaggerated screwing motion. “That one’s really hard to do anyway.” Pinkie seemed right about that, as she was clearly out of breath and had turned slightly pale. Rarity decided not to chastise her friend for wasting so much energy and smiled at her instead.

“Do you want to take a break? We can sit down and eat something if you’d like, and we’d still have plenty of time to reach town before nightfall.”

“Nah, that’s ok. I’ve got plenty more travel cupcakes, and I can eat while we walk. Let’s go!” Pinkie bounced off towards Parish and Rarity trotted after.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the town, and Rarity was absolutely thrilled with their return to civilization. The two of them had spent the better part of a week mucking about in the wild with not a decent house or well-mannered pony for miles around. While Pinkie definitely enjoyed the outdoorsy parts of their adventures, Rarity could only handle so many days without a proper shower before she started getting irritable.

Parish-By-The-Sea was a beautiful little hamlet with no more than a few dozen buildings all made of variously colored bricks, many adorned with shingles or adorable thatch roofs. They may have been well outside the borders of Equestria, but this was a pony town through and through, and Rarity could feel some of her home-sickness drain away as they walked down the well-kept cobble streets towards the harbor.

They attracted plenty of looks and stares, just as they had on their way through the first time. In a town this size, everypony knew everypony else, and strangers were uncommon and fascinating. In addition, despite their distance from Ponyville, Rarity was sure the town’s residents recognized them for exactly who they were. The fact that they were covered head to tail in dirt and grime certainly didn’t do them any favors either.

She was used to this kind of attention, and in any case, it was preferable to the veritable mobbing they experienced whenever they set foot in Canterlot. Rarity smiled at a nervous looking florist who’d stopped midway through her arrangement to gape at them. She looked quite young, but the arrangement she was working on was lovely and spoke to her talent.

Pinkie snatched a pastry from a cart as it rolled by and, with her tail, tossed several gold bits at the startled pony pushing it. To his credit, the old fellow deftly pulled his cap from his head and caught every single one. Pinkie had no doubt overpaid handsomely, but their unique positions did afford them certain, more tangible, benefits.

There weren’t a whole lot of ponies out and about this late, and Rarity and Pinkie made their way down to the harbor swiftly and with little interference. They were stopped twice briefly, once by an excited young filly who wanted to know if they were really that Rarity and that Pinkie Pie, and another time by an older stallion trying his best to sell them a set of fancy new saddle-bags. Honestly, the craftsmanship was subpar at best, and Rarity turned him down politely.

They reached the inn well before sunset and, it seemed, just in time too. Even Pinkie’s regular exuberance was beginning to fade from the long journey, and they were both in dire need of some rest. A robust looking earth pony with a brown coat and wine glass cutie mark was cleaning several small tables lined up on the street in front of the establishment. The door had been left open, and the sound of a dulcimer drifted out to the street accompanied by the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables. Rarity’s stomach gave a rather loud rumble that was not at all ladylike.

The earth pony must have heard her because he looked up from his cleaning duties with a warm smile, ready to greet them. He paused for only a second before smiling even wider and welcoming them with a booming and friendly voice.

“Greetings, and welcome to my humble establishment. You can call me Schooner.” He bowed his head deeply as he spoke. “How may I be of service to two distinguished ladies such as yourself?”

Rarity smiled back, impressed by his polite demeanor but felt a tug of mischief in her chest.

“Well, we saw your beautiful sign and thought to ourselves that we just had to visit this inn. Didn’t we, Pinkie?”

Pinkie tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle, and winked at Rarity. “Oh yes, absolutely!”

The inn-keep glanced quickly at the sign above the door and back at Rarity, smile wavering and beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Oh, Duchess, I... ah... no offense is meant. I’m sure you understand, it’s just a jest. A bit of fun you see.”

“I’m quite sure no ill-will was intended. We’re just having a bit of fun ourselves, Sir Schooner. Pinkie and I both thought the sign was frightfully clever when we passed through Parish the first time.” She smiled to put him at ease, and Schooner looked visibly relieved.

“Well now, Sir Schooner,” he said, cheeks reddening. “Can’t say I’ve ever been called that before, but I assure you both that I’ll do whatever I can to make your stay a comfortable one. Do you perhaps need rooms for the evening? As far as I know, there’ll be no ships leaving until the morning, and I can guarantee that we provide the finest room and board in all of Parish.”

Rarity was delighted with their eloquent, and admittedly fetching, host. Pinkie too looked rather appreciative.

“Thank you. We’d be glad to pay for rooms.”

“And food!” Pinkie said excitedly. Schooner smiled and nodded.

“I’ll have Lilypad get your rooms in order, and I assure you Hie... uhm Prelate Pie, we have plenty of food.” He smiled warmly at Pinkie, but Rarity had noticed the slip and frowned. “The best food around you’ll find,” he continued, “and only the best will do for such famous guests.”

They followed Schooner into the warm and brightly lit commons of The Magic Cellar. Schooner himself dashed off, presumably to the kitchens, and Rarity and Pinkie sat down at a small table near the exit. While this was no doubt one of the finer establishments they’d been forced to frequent throughout their travels, their penchant for attracting trouble and requiring a quick exit had made such precautions reflexive.

A young gentlecolt with a strawberry mane and adorable freckles took their orders, and before long the two of them were indulging in, Rarity had to admit, a delectable spread of salads, oatcakes, and stewed vegetables. A hardier meal than Rarity preferred, but such were the demands of adventuring.

“Why the frowny face, Rarity?” Pinkie asked between mouthfuls of stew. Rarity had not realized that she was frowning and quickly stopped. Eternal youth or not, it did her complexion no good to strain it so.

“Oh, I just don’t like that awful thing everyone calls you. If ponies insist on referring to us by those ridiculous monikers, they should at the very least get them right.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Rares. Schooner seems really nice. I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it. And you can’t expect creatures not to be freaked out a little by an earth pony that can do magic.” Pinkie sounded as sincere as always, but Rarity could see the frailty in her smile and the shadow of resigned sadness that crept into her eyes. Imperceptible to others perhaps, but not to her and the rest of the girls.

“Besides,” Pinkie continued, “‘Hierophant’ isn’t so bad. Yona used to say it was a really honorable title among the Yaks, and most ponies don’t even know what it means anyway.”

“If you say so.” Rarity wasn’t at all convinced, but she didn’t want to push the issue. They continued to eat, enjoying the cozy atmosphere, and talking about all the things they would be doing once they finally got back home. The sun set slowly, and the night sky grew rosy.

A darling little filly, the aforementioned Lilypad, whom Rarity had understood to be Schooner’s daughter, appeared by their table. Rarity was about to ask her to fetch Schooner when she noticed that the filly was trying to levitate a small silver tray onto the table.

“Oh dearie, let me get that for you.” She grabbed the tray and the letter with her own magic and placed it between herself and Pinkie.

“Da says it’s for you, Duchess. Though he didn’t say who sent it. It just appeared out of thin air when you were eating, uhm, my lady.”

“OMC! Rarity she’s so cute! Can we keep her?” Pinkie was leaning over her plate and the food to get a better look at the filly. She was short, probably no older than eleven, and unlike her dad she was a unicorn. She had a cream colored coat and a laurel green mane, and she sported a silver sextant for a cutie mark. Her eyes were very large.

“Pinkie, goodness gracious, will you behave yourself?” She turned back to Lilypad and smiled. “Thank you, dear. Will you let your father know that we quite enjoyed our meal and that we’d like to retire for the evening?”

“Oh yes of course,” Lilypad responded, eyes a-twinkle.

“And could you have someone send a bottle of wine to my room and maybe get a bath started for me? Oh, and one for Pinkie as well?”

Lilypad nodded effusively and dashed off. Rarity giggled. She reminded her of Sweetie Belle when she’d been that age.

“Who do you think it’s from?” Pinkie asked, eyeballing the letter suspiciously.

“Well, if it ‘just appeared’, as Lilypad said, then I imagine it must be from Twilight.”

“Ooh, do you think she’s spying on us using that Orbu... that crystal ball thing she has?”

Rarity rolled her eyes at the pink mare. “Certainly not. If Twilight were tracking us, she’d hardly need to resort to such parlor tricks.” She gestured to their cutie marks for emphasis, but Pinkie looked unconvinced.

“Whatever you say, Rares. You gonna open it?”

Rarity grabbed the letter and levitated a knife over to cut it open. She’d barely begun when Pinkie’s entire body began to vibrate violently. Rarity immediately flung the letter and the knife onto the table and pushed herself and her chair as far from it as possible. Nothing happened. Pinkie, who hadn’t moved at all, grimaced.

“Hmm, well at least it didn’t explode. Maybe poison?” She leaned down and sniffed at the envelope. “Doesn’t smell like poison.”

“Pinkie! A little caution maybe?” Rarity’s heart was still racing.

“Phooey, it can’t hurt me anyway.”

Rarity moved her chair back to the table and sat back down. “Well yes, probably not. The rest of us are not quite as indestructible as you and Applejack though.” She conjured up a small shield around the letter and tore it open using just her magic. When no immediate danger presented itself, she took a deep breath and began to read... or at least tried to.

.... --- .-.. .-.. --- .-- / ... .... .- -.. . ... / -... . .-- .- .-. . / --- ..-. / ... .- .-.. -

Rarity stared at the dots and the lines, then looked at Pinkie Pie who appeared just as confused.

“This is morse code, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I think so. But I don’t know how to read morse code. And why would anypony write down morse code? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Rarity glared at the letter in a vain attempt to force it into divulging its secrets.

“Still think it’s from Twilight?” Pinkie asked, eyebrow raised.

“No… No, I don’t. If Twilight wanted to encrypt a letter, she’d use something much less obvious, I think. And for the life of me, I can’t imagine why she’d need to encrypt a letter.” Rarity cast a couple of truth spells and a revelation spell on the letter for good measure but was hardly surprised when the spells yielded no results. “Whoever sent it is a pretty decent magician. Not only did they protect the letter from tampering spells, but they also tracked us, found us, and ported a letter to us with remarkable precision.”

“Well, I don’t like it.” Pinkie said. “This smells of sneakiness, and ponies who sneak are usually up to no good.” Pinkie scrunched up her nose and tapped her forehead a few times, as she often did when thinking about something. “Maybe Schooner or someone else around here has a book that can transcribe morse code? It’s a harbor town after all. Maybe they use it for their boats and stuff?”

Rarity was about to reply but noticed their host making his way over.

“I see you’ve finished your meal,” he said grinning. “Made it all myself. Don’t want to toot my own horn too much, but I did tell you it was the best around.”

“Oh yes, we really enjoyed it, but I think we might have indulged a bit too much.”

“Of course.” Schooner nodded and placed two keys on the table. “A bottle of wine has been brought to your room as you requested, my lady. A rich red, excellent vintage if I do say so myself. Would you like a night cap as well, Mrs. Pie? Something a little sweeter perhaps?”

Pinkie smiled at Schooner, and even Rarity had to admit that his earlier slip of the tongue was probably just that. Rarity fancied herself an excellent judge of character—a century of travels would do that to a pony—and at this point, she felt certain there wasn’t an insincere bone in Schooner’s body.

“No thanks,” Pinkie said. “I just want to get clean and get some sleep.”

“Ah well, you’ll both find hot baths and several clean towels waiting for you. Should you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call on me. Good evening to both of you, and may you find some rest from your journeys here at the Magic Cellar.” Schooner turned to leave when Rarity remembered what Pinkie had said earlier.

“Just one other thing, dear. Do you perhaps know somepony who has a book on morse code? It seems we’re in need of one.”

Schooner raised an eyebrow at the unusual request. “Well, I can’t say we have one here at the inn, but I’ll ask around and see if I can’t find one for you. Should I have it sent to your room if I find one?”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Well then,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Oh no, you have already been quite helpful.”

Schooner bowed his head and left, but Rarity could hear him mumbling to himself as he walked away. “Wait till I tell the fellas about this. Never going to believe me.”

Pinkie leaned in conspiratorially towards Rarity. “I know something else he can do for me.” She bit her lower lip as she spoke and threw an entirely inappropriate look at Schooner’s hindquarters.

Rarity blushed deeply. “Pinkie! Need I remind you that you are a married mare!”

Pinkie winced for just a moment but quickly hid it. Instead, she giggled as she stood and grabbed her key. “Oh Rarity, don’t be such a fuss.”

Rarity sighed and grabbed the letter and her own key.

The rooms at the Magic Cellar turned out to be incredibly cozy. The countryside aesthetic of the commons area infused every nook and cranny. The floor was made of solid polished wood, and the decorations were all suitably minimalistic and rustic. Several oleander blossoms were floating carelessly in a shallow dish of water on her bed stand, and the periwinkle bedspreads smelled fresh and newly laundered.

The washroom was plenty large, and Rarity was surprised to find that it accommodated a beautiful clawfoot tub filled to the brim with steaming hot water. On the floor next to the tub stood the wine bottle she’d requested—already open to air—with a wide rimmed and short stemmed wine glass placed upside down over the bottleneck. The water smelled pleasantly of lavender, and Rarity wasted no time pouring herself a glass and sliding into the bath.

It was simply divine. She felt all the aches of their journey melt away as her muscles relaxed. Most of the grime came out of her coat too, but she was sure a vigorous scrubbing would eventually be called for to get rid of the rest. For now, she just wanted to relax and enjoy the moment.

She sat like that, sipping her wine, for much longer than she should have. Her eyes were beginning to feel heavy, and some nagging part of her mind reminded her that she still needed to scrub and that falling asleep in a bathtub was ill-advised. She ignored that part of her mind. After all, hadn’t Pinkie told her to not be such a fuss? This was fine, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep.

Rarity’s polished hoofs stepped silently across the silver sheen of a monstrous lake surrounded on all sides by towering mountain tops capped in snow and shrouded in clouds. The sky was a clear winter gray, and the dark green firs crowding the base of the mountains stood out starkly to her well trained eyes against the granite backdrop. She imagined that she could see every individual pine needle quiver under the weight of this ancient place. Chilly dew clung to her coat and mane, and her deep breaths fogged almost before they left her lips.

She didn’t know where she was or how it was that she was able to stand on the surface of the lake without sinking, but she did know, instinctively, that this was a place of old power. A pure place. The water was still. The air was still. Her heart was still. She looked around, careful to step gently and to not make any sounds. She could see no other pony or creature, but she felt something, something heavy and ancient.

As she walked, she saw on the distant shore a grey fog beginning to emerge from between the trees. It coiled and snaked, and when it reached the lake, it began to spread across the surface towards Rarity. She studied the fog carefully. It formed and dissolved into shapes she could almost, but not quite, make sense of. The shapes frightened her, but she resolved to keep walking towards it. It seemed important that she do so, that she not turn and flee.

Some distance ahead of her, the lake rippled, and an object bobbed to the surface. Even this far away, she could clearly tell that it was a compass of some sort. It was small, no larger than a quail egg, and completely spherical. The body of the compass was brass and made up of intricately interlacing bands and knots. The spindles themselves were contained at the center of the compass in a smaller crystalline orb within the brass meshwork. They were hewn from kunzite, or maybe amethyst, and were surrounded by five pearls that seemed locked in place.

She marveled at the acuity of her eyesight in this place and wondered about the five pearls. She would have assumed they’d represent cardinal directions, but then there should only be four. Clearly this compass wasn’t meant for navigating something as mundane as direction.

The fog continued to encroach upon the lake, and she grew fearful that it might reach the compass before she did. She knew she shouldn’t run, not here, but nevertheless, she hurried her step. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the compass, ignoring the grey wall advancing towards her as best she could.

The minutes stretched on in silence. Rarity’s legs began to burn from the distance she’d covered and the pace she was setting, but she had to reach the compass first. She had to save it. Nothing was more important. Her heart began to ache and as she moved closer, to her surprise, the compass began to glow. The light was warm and comforting, and she felt a great reverence overtake her. She stood in the presence of something sacred.

She felt the ache in her legs soothe and the spring in her step return. The fog seemed less frightening too, though it still churned and boiled. The shapes had become more tangible. She could make out rearing ponies with gaping silent mouths and other more terrible things. Still, the warm light fortified her spirit.

Rarity and the misty shapes reached the glowing compass at the same time. This close the purity of the light was rapturous and intoxicating, but the oppressive terror of the fog was desperately trying to match its intensity. She struggled not to buckle under the emotional onslaught. She was the Element of Generosity, and she was not about to let some unpleasant weather get the better of her, no matter how magical or malicious it was.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. The compass was within hoof’s reach, and although she feared what would happen when she grabbed it, she knew she had to try. She clenched her jaw and lunged for the compass, but so did the shapes in the fog. Rarity’s hoof was first to reach it, and she felt its warmth flow through her leg and spread through her whole body. The sensation was short lived because a moment later the fog crashed down around her, and she had never felt anything so cold and horrible in her entire life.

She screamed, finally breaking the reverent silence that had lingered over the lake. She was sure she was dying. She could feel her throat and lungs freeze and her heart seize. Her legs kicked and spasmed, fighting desperately to free her from the fog’s grip, but it had somehow become solid and refused to let go.

The water beneath her gave way, and she plunged into its dark depths, pushed towards the bottom by writhing dark tendrils determined to kill her. She tried to shout for help, but the water stole the sound and quickly filled her lungs. She knew this was the end, but she also knew that protecting the compass was far more important than surviving. She gripped it as tightly as she could. Her mind began to numb, drifting in an out of clarity, and the agonizing pain slowly started to fade. Eventually, she felt nothing at all except for the comforting warmth of the compass pressed against her chest. The last thing she heard before death stole her away was a loud knocking sound.

Rarity sat up straight and panicked for a moment when she still felt cold water all around her. She chided herself for a fool when she realized it was just the tub. Her wine glass was floating between her knees, the water tinged red from the wine still in it when she’d fallen asleep. Good job Rarity. Some protector of Equestria you are, almost drowning in a bathtub. The knocking sound came again, and she realized someone was at the door.

“I’m coming, just a moment please!” She levitated a towel around her mane and used a little bit of magic to quickly dry and heat herself. A quick glance at the clock told Rarity that it was almost midnight. It turned out to be Lilypad at the door. She looked properly apologetic about knocking at such a late hour but was clutching a small and tattered book to her chest.

“Uhm, sorry to wake you?” Lilypad was looking at the wet towel around Rarity’s mane and was clearly unsure whether or not she had in fact disturbed Rarity’s sleep. “Da told me to bring you this.” She held out the little book which read Morse Code for The Seafarer in cursive gold print on the blue cover. “Said he got it from one of his sailor friends down at the docks, but that it’s ok for you to keep it.”

“Ah yes. Thank you, Lilypad.” Rarity had entirely forgotten about the book and the letter as soon as she’d gotten into her bath. For once, she was happy that Twilight wasn’t there. Rarity often got on her case for her absent-mindedness, and she didn’t doubt Twilight would be giving her one of those smug–very not attractive at all–little smiles if she could see her now.

She levitated the book over to her nightstand and thanked Lilypad one more time. The filly turned to leave, but then stopped with a hesitant look on her face.

“Yes? Is there something else I can do for you, dear?” Rarity asked.

“Well, it’s just, you and Mrs. Pie are, like, heroes, aren’t you?”

The question caught Rarity off guard. “Uhm, well I don’t know about being heroes, but we do try our best to help when we can.”

“But you’d stop anything bad from happening to us, yeah?” Lilypad looked very timid, and Rarity frowned with a sense of growing concern.

“Lilypad, is there someone doing something bad to you right now? Because if there is, you can definitely tell me.”

“Oh, uhm, no not really.” Lilypad looked at her hoofs as she spoke, but then she looked Rarity in the eyes, child-like determination painted all over her face. “It’s just good, yeah, that there’s someone out there taking care of the scary things. When I grow up, I want to be strong just like you and Mrs. Pie. Then I could protect Da, and everypony else as well.” Lilypad nodded once to herself then ran back down the stairs before Rarity could respond.

What a peculiar little girl, she thought. She wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t something going on with Lilypad, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at the moment. Maybe she’d send Rainbow Dash to check on Parish-By-The-Sea once she was home. She closed the door and returned to the washroom, determined to get properly clean and enjoy some real sleep.

The sun had long since set over Canterlot. Princess Celestia, who was finding it harder and harder to sleep with each passing year, was lying snug as a bug in her massive four-poster bed, still quite awake. The lamp on her nightstand, at this point an ancient artifact, was casting a soft yellow light over both her and her somewhat questionable reading material. The magazine in question, bearing the ostentatious title of The Royal Splash, was undoubtedly one of the seediest and most scandalous tabloids currently in circulation amongst the Canterlot elite.

Luna and Twilight had both made it quite clear–in their own separate ways–exactly what they thought about The Royal Splash and all its ilk. Twilight, in particular, had expressed a surprising amount of disdain when Celestia had accidentally admitted in passing conversation to her guilty reading pleasure. She’d found her old student’s flustered reactions endearing but was frankly much too old to let the opinions of others stop her from having a good time. At least Cadance thought it was funny.

The article that currently held her attention with such gleeful ferocity was a long and sordid expose on a quite fictitious love affair between herself and a certain Duke Poppingstomp. The fact that she’d barely exchanged more than a dozen words in person with the Duke did not stop the article from being deeply entertaining, and Celestia couldn’t help but to giggle every time it mentioned how the two would hide away in various castle cupboards and engage in all sorts of inappropriate lascivious behavior.

At one point, the article even insinuated that Celestia had bewitched Duke Poppingstomp’s bride to be with a slow acting yet deadly curse. The curse would eventually rid the young Miss Nightbloom from their lives and allow them to indulge in their illicit affair free from her presence. Celestia had snorted rather loudly at that part.

She’d just started reading about the complicated, and very illegal, money games behind the affair when she was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Not even a second later Luna, not bothering to wait for a reply and looking as composed and disinterested as ever, let herself in. She closed the door behind her and sat down in one of Celestia’s winged armchairs.

“Sister, I have need of your counsel,” she said.

Celestia closed her magazine and sat up a little straighter. “You seem distressed,” she said. Even though Luna looked nothing of the sort, Celestia could tell. “I can send for some tea, if you’d like, or maybe something a little stronger?”

“That is quite alright. I do not think this should wait.” There was a slight strain to Luna’s voice that Celestia was unaccustomed to, but she did her best to keep her concern from showing. Luna opened her mouth, but didn’t immediately speak, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“Rarity had a dream,” she finally said. “Not quite a nightmare, but the quality of the dream was peculiar to me and seemed to be causing her some distress. I attempted to enter the dream to ease her mind, but I found the way barred. I thought at first that she was keeping me out on purpose. I know Twilight has taught her how to close her mind to outside influence, and I cannot blame Rarity for erecting barriers. We have both, after all, struggled with the power of intrusive… dreams in the past.

“I was content to leave it at that. She is strong, and if she did not feel the need for assistance, then who am I to force it upon her. But something about the way in which the dream had been made inaccessible concerned me, and the longer I dwelled on it the more I felt certain that some outside force had trapped her and was keeping me out.

“With some effort, I was able to penetrate her dream, and what I experienced was highly disconcerting. The dream itself remained... hazy to me. I could not see clearly or make out any details. But I was at least certain of the presence of ancient magic, such as I have not felt in many centuries. The force of this magic buffeted me and tossed me about as if to expel me from Rarity’s mind. Celestia, I am not ashamed to say that I felt sickened and frightened at its touch.”

“I...” Luna hesitated again, before continuing. “I do not believe that the force trying to expel me was the cause of Rarity’s dream, as I sensed something far older and more powerful at the center of her mind. I cannot say what it was, only that the repugnant magic seemed determined to keep me from reaching Rarity.

“I roused myself from sleep to escape its grasp, but the experience has shaken me. I had always thought myself the ruler of the Dreamscape. The notion that there is some power skulking about in the night strong enough to repel even me is troubling. As for Rarity, it seems as if she awoke shortly after I did. At the very least, I cannot sense her mind in the Dreamscape at the moment.”

Celestia wasn’t sure how to respond. What Luna had told her was definitely distressing, and she was grateful that her sister had come to her to discuss it. But Luna was the expert on dreams, not Celestia, and she didn’t know what advice she could offer that Luna hadn’t already thought of herself. She said as much.

“Dreams are your domain, Luna. I’m not sure that any insights I could provide would be particularly useful.”

Luna frowned at the floor. “That is not an unexpected response. I had hoped that perhaps something in my description of the magic I encountered would be familiar to you. You have always been a better student of the arcane than I. We should warn Twilight and the others in any case. It seems at least certain that something is moving against the Elements, and I do not like the feel of it in the slightest.”

Celestia nodded. “I’ll send a letter to Spike in the morning. Rarity won’t be home for at least another week, but perhaps, if you could contact her in her dreams and get a better idea of what she experienced, it might shed some light on the situation.”

Luna was chewing on her tongue, deep in thought, but stood up to leave. “It is a good thing that Twilight is putting this new Guard together. She has been much too flippant about traditional security measures for far too long. I am glad to see she is coming around.”

Celestia hid a grimace from her sister. “Let us hope they won’t have much to do.” She waited for Luna to leave before getting out of bed and walking over to her bookshelves. She pulled several dusty volumes from the bottom shelf and placed them on the small reading desk she kept for just such occasions. She started with Arcanum Vol. 3 - Pre-Equestria and was still reading by the time she was due to raise the sun.

Part I - Ch. III - In the Shadows of Legends

“It is an easy thing to say you have saved the world. It is quite another to do it.”

“Oh, we've saved the world, Beardo. And we can do it again.”

- Starswirl the Bearded and Rainbow Dash

The sun had been up for at least an hour already. Not that you could really tell. The sky was so grey and cloudy it might as well have been three in the morning. Twilight lay belly down on her bed with her face stuffed into a pile of satin pillows, trying her best to ignore the rain hammering furiously against the stained-glass windows of her room.

She was awake, mostly, sort of. She’d been dreaming that same re-occurring dream about the train, though the details were quickly fading. She kept a dream journal, but she’d written this one down so many times, she no longer bothered with it. She pulled her blanket tight around her withers, trying to keep out the chill, but only succeeded in exposing her hooves to the absolutely frigid winter air. It was more than past time for her to replace her beddings and probably her bed too. She was used to the incessant and sporadic growth bursts, but it was always a pain to replace stuff she’d grown fond of. She cursed softly into a particularly flowery pillow before giving up on any more sleep.

She clambered out of bed and grabbed the thick fur-lined cape Rarity had given her for Hearth’s Warming Eve a few years prior. Supposedly, it looked ‘suitably regal’ for someone of her position. Rarity had said the white fur lining, dark ocean teal fabric, and golden embroidery accentuated Twilight’s eyes and mane beautifully, so even if it hadn’t been a stunning garment—all of Rarity’s creations were—Twilight still would have made every excuse to wear it as often as possible.

She straightened her hair with a quick application of magic and, after grabbing some much needed coffee from the kitchen, set off for the castle gates. She loved the castle in the mornings. It was always incredibly busy, aids and attendants scurrying every which way to get their business done. She loved the hustle, mostly because none of the many creatures that called her castle home had much time or inclination to pay any attention to her when there were, at least in their minds, much more important things to attend to.

“You’re a real queen bee,” Applejack had once told her. It was an apt and comfortable metaphor.

Whatever magic the Tree of Harmony had used to bring the Castle of Friendship into being was clearly still at work. As Twilight hired more and more creatures to expand the staff of the castle so too did the castle grow to accommodate her decisions. Entire wings now existed to house her aids, and where once there had been only one kitchen and one library, now there were many to cater to the needs of the castle’s denizens and Twilight’s ever growing collection of literature.

She maintained strict rules regarding the use of the various facilities the castle now provided. Primarily, her personal kitchen was still only hers, accessible only by Twilight, Spike—though these days he couldn’t actually fit through the door—Starlight Glimmer, and the rest of the girls. In addition, her personal library only permitted those same individuals and, by necessity, Discord. Although, Twilight was not entirely sure she could keep him out even if she tried. Pinkie’s lessons necessitated a safe space, and the library was as good as any, with its myriad protective spells and incantations. The lab, the study, and a few other locations, all had physical barricades, magical protections, and carefully maintained visitation lists as well.

It wasn’t so much paranoia that drove her decision to manage those places the way she did, but a desire for something that was still only hers, someplace she could escape and just be Twilight Sparkle for a moment, instead of being Princess of Friendship, Element of Magic, savior of all of blah blah blah.

When she reached the stairs leading down to the castle foyer, she was met by Starlight who was coming down the hallway from the Oratory of Kindness. She was followed closely by a young and meek looking unicorn mare with a cardinal red mane and cream colored coat.

“Twilight, it’s nice to see you up and around. I was just about to send Strawberry to kick you out of bed. I know you’re growing, but you spend more time sleeping than Rainbow does shirking work.” Starlight grinned at Twilight, but Strawberry Patch looked absolutely scandalized and tried her best to hide behind Starlight’s frail and tiny body. A futile task since Strawberry was almost as tall as Fluttershy, and Starlight had never been particularly large to begin with.

Twilight chuckled and shook her head. Starlight had been doing her best to groom Strawberry Patch for taking over as seneschal so she could retire, but the bright eyed mare was usually so awestruck by Twilight that she could hardly string two words together in her presence. A shame, since in any other setting, the mare was a well-oiled machine of efficiency and command.

“Har har, Starlight. As I mentioned last night, and as you already know, I don’t actually need to sleep, growth spurts or not. And good morning, Strawberry.” She said the last part while looking around Starlight with what she hoped was a passable impersonation of Celestia’s most disarming smile.

“Good morning, Princess Twilight.” Strawberry stared straight down at the floor while speaking, as if she was trying to burn holes into the carpet, but at least she hadn’t stuttered. She was making some progress.

“You seem like you’re feeling good?” Starlight didn’t have to say ‘better than you did last night’ for Twilight to know what she really meant, but it was true. Twilight was prone to flights of melancholy and felt it was often entirely warranted, but their conversation the previous evening had in fact eased some of her worries. Not in any practical sense, but knowing that Starlight loved her, and that Twilight wasn’t alone, was enough of a balm to make all her other problems seem small and manageable. For now.

She smiled at Starlight. “Yes, much. Thank you.”

“Good. I imagine we have quite a busy schedule ahead of us today. Also, you left these in the library last night.” Starlight levitated a pair of gold rimmed reading glasses onto Twilight’s nose. They matched her cape quite nicely, a conspiratorial choice made by both Starlight and Rarity.

Twilight frowned. She’d left them behind on purpose under a stack of books in a neglected corner of her library. They made her look like an old lady, and she did not like them, yet somehow, Starlight always found them and brought them back to her. As with so many other things in her life, if they hadn’t been a gift, she’d have gotten rid of them permanently.

“Actually,” she said, adjusting the slightly off center glasses, “we have very little left to do. I finished all the necessary paperwork last night, and I’ve had Spike and Rainbow Dash working on construction all week. They should be wrapping up around noon. They’d have already finished if Rainbow hadn’t insisted on including that ridiculous skybox.”

Twilight would never admit that she’d actually been quite happy with the idea of a skybox, mostly because it’d give her excellent vantage over the field, but also because the little filly inside of her, somehow still there after all these years, was just very excited about sitting so high up in the stadium.

“Well, there is definitely something to be said for pomp and circumstance,” said Starlight.

Twilight rolled her eyes, ready for the same tired argument they’d had a thousand times before. “Starlight, if you had your way, I’d be surrounded by an honor guard everywhere I went, heralded by trumpets, and draped in more finery than a Saddle Arabian prince.”

“Exaggerations aside,” Starlight said, “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect you to dress up a little. Even Celestia and Luna wear their crowns and collars on a daily basis. The whole pauper princess thing you’ve got going for you during the summer months may be popular in Ponyville, but need I remind you about the frankly slanderous gossip that flies around the court in Canterlot.”

Twilight laughed at that. The day she started caring what the overweening dignitaries in Celestia and Luna’s court thought about her was the day she retired her crown. As large as Canterlot Castle was, she was still constantly amazed that it could contain so much misplaced ego and snobbery.

“Come on, short as our to-do-list is, I imagine it’ll be quite time consuming.”

The three of them proceed down the stairs and out of the castle. Twilight conjured a floating magenta dome for them to keep away the rain, but by the time they’d reached the gates the downpour had let up significantly. The sun was becoming vaguely visible through the grayish clouds, and the fresh scent of wet grass and clean air was almost as invigorating as her coffee.

“Where... where are we going, Your Highness?”

Twilight was pleased to hear Strawberry ask a question of her own volition. When Starlight had first approached Twilight with the idea of grooming a successor, Twilight had been somewhat resistant. Of course, it made all kinds of logical sense, but Twilight couldn’t imagine anyone else taking Starlight’s place.

When she finally agreed she’d suggested that Spike take the position, but she’d already known Spike was an ill fit. He knew Twilight better than anyone and was excellently loyal and hard-working. Unfortunately, he was also a bit scatterbrained, forgetful, and handled authority poorly. To say it went to his head was an understatement. There was also the issue of him even fitting through any of the doors in her castle.

Starlight had introduced Twilight to Strawberry Patch, who was one of the most promising minds in Twilight’s household. Strawberry commanded respect with the other aids, easily processed large quantities of information, and ran her own department—the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs—with a speedy efficiency envied by the other departments. In many ways, Strawberry reminded Twilight of the late Raven, who had served as Celestia’s Record Keeper and personal aid during Twilight’s early years in Ponyville. If Strawberry didn’t unravel like a sweater sewn by Applejack every time Twilight stepped into the room, she’d be perfect.

“We’re going to the visitors’ camp,” Twilight answered. “I set up a sort of magical census field over the area to keep track of how many creatures were coming and going. I knew these trials would be popular, and I wanted to make sure I had some idea who was camping out in my backyard.”

She saw a frown begin to form on Starlight’s face and cut her off before the inevitable scolding. “Don’t worry, it’s not very invasive. Just species, age, and whether or not they’re leaving or going. The field keeps track of who’s already been tagged, so I have an accurate count of how many visitors are here. I’m not spying, and it doesn’t tell me anything specific about the individual.”

Starlight grimaced but didn’t say anything. Twilight knew that she was incredibly prickly about anything that even hinted at abuse of power, but she wasn’t about to let seventy-eight thousand two hundred and ninety-one strangers set up shop in Ponyville without putting up a few safeguards.

“I suppose that’s why we’re going down there in person?” Starlight asked.

“Well, yes. I also thought it would serve as an interesting educational experience.” Twilight recognized the greedy tone creeping into her voice but could hardly help it. “Think about it, Starlight, other than the Convocation when are we going to get an opportunity to see this many different creatures gathered together in one place? And unlike the Convocation, this is an entirely unofficial gathering of laycreatures, instead of a well-regulated conference between rulers and politicians. Aren’t you at least a little bit excited to see it?”

“That... does sound interesting.”

Twilight smiled triumphantly, but Starlight continued.

“Don’t you think you should maybe bring some guards with you though? We have a hundred Solar Auxiliaries stationed in Ponyville for the games. I could send Strawberry to fetch some.”

Twilight shot her a flat look. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, what are a few of Celestia’s guards going to do for me that I can’t do for myself, other than attract more attention?”

“Oh yes, you’re right, because Princess Twilight Sparkle casually trotting around a giant campsite of foreigners isn’t going to attract any attention at all. At least cast a glamour spell so that we don’t get mobbed by a thousand adoring subjects.”

“I think you’re just worried some ne’er-do-well is going to stab me when you aren’t looking. I promise I’ll be fine.”

Starlight snorted at that. “Did you just use the phrase ne’er-do-well unironically?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. Twilight blushed but wasn’t about to give Starlight the satisfaction of appearing too embarrassed.

“So, what if I did? It’s a perfectly acceptable phrase.”

“Maybe for a vapid damsel in one of Rarity’s trashy romance novels.” Starlight was clearly straining to keep herself from laughing. Twilight was about to deliver what she felt was a very scathing retort when she heard someone giggle from behind. She turned her head to find that Strawberry had stopped in her tracks and looked absolutely mortified.

“It’s ok, Strawberry,” Starlight said, grinning at her, “the Princess tends to get a bit too big for her britches sometimes. A good laugh at her expense is good for her.”

Strawberry mustered a weak smile but did not look particularly mollified. “I’m sorry, Princess. I was out of line.”

“Oh no, Strawberry! Starlight is right. It really is ok.” Twilight smiled at her and hoped she looked approachable. She really wanted Strawberry to feel like she could relax around her. It would be impossible for the two of them to work together otherwise.

“As you say, Princess.” Strawberry was looking back down at the ground as she said it. Twilight sighed in frustration, to which Starlight laughed.

“Someone’s being sighful again,” she said, nudging Twilight’s shoulder.

“Uhm,” Strawberry said, “sighful isn’t really a word, Mrs. Glimmer.”

Twilight immediately perked up, glad that Strawberry was at least willing to talk to Starlight.

“Actually,” she said, remembering her own similar thoughts the night before and figuring that this was a great moment for an interesting factoid, “language is ever changing, and prescriptivist attitudes towards vocabularies and grammar are not only antiquated but also not very helpful. It’s incredibly interesting, really. So long as a meaningful number of a conversation’s participants understand what a word means given the context of the situation, we can consider it a real word. Isn’t that so freeing?”

“Oh, uhm, ok,” Strawberry said. “I’m sorry.”

This time it was Starlight’s turn to sigh, and it took Twilight a moment to regretfully realize that instead of coming off as an interesting and fun lecture on language, her comment probably sounded like a reprimand to the young mare.

Ah, yes. Good job, Twilight. She’ll definitely feel more comfortable around you now.

“Let’s get going,” Starlight said, shooting Twilight a sympathetic look.

They walked the lengthy path from the castle towards the northwestern part of Ponyville's outskirts. A winding river separated the hill on which the castle stood from Ponyville proper, and the road that led to the village crossed the river twice, once near the castle, and once near the village. The visitor's camp was set up between the bridges on the west bank, a stone's throw from the road itself, and less than a mile north of Sweet Apple Acres.

The camp was immense. It was easily visible from the castle but seeing it up close was a whole different story. It looked more like a multi-tiered jungle of caravan wagons and tents than a campsite and reminded Twilight rather much of Klugetown, albeit cleaner. She straightened her cape and started in between the ropes, stretched canvas, and empty fireplaces with Starlight and Strawberry in tow.

She smiled to herself, excited by the wide variety of portable living quarters that stretched out ahead of them. She quickly began making mental notes, cursing herself for not bringing a notebook and a quill. Here a festively painted wagon no doubt belonging to a pony of some sort, covered in brightly colored flower patterns and draped all about with pots, pans, and a few unlit lanterns. There a tall tent held up by taller tent poles, painted in earth tones with motifs of mountains and constellations. She assumed it belonged to a buffalo, though she couldn’t see the residents anywhere nearby.

Another tent shimmered and gleamed in the flickering light of the reclusive sun as if made of crystal instead of fabric, and not far from it rested two dark mounds with green entrance ports illuminated by the glow of several lightning bugs in a suspended jar. No doubt miniature changeling hives.

Twilight still wasn't sure how those were made, but she imagined the process was similar to how other hive dwelling arthropods constructed their homes. Kinda gross, she thought with a slight chuckle, but fascinating nonetheless.

As captivating as all the little campsites were, they paled in comparison to the creatures that filled them. To Twilight’s eyes, it was like the most magnificent tapestry of life, and she could tell that Starlight and Strawberry were both equally impressed. The din and bustle was so intense that even a princess and her retainers were hardly noticed, at least at first.

Her only real intention was to walk around for a while and get a feel for the mood of the camp, so she steered them towards the center of the congregation. They passed through crowds of ponies, changelings, yaks, deer, and every other creature imaginable. Twilight counted ten dragons, two sirens—which surprised her greatly—, and some distance from where they were walking, a rather large group of gargoyles and centaurs.

She’d known they were there of course, but actually seeing them was a whole different experience. The last centaur Twilight had met had dropped an actual mountain on her head. It had left a lasting impression.

“Are those...” Strawberry seemed to have forgotten that she was standing next to Twilight and was staring slack-jawed at the nearest centaur, who was armed to the teeth and towered over even Twilight. He seemed to be engaged in conversation with one of the most impressive looking changelings Twilight had ever seen.

The changeling was almost as tall as King Thorax and had glistening plates in shades of bronze and deep forest green. He was crowned with twin horns, one on the nose, and a much larger one on the forehead that curved forward instead of back.

Twilight had a whole room dedicated to entomology in the castle, and one of its walls was covered in coleoptera and lepidoptera specimens. She’d pinned several large Hercules beetles to that wall throughout the years and was now feeling oddly guilty about it.

Starlight leaned closer to whisper in her ear, though it hardly seemed necessary with the loud drone of voices humming around them. “That’s Under-Lieutenant Cercus. He’s an applicant.”

She wasn’t surprised. Unlike Luna and Starlight, Twilight wasn’t much for changelings, but she had to admit Cercus was built like a stud. Even if he hadn’t been so physically impressive Twilight had memorized the names of all five hundred applicants and knew exactly who he was. Cercus resume was prodigious. The decision to include him in the five hundred had been immediate and unanimous.

“He’s huge!” said Strawberry. “Why? I thought changelings didn’t get much bigger than your average earth ponies.”

Huge might have been an overstatement. He was about as tall as Twilight who was only a little taller than Strawberry. She looked down at Strawberry to measure and blushed. Or well, maybe a head taller.

“I don’t know,” Starlight answered. “Thorax doesn’t seem to know either. I talked to him about it, but he just told me that Cercus has always been special.”

“Hive leaders get big,” said Twilight. “That’s why Chrysalis and Thorax are so much larger than the rest. I think it has something to do with how powerful their magic is, but I don’t know if they get big because their magic is strong, or if it’s the other way around.”

Although years of experience counseled her against making judgments based on appearance, she couldn’t help but feel excited about the prospect of seeing how Cercus would perform in her trials. She considered walking over to speak to him but decided against it. Best not be seen speaking directly to an applicant, lest a tabloid should get the idea she was being preferential.

“We should probably keep moving.” It was Strawberry who spoke, but Twilight had noticed the same thing. Many of the creatures around them had stopped and were openly staring, whispering excitedly to each other, or pointing at her.

They began to move once more, but this time they were followed by a continually growing crowd. None of the other creatures came too close or made any attempts at conversation, but a chance to see the Princess of Friendship up close was too great a treat for most to resist.

Just fifty years earlier, she’d have been swarmed by ponies wanting an autograph, a picture, or just a hoof shake. That was before she’d grown so tall, and before her hair had begun to sparkle, and before the myth of Princess Twilight had grown larger than the pony herself. Now she was treated with reverence and awe, or worse, deference.

Many of the creatures in the camp, now wise to her presence, bowed as she passed or raised cheers to her health and long reign. She definitely preferred the latter. Celestia and Cadence always handled situations like this with such effortless grace, and Twilight thought, not for the first time, that she probably had a lot more in common with Luna than with the other Princesses.

“Would... would you like us to head back?” Strawberry asked. Starlight looked at her with surprise, but Twilight could have leapt for joy right then and there. Feeling immediately better, she smiled at the young mare and shook her head.

“No, that’s quite alright. I need to get more used to this. I don’t imagine it’ll get better with time. If I ran away from every public gathering because it made me uncomfortable, I think I’d be a pretty shoddy princess. Or at least a very reclusive one.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t love that,” Starlight laughed, “to be hidden away in a forest somewhere with nothing but books and research.”

Twilight grinned at her. “And never see my friends or go on any adventures? No, thank you.”

As they spoke, they neared a circle of caravan wagons that caught Twilight's attention. They were decorated with flowers and branches that seemed almost to grow out of the wagons themselves and were arranged in a large circle so that the area behind them was completely obstructed from view.

Many of the flowers and leaves adorning the wagons seemed to glow faintly in the soft hazy rain, and, more incredibly, were humming a gentle and quiet tune. Twilight quite liked the way the enchantments on the wagons felt and–curious–steered the group towards a gap in the makeshift wall.

“I’ve never seen flowers like this before, and whatever is making them glow like that isn’t regular magic.” Strawberry’s comment was made with innocent intent, but it rankled Twilight all the same.

“Just because it isn’t unicorn magic doesn’t mean it isn’t regular magic,” said Starlight. Twilight thanked the stars that Starlight had said what she herself was thinking. Any more perceived corrections or admonishments from her would surely shut Strawberry up for the rest of the day, and she was trying very hard to keep that from happening.

“There are many more creatures in the world than just unicorns,” Twilight said, as affably as possible, “or ponies for that matter, and most of them have some magic of their own.”

Strawberry looked thoughtful for a moment. Twilight was sure she was about to respond, but as they passed between the wagons, they were interrupted by a mule deer who planted herself firmly in their way, barring entry to the camp.

The slate gray deer was tall and stately looking, with a crown of woven ribes perched between her large ears. The dark green twigs were peppered with ripe berries in pink, red, and black that hung down around her head and over her brow.

The draping crown framed a pair of large pale eyes, which seemed both coolly confident and fiercely curious. They made her appear at once immensely knowledgeable and entirely innocent. Twilight found the effect quite striking.

Besides her crown, the deer wore nothing but a leather brace strapped around her front left leg. Twilight couldn’t tell if it served a medical or utilitarian purpose, or if it was simply decorative. There were runes stamped into its edges, and Twilight was both excited and a little bit annoyed by the fact that she couldn’t recognize the script.

The deer bowed her head deeply towards the ground in a graceful curtsy. When she spoke her voice was clear and pleasant, like early spring snowmelt running through a mountain brook.

“Welcome, Princess Twilight Sparkle.” She nodded towards Starlight and Strawberry Patch. “…and friends. My name is Linden, and I am Warden of the Circle.” Linden looked around herself and giggled—a sound like sleigh bells on a winter morning. “And also, it seems, this smaller circle.” She gestured towards the wagons and smiled kindly. Twilight noticed that despite her friendly words and genteel demeanor there was something solid about the way she was standing, and she had a very distinct impression that Linden was not planning on letting them pass.

Twilight wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. She’d immediately recognized Linden’s name from the massive stack of papers on her desk and knew that that she was supposed to be an immensely talented healer and very accomplished in the application of force fields and nature based magic.

Twilight had spent some time in Thicket with King Aspen–and later King Bramble–but didn’t think Linden and her group were from the Everfree Forest. She didn’t recognize the make of their wagons, nor did their magic feel alchemical, which, as far as she knew, was the only kind of magic the Everfree deer could use. Even if these deer could use traditional forms of magic, does did not possess horns, so she wasn’t sure how Linden was supposed to be able to conjure force fields.

Despite the incongruities of the application, Fluttershy had pushed hard for admittance on the grounds that the essay on healing magic that accompanied it was exemplary. Twilight didn’t know as much about healing as Fluttershy, but she’d been impressed as well.

“Hello,” Twilight said, nodding her head and smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you. This is Starlight Glimmer and Strawberry Patch.” Twilight nodded towards her friends. The other two ponies bowed politely. “We saw your wagons and thought they were really fascinating, but I wasn’t expecting to run into an applicant when we came over. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

A part of Twilight was less than thrilled with having avoided Cercus just to run into another candidate, but she was just as intrigued by Linden as she had been with the changeling. Hopefully, the wagons would keep them mostly hidden.

“I am not surprised. I imagine you are familiar with everyone who has traveled here for the trials. Your studious nature is well known to us and highly respected.” Linden looked unsure for a moment then smiled apologetically at Twilight. “You’ll have to excuse me for barring the way. It is not my place to tell a princess where she may or may not go, but one of our does is birthing. I do not wish for her to be startled or disturbed by your presence, which is after all, rather... impressive.”

Twilight heard Starlight chuckle and frowned at her friend. Linden looked somewhat surprised by the exchange but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, Linden. As my snarky friend here just demonstrated, being a princess in Equestria isn’t quite so formal an affair. We didn’t mean to disturb, and we’ll of course not intrude if you don’t want us to.”

Twilight’s casual attitude seemed to be putting Linden off her stride a bit. “That’s... gracious of you,” she said.

Twilight decided it was probably best to leave, she didn’t want to throw Linden off her game too much, but before she could say anything, Strawberry chimed in with her own question.

“Are you excited for the trials?” There was a gleam in Strawberry’s eyes that Twilight was quite surprised to see, and though she assumed it was just excitement about the event, she would have to speak to Starlight about it later.

“Ah yes, well, I find it a bit embarrassing, really,” said Linden. “Our Keeper sent me here. I’m quite good at my job, you see, but I do not know that I will be of much aid to someone as powerful as the Princess. All the other creatures here have such formidable combat magic... or opposable thumbs.”

It looked as if Starlight was about to say something conciliatory or encouraging, but Twilight quickly cut her off. She’d realized something, and now she wanted to play along.

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Twilight said, adopting the most neutral expression she was capable of, which she knew others considered both intimidating and impossible to read from her time running the courts in Canterlot for Celestia and Luna. Celestia was not a fan of Twilight affecting such disinterest with their subjects, but it had its uses. Starlight frowned at Twilight for just a moment but said nothing.

Linden laughed in an awkward self-deprecating sort of way and looked down at the ground, pawing at the dirt with her right hoof. “I should probably get back,” she said. “I do have a fawn to help deliver.”

Twilight bowed her head but maintained her expression. “I look forward to seeing you at the trials tomorrow. If nothing else, it will surely be illuminating.”

Once Linden had passed out of earshot and they’d left the passage between the wagons, Starlight rounded on Twilight with not a little amount of anger. “Well, if your goal was to completely obliterate that poor doe’s self-confidence, I’d say mission accomplished!”

Twilight chuckled and smiled at Starlight. “Don’t worry. She was faking the whole time. She was playing us to see how we’d react if she acted meek. She needs practice though.”

“How could you tell?” Strawberry asked, walking abreast with Twilight for the first time all day.

“She carried herself with a sense of easy confidence and authority, and she wasn’t entirely able to suppress it. That comes from years of leading others and dealing with other creatures in positions of authority. I don’t know what culture these deer came from, but I’m pretty sure this Seeker that Linden mentioned is less her superior and more her equal. At the very least, the deference in her voice when she mentioned her sounded more practiced than natural.”

“Bah, mind games and childish one-upmanship is all that is,” Starlight added, grumpily.

“You’re just mad you didn’t notice first,” Twilight said, grinning at her old friend.

“It did seem like she had very shrewd eyes, at least to me,” Strawberry said. “Do you think she’ll do well tomorrow?”

Twilight, still grinning, nodded. “Yes, Strawberry. Yes, I do.”

Fluttershy looked up from the heavily breathing sweat-soaked doe lying on the ground before her. Linden had returned to the circle and looked tremendously unhappy. Fluttershy sighed and busied herself with the task at hand, unwilling to look her in the eye.

“I did as you asked, but I do not think it was right to bar the Starchild from entering our camp.”

“Mhmm.” Fluttershy didn’t respond at first, busy making sure that the birthing doe wasn’t bleeding too badly. After giving some instructions to a bright-eyed fawn who’d been assisting her, she walked over to a cleaning trough to wash her hooves.

“It... it’s better like this,” Fluttershy said, finally meeting Linden’s accusing gaze. “I needed peace to work, and your friend, Th... Thistle, needs both space and privacy.” Fluttershy felt a tightening in her stomach but reminded herself that lies of omission weren’t so bad, no matter what Applejack said.

Linden raised a skeptical eyebrow at her but didn’t pursue the issue further. “Will Thistle be alright?” she asked instead.

“She’ll be fine.” She looked over, as her fawn assistant, on Fluttershy’s previous orders, instructed Thistle on how to pace her breathing. “She’s strong, and... a... and she’s done this before. I just wanted to make sure the baby was facing the right way and that there were no further risks or co… complications.” She smiled. Childbirth was grizzly business, but Fluttershy had always found the process of bringing life into the world a beautiful and sacrosanct thing.

“You do not like the Starchild?” Linden’s question sounded a bit too much like a statement, but Fluttershy felt obliged to answer anyway.

“I lo... love Twilight very much, Linden. She’s dearer to me than almost any other creature in the world.”

“Then why did you not wish to see her? Why have me send her away when by rights and tradition, I should have invited her into our camp?”

Fluttershy could feel the violent and persistent twitch in her left cheek returning and grimaced at the ground, waiting for it to pass. Linden, mistaking the grimace for a response to her question, bowed her head and apologized.

“I am sorry, it is not my place to challenge a request from the Element of Kindness.”
Fluttershy waved her hoof dismissively. “No, I’m sorry Linden. I’m not frowning at you. I have ne... nerve damage in my face, and it’s difficult to deal with sometimes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I may not have your talent, but I am an accomplished healer among my people.” The look of genuine concern on Linden’s face touched Fluttershy’s heart, and she did her best to smile as kindly as she could to illustrate how much the offer meant.

“Thank you, Linden. There is nothing to be done. This is an old and mag... magical injury. Trust me, what can’t be healed by me or my hu... husband can’t be healed at all.”

Linden nodded gravely and bowed to Fluttershy. “Thank you for looking after Thistle, and for concerning yourself with our struggles. It is an honor beyond measure to have you walk among us.”

Fluttershy giggled at the doe’s sincerity. She was a very severe creature. “It was my pleasure.”

Rainbow Dash was very unsuccessfully trying to sleep. She’d been hard at work all day finishing construction on the sky box and would normally have fallen asleep on the first suitably comfortable cloud she could find. In fact, her only real flaw, if it could really be called a flaw, was a propensity for napping that might sometimes be construed by other less awesome ponies as laziness.

Now she was lying on her back atop one of the coliseum pillars, counting stars, and trying her best to forget about the coming morning and the violently tap-dancing butterflies in her stomach. She felt silly. The great Commander Rainbow Dash, veteran of countless battles, savior of Equestria a dozen times over, and Element of Loyalty, unable to sleep because of stomach jitters. And over something as trivial, and frankly unnecessary, as Twilight’s little gladiator games. Or well, maybe not so little after all.

She had to admit that she was actually very excited about the event itself. The daredevil inside her couldn’t wait to see the contestants risk life and limb in some of the most ridiculous and dangerous trials Rainbow had ever heard of. Twilight insisted they were safe... that was a laugh. Maybe if you had enough magic to rearrange the heavens, or you could fly fast enough to tear holes in reality, or you were strong enough to chuck boulders around like they were made of paper. But the trials were for regular creatures, not Twilight, Rainbow Dash, or Applejack. She was pretty sure Pinkie Pie could pass them in her sleep.

Despite all of that, Rainbow was more or less on board with the idea—Fluttershy could heal anything, and Twilight could step in if needed—but what was the point? Rarity and Pinkie Pie were at this very moment on their way home from successfully quelling an uprising in a non-Equestrian dragon enclave that had threatened to destabilize Griffonstone’s eastern borders.

They’d done it by themselves, easily, and from what Rainbow could gather from their correspondence to Spike, it had required no little amount of ‘fisticuffs’, as Rarity liked to call it. How was a guard force of some hundred creatures supposed to help them in any meaningful way when two of them could dust a group of adult dragons with no more effort than Rarity would expend on stitching a sweater? No matter how awesome the event itself would be, it seemed to Rainbow Dash like a colossal waste of time and resources.

She rolled over on her perch, trying her best to get comfortable, but just as she was starting to drift off, she saw something that made her breath catch. Somepony was watching her. Or... at least looking in her direction. She was high up enough that only another pegasus should have been able to easily spot her, but the perpetrator looked like a middle aged unicorn. Well, she wasn’t about to let some creep ogle her in the middle of the night.

She dropped from the pillar into a free fall and didn’t pull up until right before she hit the ground. “Hey! What’s the big idea?” she yelled at the clearly startled unicorn. Rather than back off however, he just grinned at her.

“Well, I’ll be, Commander Rainbow Dash. I thought I saw something moving up there. Wasn’t expecting a national hero though. I figured it was some idiot trying to pull a stunt before the games. Get his face in the papers and all that.”

“Captain Shield?”

“In the flesh, Ma’am.” The captain looked very pleased with himself, and Rainbow was feeling rather embarrassed about having not only assumed the worst but also mistaking him for a ruffian. Especially after having vouched for his inclusion in the trials.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she asked. “I don’t want to have to clean what’s left of you off of Twilight’s shiny new arena tomorrow because you were too tired to pay attention.”

“Ah well, you know how it is, Commander. Nerves. Especially before a big gig like this.”

Rainbow did know how it was, but she wasn’t about to let on. “Didn’t take you for the jittery type, Captain. I remember you being cool as a cucumber last year when we had to clean out that hydra infestation in the Everfree.”

“Yeah, that’s fair, but hydras are a sight less intimidating than Princess Twilight.” His face grew contemplative, and in the dark the effect was rather somber. “I saw her when we were out in the wastes you know, descending from the heavens, wings like fire, and death erupting from her horn with enough force to level mountains. That scared the shit out of me, Commander, no fib.”

Rainbow hid a frown behind her biggest cockiest grin. “It scared those Changelings a lot worse, I promise you that. Plus, you idiot, it’s not like you’re going to have to fight the Princess herself. Can you imagine? It’s just you and a bunch of other blowhards going up against each other to show her how studly and useful you are. You’ll be fine.”

Winter grinned back at her. “So, you’re saying you think I’m studly?”

Rainbow rolled her eyes and punched Winter Shield on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. “Come on. I know for a fact that Berry’s is still open. Let’s grab something to drink. Who knows, might help you sleep.”

He stayed still, pressed up against the wall and holding his breath, until long after the Element of Loyalty and the unimportant unicorn she’d been speaking to had left. That had been too close. After making sure no other creatures were out and about and liable to spot him, he took a deep breath and crawled into the shadows underneath the coliseum. The shadows were his home, but this part always hurt. He smiled to himself. All the pain in the world would be worth it in the end when he was exalted above all others. In the coliseum halls, the sentry orbs floated by undisturbed.

Part I - Ch. V - A Little Bit of Chaos Remembered

Author's Note

Please let me know if you find any mistakes or spelling errors, preferably via dm. I have no editors, so this is all proof-read and edited by myself.

Part I - Ch. V - A Little Bit of Chaos Remembered

“To retrieve your missing Elements, just make sense of this change of events. Twists and turns are my master plan. Then find the Elements back where you began."

- Discord

He was confused. So much about this place was confusing. Something old and dangerous was crawling around just out of sight, an echo of some sort, he thought. He was dangerous himself, but he’d only just been born… no… reborn? Brought back? The Speaker had called to him from across space and time, and he’d awakened in response. Slowly at first, shifting the dirt of eons off his shoulders, and with tremendous effort, he’d dug his way back to the surface. There he’d found light. That had been unexpected, and in the back of his mind, he’d realized there was something very very wrong about that light, not to mention the grass-scented breeze and the twitter of birdsong accompanying it.

He was inside a construct of chaos, and to him, that was perhaps the most confusing part. It was so pure–only chaos without the malice–and it all reeked of something… no someone, that shouldn’t have been able to exist in this place. It reeked of Harmony. That… that bitch! Of all the impossible horrible things! He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on his task.

He’d been given a direct command, and the Master of Ceremonies wasn’t about to disappoint. After all, the Speaker had called him first. He’d be the one granted ascension, even if he had to stomp all over the others to get it, and oddly enough, this place was lousy with ichor. He could smell it even over the chaos, even over Harmony’s sugary burning stench. There were godlings here, and he so hoped he’d get to taste them. Orphic chuckled and melted back into the shadow. All he had to do was avoid the old thing and wait, and he was very good at waiting.

Winter felt himself turn briefly inside out and backwards before reappearing comfortably on his hooves, but most of his companions were clearly unfamiliar with the experience. Cercus didn’t bat an eye but seemed to stand a little stiffer, and Linden’s only sign of discomfort was a demure sneeze. Skarn and Asterope both collapsed as soon as they rematerialized inside the labyrinth. He didn’t blame them. In fact, he sympathized quite a bit. Teleporting was one thing when done intentionally on your own and quite another when pulled involuntarily through time and space by someone else. He chuckled and reached a hoof out to help Asterope back to her feet. Linden did the same for Skarn.

The wispy light orb Lord Spike had promised was waiting for them, illuminating the tunnel two dozen paces in every direction. Still, when Winter looked around, he could see neither walls nor ceilings. It seemed like whatever magic had made their rooms fit into the coliseum was at work here making the labyrinth larger inside than it appeared from the outside. The floor was made of evenly placed white cobblestones that provided excellent grip. For all he could tell, he might as well be standing in the middle of Castle Boulevard in Canterlot, except all the streetlamps were dead, and the stars and the moon were gone. It was eerie.

“Is everyone alright?” Winter asked. Grunts of affirmation from Asterope and Skarn followed, and Linden and Cercus nodded.

“Before we do anything else, we should review what we know,” Linden said. Winter agreed and had been about to say as much himself, but the deer seemed capable enough, and he didn’t mind her taking charge. In here, he was no longer Captain Winter Shield, just one cog in a five-part machine.

“That was Discord, wasn’t it?” Asterope asked, shivering slightly despite the warm air in the tunnel.

“You betcha,” Winter said. “I’ve never seen him before myself, but if I understand how his powers work then shapeshifting is old hat for him.”

Linden looked uncomfortable. “I have heard of this Discord. He is wed to the Saint, yes?”

Winter laughed despite himself. “Afraid of a little mischief? As far as I know, he’s pretty harmless. I guess some history books mention he used to be less than friendly, but I can’t imagine anyone married to the Saint being too bad.”

Linden looked skeptical but nodded. “It is a good thing to know that the Spirit of Chaos has some part to play in this. What else do we know?”

Winter was sure that Linden had already mentally catalogued and reviewed everything Lord Spike and Princess Twilight had told them, but he decided to play along. In his experience, participation was crucial for success. If even one individual on a team decided to disengage, it could be disastrous.

“Seems like we’ve got more time than light,” he said. “I assume that’s intentional.”

Cercus, who was studying the invisible ceilings and walls, nodded in agreement. “Yes, it seems this labyrinth is going to be quite the puzzle.”

Winter thought that Cercus looked rather pleased about the prospect.

“For example,” the changeling continued, “did any of you notice that neither the Princess nor Lord Spike actually told us how to pass the trial?”

Winter and the others stared at him with collectively raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, they did.” Asterope said. “We gotta find those rocks and then teleport out, right?”

Cercus laughed but was still studying their dark surroundings when he answered. “I’m sure Lord Spike chose his words with care and precision. He said that to teleport out we’d need both tablets, but he never mentioned whether we’d pass as a group or if we’d be evaluated individually. The fact that only one of us needs to be present for the tablets to work is surely significant. In addition, the only disqualifying condition he mentioned was to still be in the labyrinth when the time expires. He didn’t actually say that getting ported out when asking for help would disqualify you. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, he didn’t say that bringing the tablets to the center of the labyrinth and teleporting out guaranteed passing the trial, only that that was our ‘goal’.”

They all stared at him for a moment, trying to process everything he’d just said. He was right, of course, but Winter was fairly certain that he’d never have arrived at the same conclusions, no matter how long he spent in the labyrinth.

Asterope started to laugh, and now it was her turn to be subjected to a gathering of surprised stares.

“This is sweet!” she said, voice cracking from excitement. “We’re totally gonna crush this challenge, guys! I mean, look at all of you. Most of you look like you could body slam an ursa minor, and with egghead over there, we should breeze through any puzzle this dumb labyrinth throws at us!” She seemed very pleased with the situation, and Winter thought she looked rather comical, drowning under a much too large ochre shawl and more golden jewelry than her little body should rightly be able to support.

“You’re not wrong, little bird,” Skarn said, though it clearly pained her to do so, “but what exactly do you bring to the table? You’re unarmed, small, and if I’m not mistaken, parrots aren’t exactly known for their powerful magics.”

Asterope’s expression faltered, but she quickly masked her discomfort with a cocky grin and a smug toss of her turquoise crest feathers. “Pfft, you’ll see. There’s more to me than meets the eye.”

“That is all well and good,” Linden said, interrupting Skarn with a stern look before the latter could respond, “but I think we should start moving. Time is of the essence.”

Though Winter wasn’t sure why, the light orb floated over towards Linden and hovered near her as if waiting. Maybe it recognized that she was the de facto leader? She looked over at Cercus, who nodded back and smiled.

“As we don’t know where we are,” Cercus said, “and don’t know where we’re going, any direction works as just as well as another.”

And so, they set off together, as eclectic a group of hopefuls as Winter had ever seen. Linden walked alongside Cercus at the front–Asterope tailing the both of them closely–, and Winter marched along in the back with Skarn.

It was a spectral darkness that passed them by, unchanging and sinister. Their glowing orb did little for him in the ways of comfort, and had it not been for the cobblestones passing along beneath his hooves, Winter wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to tell whether they were moving or not.

Then something changed. The air around them grew damp, and the orb grew slightly brighter, illuminating a large cavern filled with dead and barren trees. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked as if most, if not all, the trees had had their trunks carved out like jack-o’-lanterns to resemble hideous snarling faces. In the middle of the cavern, no more than fifty paces ahead of them, stood a tall pillar with a plaque attached to the base.

“Hmm,” Cercus said, then remained silent. They’d all stopped, wary of moving ahead, and Winter waited for Linden to say something, hoping she’d take charge.

“Asterope?” The deer asked. “Are you able to read that plaque from here? I would rather we keep our distance until we know what we are dealing with.”

To Winter’s astonishment, the little parrot nodded. Then, from under her shawl, she produced a small leatherbound looking glass, which she twirled in-between her claws in a dramatic flourish.

“Aye, Captain,” she said in a mock pirate accent, placing the looking glass over one of her large dark eyes. “Uhm, it’s kinda long. Let’s see. Oh! I know this. ‘The feelings you feel are always valid. Jealousy, anger, and fear are all normal. In small amounts, they are even healthy. Do not let these emotions lead you into harmful action. Study instead their cause so that you may learn more about yourself. When needed, speak out about how you feel and engage in honest conversation with those you love and trust. The goal is always to resolve your feelings, not to ignore them, deny them, or use them as a scapegoat or crutch.'"

“That’s from the Book of Friendship,” Winter said.

Asterope nodded. “Yeah, from Prelate Pie’s chapter.”

Something about that tickled the back of his mind. He looked around at the trees again, slowly breathing in the damp air. It was clammy, thick, and tasted a little bit like… the Everfree Forest.

“Uhm, does this all seem vaguely familiar to any of you?” he asked. He looked around, but only saw understanding in Cercus eyes. The normally eloquent and reserved changeling wilted a little.

“Oh,” he said, backing up a couple of steps. “Maybe we should–”

Unfortunately, none of them got to hear what Cercus thought they maybe should do, because the tree nearest to them reached down with one of its barrel sized branches and struck the Under-Lieutenant with enough force to send him crashing into another tree some ten paces away. He smacked into the trunk with a sickening crunch.

The rest of the group stood shocked, staring at the spot where Cercus had been standing just a moment before, but the rest of the trees were already moving, some of them pulling their roots out of the ground to use as feet. Winter wasted no time.

“Skarn!” he yelled over the din of creaking branches. “Get to Cercus and make sure he’s breathing, then get him to that pillar at the center!” The pillar was surrounded by a circle of the same cobblestone they’d been walking on to get to the cavern, and it seemed the trees were either unwilling or unable to walk on it. It was a gamble, for sure, but Winter didn’t have any better ideas. “Asterope, go with Skarn and help her!”

Skarn was already flying low along the ground towards Cercus, wings flapping furiously for speed, but Asterope stood dumbstruck, staring at a tree winding up for a swing at her. A clear watery magic aura surrounded the parrot and dragged her out of the way just as the branch smashed into the ground where she’d been standing. Winter looked over at Linden, confused but glad for the assist.

“Listen to Captain Shield, Asterope! Go help Skarn!”

Asterope blinked at Linden and Winter, then shook her head and quickly saluted them before rushing after the gargoyle, who was in the process of rousing a groggy looking Cercus. The tree the changeling had crashed into was cracked along the trunk, and though it still moved, it appeared sluggish and was unable to aim its branches properly. Winter cast a gray shield dome over them to protect them from any lucky blows.

“We’ll talk about what just happened later,” he said to Linden, “but right now we’ve got to move. If you can use magic, then help me clear a path.”

Linden nodded at him, and the two of them rushed ahead of the others, trying their best to cut down any branches reaching out for them. They had to move slowly, as Cercus was clearly struggling to stand up straight, even with Skarn and Asterope helping.

“You keep cutting down the branches ahead of us,” he yelled at Linden while rushing back to cover the other three from the rear. “I’ll make sure–”

A large branch came down on his hindquarters, and he heard more than felt a loud snap in his left hindleg. He fell to the ground mid step and looked back at a limb bending awkwardly in one too many places. It looked strange, and Winter idly thought how odd it was that he’d been through so many battles and had never broken a bone clean in half before… then the pain hit him.

He tried to swallow the pitiful groan bubbling up through his throat. This was hardly the time and place to lose his focus. Gritting his teeth, he cast a large shield dome over his head. Despite his name, shield magic was hardly his specialty, and this one was large, covering himself as well as the others who had stopped when seeing him fall. As heavy angry branches battered away at them, small hairline fractures began to spread across the magic barrier. Each blow sent jolts through his horn, the tension of the magic pushing uncomfortably against the physical boundaries of the grooved keratin.

“Keep going! I won’t be able to hold this shield for long if I have to cover all of us!” He looked Skarn in the eyes as he spoke, doing his best to ignore the hellish pain radiating from his leg up through his body. “Stay as close as you can to Linden, and Cercus, for Celestia’s sake, get yourself together!”

The changeling was clearly trying to do just that, shaking his head and standing up straighter. To the group’s credit, they immediately set off towards the pillar, leaving Winter behind. He shrank the shield down to a much more manageable size and tried to steady his breathing. The trees were relentless, surrounding him and cutting off his view of the others. Normally, he’d be able to maintain a shield this size almost indefinitely, but these weren’t normal circumstances. That pesky leg was being just a little bit of a distraction.

The light had followed Linden so that even though he could still see, it was getting terribly dark, and the thronging trees weren’t exactly helping. He swallowed his pride and yelled as loud as he could, unsure whether the others had even reached the pillar.

“Any chance of getting some help!?”

He was met with silence and grimaced. He didn’t think he’d be pulled from the trial unless his shield broke, but he’d rather not chance it. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and reluctantly readied himself to enter the Well. Maybe if he did, he’d be able to ignore the pain long enough to stumble over to the others. Luckily for him, it appeared Cercus had regained his senses.

A loud roar shook the ground, and trees immediately surrounding him were consumed in an inferno of brilliant green fire. The heat was searing and the light bright enough that he was forced to close his eyes. Still, his shield held. When he opened his eyes again, an ashy path had been cleared between him and the others. There he saw Asterope, Linden, and Skarn staring up at a bronze and green dragon the size of a small house.

Linden recovered first, rushing out towards Winter. But even as she moved, new trees began to sprout rapidly from the ground.

“Lower you shield!” she yelled, still some distance away.

Winter did as she ordered, not sure he’d have been able to maintain it for much longer anyway. He felt the deer’s strange magic surround him. It was cool and viscous to the touch, and though he was certain this was only a simple levitation spell, it soothed the pain in his leg just a little. Though, not enough to keep him from crying out when Linden hastily and unceremoniously hoisted him into the air and ran back towards the pillar as fast as she could, unicorn in tow.

She let him down next to the others just in time for him to turn his head and see that all the trees Cercus had burnt down had regrown fully and were waving their arms menacingly at the group from outside the cobblestone circle. Cercus returned to normal form and sat down next to Winter, breathing heavily.

“A bit much maybe,” he said, smiling down at the injured Captain. “But I wasn’t sure anything less would actually hurt them.”

“I can do something for your leg,” Linden said, crouching down next to him. She was clearly tired and sweating, but Winter wasn’t about to say no to some healing. She began to move her hooves back and forth across his leg, shifting her magic aura in and out of his body. Winter hissed at the initial pain but tried his best not to twitch or move.

He glanced up to see Skarn looking down at him, suspicion in her eyes. “You knew this would happen?” she asked, clearly uncomfortable with her own lack of understanding.

“Sort of,” he said, though the pain was making it hard to talk. Cercus saw his discomfort and placed one of his oddly clawed hooves on his shoulder.

“Ah, let me explain.” The changeling gestured towards the pillar and then to the trees as he spoke. “This pillar has an excerpt attached to it from the Prelate’s section of the Book of Friendship, which was our first clue. Combine that with the fact that all of these trees have frightening faces carved into them, and I’m guessing our good Captain deduced that this challenge would mimic the one the Element’s faced as they journeyed through the Everfree to confront Nightmare Moon.”

“How could you know that?” Skarn asked. “I haven’t read the Book of Friendship myself, but if I understand correctly, all the chronicles of the Elements start after their defeat of Nightmare Moon.”

Winter was doing his best to focus on their conversation, but his mind was beginning to feel unusually… sluggish? Maybe Linden’s magic was doing something? She was focused squarely on his injury, and in his addled state of mind, he found that he quite liked looking at her face and her big pale eyes. Her big sincere pale eyes. Oh, for cute, he thought, then blinked rapidly and looked away, feeling an uncomfortable and–considering the circumstances–very inappropriate blush heat his face. He wondered if there was some anesthetic effect to the spell Linden was casting. That must be it.

“Children’s books, my dear Skarn,” Cercus said. “Fairy tales to be precise. Well, and a few corroborating historical records in the Canterlot Royal Archives.”

Winter shook his head. Children’s books? Oh yes, they were talking about the… the trials. About how they’d known. His vision started to blur.

“Buck!” Linden exclaimed, and though the five of them had only known each other for an exceedingly brief time, it was odd to hear the composed and regal looking deer swear with such fire in her voice. “We need to get him out of here. I could keep treating him, but he is losing consciousness, and the best I will be able to do is set the leg and heal it a little. He will not be able to put any pressure on it, and we do not have time to dally.”

“No! Please!” Winter quickly reached out and grabbed one of Linden’s hooves in a weak grip. It was hard to focus, but he couldn’t let them send him out. Not now. “Do… do what you can for the pain. I’ll… splint the leg… with magic.”

Linden looked at the others then back at Winter.

“We can’t just send him away,” Asterope said, and Winter was oddly touched by the concern in her voice.

Skarn nodded. “This’ll eat up valuable time but sending him away now would be cruel. He deserves a shot at this. We’re a unit, and in the spirit of the Elements, we should attempt to pass as a unit.”

When both Cercus and Linden nodded at this, Winter relaxed and allowed the dark comfort of sleep to swallow him.

“That’s curious. You smell like one of them, but you aren’t, are you?”

Winter shook his head wildly and stumbled backwards, unsure of where he was. He felt frightened, the bubbling pre-amble to panic bouncing around in his gut. He looked around. Though everything was dark, there was a familiarity to this place. It felt like the Well, almost. Like a twisted rotten version of the Well, a place that already made him uncomfortable during the best of times. For just a moment, he thought he heard the sound of a train horn and distant singing, but when he tried to listen closer, the sound was gone.

“Why do you smell like her? Hmmm, no. Why do you smell like one sixth? Disgusting!”

“Show yourself!” Winter called, deploying his strongest command voice, the one he used for drilling soldiers. It mattered little. The words were absorbed into the silent void surrounding him as soon as they left his lips.

“You’re some kind of… horse? I’ve noticed most of you are. Strange. Or maybe not, maybe just vanity on her part. Hehe.”

Silence lingered, but Winter refused to move. He had to assume that whatever this thing was, it could see him. Though he was terrified–unnaturally so, he thought–he wasn’t about to give it the satisfaction of backing down.

“My name is Orphic,” the thing said. Its voice was awful, like scraping half-settled asphalt off industrial tin-sheets, and it made Winter’s skin crawl. “You should know that even if you survive this, it’ll mean very little. He’s given me a command, and I won’t disobey him. But afterwards… well, I’m really really hungry.” Orphic laughed a loud unhinged laughter, and Winter was sure he’d never heard anything quite as mad in his whole life.

He was about to try his luck yelling at the thing again when out of the dark a snarling beast came lunging. It threw itself into the air and closed its jaws around an inky dark figure hovering a little bit in front of Winter. The beast was an amalgamation of creatures, wild horns and fangs everywhere, and more limbs and eyes than seemed right. It shook its head back and forth like a timberwolf trying to snap the neck of its prey.

The inky figure cried out with Orphic’s voice, though the pitiful noise sounded more shocked than pained. Winter stood stunned, uncertain whether to run or try to help. The choice was taken from him as a sudden burning sensation in his leg brought him back to the world of the living.

Linden released a deep breath when Captain Shield blinked his eyes and finally sat back up, groaning loudly. She’d been slowly easing the anesthetic elements of her magic, hoping that the pain would bring him around without having to shake or jostle him. She’d set his bone, but the healing had been less effective than she’d expected, and the connection was very weak.

It troubled her that her magic seemed weaker in this place. The Captain’s shield dome had begun to crack with alarming speed, and Cercus had not only taken an uncommonly long time to recover from his blow–considering his armor and bulk–but seemed genuinely surprised at how out of breath he was after his transformation.

It seemed the labyrinth, or something in it, was functioning as a power dampener. Asterope and Skarn appeared unaffected, and she wondered if that was because they didn’t possess any magic of their own.

“Uff da! That smarts,” the Captain said through gritted teeth.

Linden felt bad for having to suppress a giggle at the unicorn’s peculiar affectations. This was neither the time nor place, and she did her best to maintain an appropriately neutral expression.

“Finally,” Asterope said, standing up from where she’d been sitting at the pillars base. She stretched her limbs and took a deep breath.

“How long was I out?” Winter asked, looking more than a little concerned.

“If I had to guess,” Cercus said, sitting in front of the plaque and presumably re-reading it while speaking to them, “maybe fifteen minutes or so. Don’t worry. I doubt you’ve delayed us significantly as our friends here seem unwilling to let us leave.”

Winter looked out at the wall of trees that had them surrounded, and Linden was pleased to see that rather than being fearful, his brows were knitted in deep thought.

“Well,” he finally said, “at least we know how to get rid of them.”

“What?” Linden asked. Asterope and Skarn looked at each other, the same surprise Linden felt painted clearly on their faces.

“We do?” Skarn asked.

Cercus chuckled and nodded towards the pillar. “Perhaps we should finish explaining how we knew about the trees in the first place, though I must admit that I’m surprised Princess Twilight chose this particular event as inspiration, considering its emotional baggage.”

Winter nodded at that and looked somewhat more somber. Linden guessed it had more to do with the trees than his injury. “There’s a reason most of the records chronicling the Elements start after the defeat of Nightmare Moon.”

“I had always assumed it was out of respect towards Princess Luna and Celestia.” Linden said. Years ago, the Keeper had told her that out of the two, Celestia seemed more affected by those events than Princess Luna did, and Linden could almost understand that. From what she’d heard, the Princess of the Night had long since come to terms with her demons. Still, a thousand years in complete isolation on the moon… She shivered.

“No, yeah. That’s pretty much it,” Winter said. “But if you grew up in Equestria, you’d know there’s a million and one children’s books out there detailing the adventures of the Elements of Harmony. Most ponies refer to them as ‘old ponies tales’, but really, none of those stories happened more than a hundred years ago or so, so everypony knows they’re real, even if the books themselves aren’t always particularly devoted to historical accuracy.”

“When Princess Twilight first came to Ponyville as a young unicorn,” Cercus continued, “she met the rest of the Elements. They journeyed through the Everfree Forest to reach the ruins of the Castle of the Two Sisters where they faced off against Nightmare Moon. On the way, each of the Elements was forced to face a challenge which they could only solve by embodying that trait for which they’re most famous. In the Prelate’s case, she banished the group’s fear through laughter, demonstrating that the trees which they’d assumed were monsters were only just trees.”

“Except, these trees aren’t just trees, they’re actual monsters trying to snap us in half.” Winter sounded resentful, and Linden couldn’t blame him. That leg wasn’t going to heal anytime soon. “But Cercus is right,” Winter continued, “it seems we’ll have to banish these trees through… laughter?”

They all looked at each other, hesitant. Linden was certain that like herself, none of the others felt particularly jovial at the moment, and she wasn’t at all sure how exactly they were supposed to conjure up laughter. Maybe she could tell a joke? She’d never been very good at those, but she could at least give it a shot. She searched her memory for a good one, but most of her previous attempts at humor had been met with flat expressions and sighs from the Keeper, the only deer Linden had ever felt comfortable enough around to try.

This was a dire situation, so perhaps simplicity was the best choice. Besides, how hard could it be to make a few creatures laugh? She planted her hooves firmly and gathered her nerves.

“Why, uhm… why did the chicken cross the road?” she asked.

Four sets of incredulous eyes turned to look at her in silence. And then, Asterope began to laugh, quickly followed by Cercus and Skarn. The Captain didn’t so much laugh as chuckle and wheeze through the pain in his leg. Linden felt the rising heat of indignation in her cheeks.

“Why are you laughing? I did not finish the joke!”

“Oh, my dear Warden,” Cercus said, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Perhaps it would be best if you left the jokes to someone… uhm, a little less grave.”

Linden gasped and placed a hoof on her chest, feeling quite offended.

“Excuse you! I can be plenty comical. In fact, you should know that I am well respected among my kind for my quick wit.” She stuck her nose in the air, clearly telegraphing her displeasure, but if she’d hoped that her protestations–false as they were–would be met with apologies, she was sorely mistaken. Instead of looking contrite, her four companions only laughed harder.

“Well, I never–!”

“Wait!” It was Asterope who’d called out. She was pointing towards the trees. “Look, it’s working!”

Sure enough, the trees all around them had started to bloom, settling into more natural configurations, faces changing from harsh and unforgiving to kind and pleasant. The flowers were soft and pink and smelled faintly of sugar and frosting. A breeze blew through the now beautiful meadow, and Linden felt all her tension, fear, and indignation drain from her limbs. What had she been so upset about? The others were right, telling a joke in the middle of that mess had been quite silly.

She blushed. “Yes, well. Perhaps humor is not quite my forte.”

“I don’t know about that,” the Captain said, smiling at her. “It worked out pretty well this time, I think.” The others nodded their agreement.

They all knew they had to hurry, but there was a pleasant comfort in standing there under the flowering trees and forgetting for a moment the danger they’d just been in. After a moment though, Cercus cleared his throat.

“So, we should probably keep going.”

“How,” Skarn asked. “Captain Shield’s leg is still a mess. Linden said he won’t be able to walk on it. Right?”

Linden winced but nodded. “Yes. The point where I set the bone is still very weak. Even with a splint, the pain will be great.” She hated not being able to fully heal his injuries. The Keeper had always told her to do what she could and be happy with that. Blame and regret were detriments when practicing medicine, and there was no use worrying about things you couldn’t change. In practice, it wasn’t quite so easy to not feel like she’d somehow failed her patients. The dampening effect this place had on their magic just increased her frustration. Under normal circumstances, she’d have been able to do a much better job, and she’d have done it quicker too.

“Oh now, don’t worry about me,” the Captain said, sitting up a little straighter. He cast a quick spell, building a gray translucent splint around his injured leg and wincing as he sinched it tight. “I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve that should let me walk along just fine.”

That sounded like an empty boast to Linden, but she watched with fascination as the unicorn closed his eyes and started taking long deep breaths. No one said anything, all of them curious to see what he was up to, but after a few seconds he just opened his eyes, stood up, and smiled, seemingly right as rain. Linden thought she could see a peculiar sheen in his eyes, and his voice sounded a little bit more distant, but it was subtle and might just be her imagination.

“How are you doing that?” Linden asked, shock giving way to a hunger for knowledge. There the Captain stood, exuding the same easy swagger and stoic skepticism she’d first sensed from him when spotting him on the field below the labyrinth. Part of her wondered if this trick of his–surely it was magic in nature–was harmful to his leg, but any technique that allowed a patient to completely ignore pain this severe was surely useful in the healing arts.

“Oh, it’s nothing special,” the Captain said a little too casually, and Linden thought he might be hiding a grimace. “It’s a mental trick I learned from an old man in the Crystal Empire who claimed he learned it from his sister. I prefer not to use it, but dire circumstances and all.” He shrugged and waved at their surroundings, though the cavern looked anything but dire at the moment.

“All the same,” Linden pressed, “I would be grateful if you could share your secret. Surely you can see how useful it would be?”

Captain Shield looked at her but said nothing for several heartbeats. She tried her best to glean some knowledge or insight from those piercing ruddy blue eyes. There was something there, something weary and tired, but just when she thought she might figure it out, he smiled at her and shook his head.

“Maybe later, once we’re out of here,” he said. “Right now, we need to focus on the trial.”

Linden sighed and looked out at the trees. “Yes, that seems prudent. Cercus and Asterope looked over the pillar while you were unconscious, and it does not appear that either of the tablets are located here.”

The Captain stopped with a surprised and embarrassed look on his face, and Linden felt some petty satisfaction that he at least hadn’t thought of that, and it wasn’t just because of his secret keeping. She could understand waiting to explain later, what with the time constraints they were working under, but she had to admit that she was also a little bit sore about the fact that she’d frozen when the trees first came to life and had forced the Captain to step in and take charge. She wasn’t sure exactly why he’d allowed her to take the lead initially. She was more than capable, of course, but she’d expected an Equestrian military commander to act with more… pride? Arrogance?

She’d always assumed that ponies generally thought of themselves as occupying the center of the universe, at least from what the Keeper had said, and her journey through Equestria to Ponyville had hardly disabused her of that notion. But then there were ponies like the Saint and this Captain Shield who seemed more, well, humble wasn’t the right word, but patient and tolerant fit. She was entirely unsure of Princess Twilight. She’d appeared friendly and approachable at first, even a bit too friendly, but then Linden had misstepped somehow and the Princess’ demeanor had turned cool. Not to mention her display in the coliseum.

“This is a bit intense… isn’t it?”

Linden blinked and looked down at Asterope, who was standing next to her and frowning at the Captain as he walked into the trees with Cercus and Skarn.

“Uhm, what do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, we just got in here, it’s been at least half an hour already if not more, and the Captains leg was essentially turned into mashed potatoes. The rest of us would’ve probably been broken beyond repair if not for his quick thinking and your guys’ magic. Oh, and Cercus being able to turn into a flipping dragon!” Asterope sighed and gave herself a little hug. “If we’re doing this poorly, I’m just worried some of the other teams might… well, are we in real danger, Linden?”

Linden looked down at the young parrot, struck by her sincerity and moved by her concern.

“I do not know, Asterope, but I think we might be.”

Somewhere, in a small, tiny, very-not-important part of her mind, Twilight was aware that Discord, still in his unicorn disguise, was lounging leisurely on Spike’s throne. She wasn’t sure why Rainbow and Spike had placed it there since Spike was too large to fit into the skybox, but at least it was being put to use by somepony, even if that somepony refused to speak to her or acknowledge her existence in any way.

To be fair, Twilight was having a hard time paying attention to her surroundings as well, which suited her just fine. Fluttershy had left for the infirmary “just in case”, but Twilight had hardly noticed. Rainbow and Applejack were having one of their small arguments, the kind that eventually led to drinking followed by aggressive flirting and… well. She’d have giggled at that if her brain wasn’t currently busy tracking almost a hundred separate groups of creatures making their way through her labyrinth.

The spell itself was easy. She’d partitioned her thoughts into compartments, one for each of the groups and a smaller one for her surroundings. She tended to drool a lot whenever she forgot that last part, something she’d like to avoid in front of a crowd this size. Then she’d cast scrying spells to ensure she had a visual and auditory bead on all of the contestants. To any creature looking on from the outside, it would appear as if she was sitting in a trans, hundreds of images per second flickering across her eyes.

None of the creatures in the stadium were looking at her though. She’d projected the images of some of the groups struggles into the stadium so that the crowd could follow along, and they all seemed rather captivated by the spectacle. Cheering whenever an applicant did something heroic and gasping when they were in danger.

A few groups had quickly disqualified themselves through infighting, which wasn’t really a surprise. A few others had been pulled from the labyrinth because of fear of injury but had still qualified for the second round due to their exemplary behavior. Summer Rain, a young hippogriff, had been pulled after throwing herself in front of a spout of fire which would have burned one of her teammates. Twilight had got them both out in time. The same thing had happened with one of Luna’s guards, a Private Dusk, who’d shoved a fellow pony out of the way of a rampaging hydra. A remarkably clever yak named Olina had solved one of Twilight’s logic puzzles in a truly impressive time but had then chosen to port out of the labyrinth after securing the Tablet of Honesty for her group. Twilight wasn’t sure why she’d done it, but leaving the labyrinth wasn’t a disqualifying condition.

She would've been feeling rather pleased with herself if not for the fact that scrying spell number seventy-two wasn’t working properly. Aside from making her very nervous, she found this especially frustrating since group seventy-two was the group she was most interested in following. By some miracle, Under-Lieutenant Cercus and Linden had both joined the same group, a group which just so happened to also include Asterope and Captain Shield of all ponies! They’d been joined by the only gargoyle participating in the trial, and it was fascinating to her that these particular creatures had all banded together through pure chance.

The spell would randomly feed her snippets of sound or fragmentary images of group seventy-two but wouldn’t stay with them for more than a few seconds. What she’d seen worried her. Something had happened that had resulted in a severe leg injury to Captain Shield. Twilight should have pulled him when she saw that, but something stayed her magic. Also, were those moving trees? She was certain none of the challenges in the labyrinth involved moving trees. She bit her lip, agonizing. She should just pull the group out, suspend the trial, and figure out what was going on, but…

She groaned and placed her face in her hooves. Curse her curiosity! She wanted to know what was happening–to let it play out–but in her mind, she could hear every single one of her friends lecturing her. “It ain’t right, Twilight,” Applejack would say. “Quite,” Rarity would chime in, “don’t forget, these are living creatures we’re talking about, not variables in one of your dreadful equations.” “C’mon guys, let’s see what happens! I bet it’ll be awesome!” Well, maybe Rainbow Dash wasn’t the best pony to listen to for advice on dangerous situations.

“Please, Twilight.”

That did it. She couldn’t risk saddling Fluttershy with the fallout of another mistake. She took a deep breath, readying herself to teleport the group out and end the entire exercise, but before she could cast the spell, Discord spoke up.

“Hmm, that’s unusual…”

She turned her head to look at him, pointless since her scrying spells were all still active, but it caught the attention of Applejack and Rainbow Dash, who looked over with concern.

“Discord, what’s unusual?” It was hard to speak with the scrying spells working, and she had to speak slowly and enunciate carefully. Discord ignored her and picked at his teeth with a small tiki umbrella.

“Discord,” Applejack asked, not looking at Twilight, “what’s unusual?”

The Lord of Chaos tossed the umbrella to the floor and sat up straight, changing back into his usual form with a clap of his hooves. “I think,” he said slowly, “that I might have missed something.”

And if the look on his face hadn’t been enough to make Twilight shiver, the sudden termination of scrying spell seventy-two ricocheting through her horn like a snapped rubber band certainly did the trick.

Part I - Ch. VI - Salted Wounds Never Fester

“Have you had nightmares, too?”
“Whenever I close my eyes, I'm struck with those ghastly images!”

- Twilight and Rarity

Rarity wandered east across the sea, passing the world on her way into an ancient land. The compass hung around her neck, resting comfortably against her chest and glimmering with the reflected light of the brilliant waves and bright cloudless sky. The wind was strong but warm and carried with it the scent of old books and older ruins. A place of empty steppes and broken roads awaited her.

The compass’ amethyst needle spun like a whirlwind in its orb, never settling on any of the five pearls. It didn’t matter. She knew where to go. She didn’t know how, but she knew. The world was bright and alive, and though she journeyed to an abandoned place of bygone eons, she marveled at how flush it was with nature’s breath. A primal magic lived there, and it called to her with a beautiful and comforting song.

“Wait for me,” she whispered. “Wait for me, my sweet morning light.”

Somewhere, a choir was singing.

Late summer in Baltimare was a rainier affair than it was sunny. After laying in at Horseshoe Bay, they’d stopped in a small village just south of the city, a green place filled with trimmed hedges, well-kept flower beds, and dark trees heavy with lush foliage. Rarity was glad to be off the boat and away from the sea. A lady could only do so much to stave off the harsh sun and salty winds of the open ocean, and she was partial to the rain anyway. She hadn’t always been, but ponies changed. Or were made to change, she thought.

They were sitting under a large awning outside a little bookshop turned café. It was small, old, and quiet. Their barista hadn’t spoken to them and didn’t smile, and though Rarity might have found that off-putting somewhere else, it seemed appropriate this morning. The silence was comfortable, and the music of the rain splashing down on the winding gravel path between the storefronts was all the conversation any of them needed. Even Pinkie was unusually subdued. Not sad, just pensive and relaxed.

Rarity sipped her coffee–black, no sugar–and sighed. The world could be such a beautiful place if one only stopped to appreciate it from time to time. And she did try to stop and appreciate it as often as she could. She didn’t ever want it to feel stale or old, so she tried her best to focus on the little things, the details. She breathed in the wet scent of greenery and stone mingled with the heady notes of her coffee. She tried to really hear the rhythm of the rain and to really see how each drop shattered against the wide thick leaves of a nearby oak tree. She reveled in how, even underneath the awning, the air was misty and dampened her coat and her mane. A nightmare for her coiffure to be sure, but one well worth it.

“Do you think it’ll always be like this?” Pinkie asked her. Rarity tried to really look at Pinkie as well, to see her for what she was, an uncommonly wise pony and a kind and patient mother. Rarity loved her dearly, and in that small moment, her heart swelled. How lucky she was to walk through life with friends like Pinkie and the rest of the girls. Despite everything that she’d experienced, she knew her blessings had come in abundance. She wanted the others to know that too. She wanted them to be happy.

“No, darling, I don’t think it will. The world will change, and we’ll change with it. But that’s not so bad, is it?” She reached across the little table they were sharing and grabbed Pinkie’s hooves in her own. “After all, we’ll always have each other.”

Pinkie smiled and gripped her hooves a little tighter, and Rarity thought that perhaps her friend looked just a little bit sad after all.

“I know, Rarity. I know. But I mean, look at it.” Pinkie gestured out towards a village made empty of ponies by the weather. “Do you think… never mind. I probably shouldn’t say.”

Rarity frowned. Pinkie didn’t usually hold back on account of feeling silly. “Pinkie, we’re on our way home after fighting dragons. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is you have to say. Besides, I’m your friend. I want you to confide in me.”

Pinkie chuckled at that, though it sounded less relaxed–less free–than normal. “Look how empty the streets are. Other than us and her,” Pinkie gestured at the barista who was reading a book at the counter inside the café, “there’s nopony out and about, but the trees are so pretty and so are the flowers and the rain and even the buildings.”

Rarity was glad to see her friend agreed with her. “Isn’t it though,” she said, releasing a dreamy sigh and fluttering her eyelashes. “Quite divine, I’d say.”

Pinkie turned her head and looked Rarity dead in the eyes, donning the same serious expression she used with her grandchildren when she wanted them to understand something important.

“Then tell me, Rarity, if we’re really… immortal,” Pinkie said, hesitating on the word like it tasted particularly bitter, “are we gonna walk through towns like this at some point, pretending there’re ponies still living in the empty houses just waiting for the rain to pass? Are we gonna pretend there’s an annoyed barista we can bother for coffee in the shop around the corner or a nice inn keeper ready with a bottle of wine at the tavern by the sea? Even if we still have each other, how’re we gonna deal with that?”

And to be honest, Rarity wasn’t at all sure. She didn’t know if that would even happen, if they really were immortal, or how they’d deal with Pinkie’s bleak vision if it came to pass, but she did know they had more time than anypony could dream of to figure it out.

“I don’t know, Pinkie. I don’t have any good answers. Just, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that for a long time yet. I mean, that’d be thousands and thousands of years in the future...” Rarity trailed off for a second as the enormity of that much time weighed down on her tiny pony heart, but she continued on, determined not to let it get to her. “And if that’s how things play out, well, we’ll figure something out. I don’t see how it’s at all helpful to think about it so much. We’re barely over a hundred years old. That’s future us’ problem.”

Pinkie rolled her eyes and laughed. “Rarity, you’re a hundred and thirty. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been lying to Twilight about your age since the day she came to Ponyville.”

How dare she! Now, now, Rarity thought, taking a deep breath. She was elated at seeing Pinkie’s spirit lifted, so maybe she could forgive a slanderous statement or two, no matter how misguided.

“Well,” Rarity sang, “shall we get going? Our train leaves in an hour, and I’m more than ready to be on my way.”

Pinkie pursed her lips, lost in thought.

“Darling?”

“I want to go to Hollow Shades.”

Oh, for goodness sake! “Pinkieee,” Rarity whined, “we talked about this.”

Pinkie raised a hoof, forestalling any further complaints from Rarity. “Yes, we did,” she said, “and you were right. It’s risky, and there’s a bunch of reasons we should probably just go home, but Twilight doesn’t need us for the trials, and this–” she pulled the morse code letter from Rarity’s saddle bag and waved it at Rarity “–this is important. You know it is.”

“Of course, it’s important. I’ll have you know I take mysterious teleporting letters very seriously, especially when they’re written in code! But playing detective with half a deck of cards is hardly to anypony’s benefit, least of all our own.”

“Rarity, please, I know,” Pinkie said, trying to remain calm and sound reasonable. “I know. But what if it’s something really bad and waiting to check it out means somepony gets hurt?”

Rarity winced at that. Pinkie didn’t usually try to guilt-trip her. Her friend noticed and placed her hooves back on Rarity’s, pressing down gently.

“I’m scared too…” Pinkie said. “I’m so scared. I’m scared of going home, I’m scared of going to Hollow Shades, and I’m scared of doing nothing at all. But we should. Go, I mean. What if somepony wrote this because they’re in trouble? I mean, why else would anypony send us a secret letter?”

“Well,” Rarity hesitated, hating that Pinkie was right, “it could be a trap?” It sounded weak even to her own ears, and a little angry voice inside of her grumbled at having lost the argument.

Pinkie opened her mouth to speak, but Rarity cut her off, putting on a resigned smile. “Yes, yes. You’re going to tell me we should risk it and that helping others is always the right thing to do, blah, blah, etc.” She rolled her eyes and tried not to giggle when she saw Pinkie’s enormous grin.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Rarity!”

“We’ll go, but we’re going to be as careful as we can, and if I feel strange, and I mean even the slightest bit unusual, or I think you’re acting, uhm, funnier than normal, we’re immediately turning around and heading straight back home. Agreed?”

Pinkie nodded fervently, mane bouncing wildly around her face, and Rarity couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come now, dear,” she said. “Hollow Shades or not, we still need to catch a train, and lest you’ve forgotten, I’ve got a gift to collect.”

She walked into the shop and grabbed to-go cups for her coffee and Pinkie’s chocolate marshmallow monstrosity, then she cast a domed blue shield for the two of them to use as an umbrella. Love of rain was a fickle thing when faced with the prospect of a drenched coat and the cold that came with it. The walk wasn’t terribly long, but she’d rather reach the outskirts of Baltimare warm, dry, and in good spirits.

Rarity was very good at shield magic. In fact, she was tremendously talented when it came to creating and manipulating both simple and complex shapes. Normally, her magic came in a gentle blue aura that matched her eyes and cutie mark perfectly, but when she really put her back into it, her creations took on a more solid almost glassy appearance. Her magic umbrella was hardly that, but it looked nice enough and certainly did the trick.

Pinkie walked along beside her, sipping on her drink but forgoing her usual springy step. They left the coffee shop, and though Pinkie had called a thanks to the barista, the pony in question just waved at them without looking up from her book. Rarity hoped it was interesting. She’d come to learn that being ignored for a book was maybe not always the worst thing in the world.

The gravel path wound past a few more buildings: a grocer, a farrier with a lineup of hardy looking shoes less useful for a night out than for a slog through the woods, a post office, and disturbingly enough, a butcher’s shop. Maybe there were griffons in town? Rarity scrunched her nose and looked away as they walked by.

Still, as they moved through and out of the little town, they didn’t see a single other creature. Just plants, rain, gravel, and buildings until the buildings ended. Though Baltimare–and by extension the train station–was only a short distance away, the city was blocked from sight by a scattering of woods and a few large hills. The path was familiar. Though she’d never taken it before, she’d seen pictures of it in several books and had planned on passing through on their way home.

A particular breed of flower grew here in the shadows of the mighty oaks and maples. It fed on the drippings and nourishing song of the surrounding trees; a whisper Rarity could only hear because Fluttershy had told her what to listen for. The flowers were roses by name, but their dark petals were as small as the bells of a snowdrop, and their bounty presented in an abundance of plum colored rose hip. Unusually colored and tremendously fragrant, these fruits made for some of the most delicious jams, teas, soups, pies, and syrups.

Rarity knew, and had known for many years, that Mrs. Velvet had been particularly fond of rose hip soup and had passed that predilection down to her daughter. So, she’d brought with her an empty wooden container, bewitched by her traveling companion to contain within it a multitude of fruit far exceeding its regular capacity. It was a small gesture of kindness to pick some berries– or were they not berries? Either way, it was a small gesture of kindness to bring home a treat for a friend when one traveled.

That Rarity had spent weeks with her nose buried in Applejack’s books on botany and Pinkie’s baking recipes researching the best wild rose hip in Equestria was of little consequence. After all, she’d overheard Twilight mention to Spike how much she missed her mother’s cooking, and didn’t she always say that a friendship was only made of what you brought to it? Really, anypony would do the same.

“Hmm,” Pinkie hummed, as Rarity magicked bushels of rose hip into the wooden box. “You should probably cast a refrigeration spell on that thing since we’re taking the long way home.”

Rarity nodded at the sensible suggestion. The box itself was a flat coffee-table item meant to hold dried fruit and nuts in quartered off partitions. The lid was made of polished wood and thin acrylic glass so that the delicious treats could be seen even when shut. Rarity had pulled it from a moving box stuck all the way in the back of a maintenance closet near Twilight’s quarters in the castle. Twilight had stuck most of the items her parents had passed down to her there, and Rarity remembered very clearly seeing this particular item all those years ago in the Sparkle family residence.

She felt her hackles stand on edge and suppressed the memory and the angry growl that came with it, choosing to distract herself with the task at hoof.

“I’ll need to seal the thing too, so it doesn’t spill all over the insides of my bags. I’m sure I’ve got a spell for that written down somewhere. I’m a bit busy with the rose hips, would you grab my notepad for me, darling?"

“Sure thing!” Pinkie reached a hoof into Rarity’s saddle bag, stretching her arm impossibly deep before sticking her whole head into the satchel and jerking Rarity to the right so she almost dropped the container and the rose hip she was levitating.

“Pinkie! Careful!”

“Sorry!” Pinkie called from inside the bag. “I just saw something shiny.” Rarity rolled her eyes. Most of the items in her saddle bag were shiny.

The pink mare pulled her leg and head back out of the bag and was holding Rarity’s notepad with her forelock. Rarity grabbed it with her magic and read off the sealing spell.

“Excellent! Always come prepared, that’s what I say.” She frowned after stuffing some more rose hip into the box and casting both of the required spells. She’d picked a lot, but maybe… “Oh, do you think she’ll like it?” Rarity asked, looking up at Pinkie before freezing in her tracks. “Pinkie, what is that?”

She was holding a lovely brass chain in her mouth that connected to a circular meshwork of interlacing brass knots. Within this casing was a small crystal orb holding five pearls surrounding an amethyst needle. The needle was spinning slowly, and when Rarity looked closer, she thought that the iridescence of each of the pearls seemed to emphasize a slightly different color. The whole thing was no larger than a quail egg, and the brass cocoon, intricate and beautiful as it was, made it rather difficult to clearly see the crystal, pearls, and needle at the center.

“It’s the shiny thing I saw in your bag,” Pinkie mumble around the chain. “Isn’t it yours?”

“I… maybe? I’ve seen this somewhere before, but I don’t remember owning it, and I certainly didn’t pack it for this trip.”

“So,” Pinkie said, pursing her lips, “magic then?”

Rarity sighed and sat down, sticking the rose hip box back in her bag and levitating the chain over to take a closer look. “Yes, it would seem so.”

Rarity inspected the necklace closely, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it before, why she felt inexplicably drawn to it, or why it felt so warm. It seemed to be giving off a familiar scent, something she was sure she hadn’t smelled in a long time and which she struggled to place.

“Oooooh!” she whined, tossing the thing to the ground and stamping her hooves. “This is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it? The letter, this necklace, going to Hollow Shades. Why can’t magical adventure just leave us alone?”

Pinkie raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. “Maybe because we’re, you know, the Elements of Harmony?”

“Yes, obviously!” Rarity said, waving a foreleg in exasperation. “I know that! I just– urgh!” She felt silly for throwing her little tantrum, but this was precisely the kind of tomfoolery she hated. Yes, planned adventures could be diverting and even fun when in the company of friends, but getting blindsided with mystery and inconvenience usually served as a pre-amble for a bigger struggle or fight, and those came with consequences.

Rarity smiled pathetically at Pinkie. “I don’t suppose you think this is all unrelated?”

Pinkie shook her head and gave Rarity a one-legged side hug, helping her back on her hooves. “Come on, Rares, let’s go catch a train. I’m sure Hollow Shades will be a cinch, and then you’ll get to give your present to Twilight who’ll love it and hug you and kiss you and everything will be good. You’ll see.”

Rarity blushed furiously. “I, well, ah… Pinkie, you know there’s nothing between me and Twilight.”

Pinkie nodded. “That’s ok. Friends give kisses too.” To illustrate her point, she leaned in and planted a big one on Rarity’s cheek then gave her another hug. Rarity laughed and leaned into her friend.

“Alright, alright, we’ve delayed enough. Let’s go see when the next train leaves for Hollow Shades.”

As it turned out, the next train for Hollow Shades–it was actually the train to Manehattan through Fillydelphia, but it detoured through Hollow Shades–left only a few minutes after they’d arrived at the station, and Rarity was glad they hadn’t missed it since the following one wouldn’t leave for another hour and a half. They’d rushed to the ticket counter and then had to push their way as politely as they could through a crowd of ponies asking them for a picture or an autograph. Rarity had splurged on a private cabin. She wasn’t about to put up with that nonsense the whole ride north.

The thought made her giggle. She was sitting with her head against the window, tapping her horn rhythmically against the glass as she watched the fields and villages pass by. Once upon a time, the thought of an adoring crowd meeting her wherever she went would have thrilled her. Reveling in the attention, the fame, the glamour, it was precisely the sort of thing she’d dreamt of as a teenager. And, as fate would have it, she’d been granted all of that as a hero and famous fashion designer. Earned it, actually. Granted made it sound as if she’d been a passive recipient, and not the whirlwind force of style, excellence, and business acumen she knew herself to be. She still liked the attention–if she was honest with herself, she liked it a lot–but sometimes it got a bit tiring.

Pinkie was napping. To Rarity’s surprise, she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as they got on the train. It was still well before noon, and though they’d disembarked early in the morning, Pinkie had slept a full eight hours on the boat and had then consumed her very sugary very espresso laden beverage in its entirety before they were even halfway to the train station. Her surprise had lasted a whole two seconds because, well, it was Pinkie.

She floated the mystery necklace and the letter from her bags. She’d gone over the letter a hundred times already, so she placed it on the seat next to her and focused on the necklace. Surely, it was a compass of some sort, with its spinning needle and the five pearls laid out in a perfect pentagon around it. But why would anypony ever make a compass with five points of direction, none of which seemed to point north?

The construction of the thing baffled Rarity. The crystal orb didn’t look hollow, but the needle was able to spin around inside it without hindrance, and the brass cage that surrounded the orb made it hard to see the needle and the pearls. Additionally, the cage didn’t actually connect to the orb in any way, meaning the compass component was floating at the center of the housing through some scientific or magical method Rarity couldn’t understand.

More than all of that–Rarity had seen many strange things after all–was the warm feeling and familiar scent the compass exuded. She knew with great certainty that she’d seen this thing before. It was brass, which was only a shade off from gold, so it wouldn’t clash with her white coat and purple mane, but it was such an odd accessory. She wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable wearing it openly. But then, why did she remember doing just that?

She took a breath and unhooked the well disguised box-clasp before placing the chain around her neck and fastening it under the base of her mane. She let the compass go and when it fell and bounced against her chest, she felt… nothing. Well, nothing spectacular anyway. No flashes of memory or insight returned to her, but the warmth of the thing did spread through her body and made her feel comfortable and loved. At least one of those things was a dangerous thing to feel, but she didn’t want to take the compass back off now that she was wearing it.

It did feel right, proper even, and she thought that perhaps somepony–someone?–had made the thing just for her, specifically for Rarity, specifically for this Rarity, and wasn’t that just the strangest line of thinking. She laughed at her silly fancies. She only knew of one other Rarity, and this sort of thing was hardly her cup of tea. No, whatever this thing was, it was Equestrian through and through.

Three and a half hours to Fillydelphia, she thought, and another hour to Hollow Shades. Maybe Pinkie had the right idea. Staring at the compass wasn’t likely to generate any epiphanies, and there wasn’t much else to do. She’d already finished the two books she’d brought with her, a mystery novel called In a Lovely Place and some historical fiction titled Timberwolf Runway–written by Suri Polomare of all ponies–and the book on morse code would’ve been a drab read, even if she hadn’t already flipped through most of it.

Maybe something to eat would do the trick. Trying not to wake Pinkie, she left through the connecting doors and sauntered into the open commons of the trailing first-class cabin. There was a bar there and a few round tables for ponies to sit and dine at. A chandelier hung from the ceiling and the floor was carpeted in red velvet.

This part of the train was reserved for the wealthiest and most important ponies in Equestria, something that made Rarity roll her eyes. Aside from her dear departed friend Fancy Pants, she found that most of Equestria’s aristocracy were so full of themselves they might pop if somepony stuck them with a needle. But, alas, they were her people now, weren’t they? One couldn’t go around with a title like Archduchess and claim friendship with one of Equestria’s rulers while also making pretense at being a common pony. Never mind magical powers, immortality, and the actual financial fortune of running a successful clothing empire.

Rarity blew an exasperated raspberry in the air. It was loud enough for several nearby ponies to hear, and she chuckled embarrassedly as they turned to stare at her. She batted her eyelids at them and tossed her mane before walking over to the bar, deciding that maybe she didn’t need food but a drink instead. The bartender smiled and waved at her but gave no indication that he recognized her. Trained indiscretion, surely, but she was grateful for it.

“Whatever you recommend for day drinking,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hoof. She took a seat on the barstool nearest the window as far from everypony else as the confined cabin would allow, but of course, privacy was hardly an option.

The other passengers were now murmuring to each other in quieter more conspiratorial tones than when she’d first entered, and it made her want to laugh. How many more years before her legend ballooned beyond her reality to such a degree that ponies no longer recognized her on the street? Twilight had said it might happen eventually. Ponies would just assume the white unicorn they were speaking to maybe sort of looked like the Element of Generosity, but of course, she couldn’t be. Nopony as important as that would just walk around in the open and mingle. Would that be better or worse?

The bartender was mixing what looked like a martini, and Rarity approved. “Make it extra dirty, won’t you?” she asked the stallion. He nodded and flashed her a charming smile before pulling a jar of olives from under the counter.

Rarity looked out the window and was delighted to find that the lighting in the cabin allowed her to use it as a mirror for spying on the other passengers. There weren’t many. A few ponies sat around the tables, most of them clothed in the stale drab accoutrements of propriety and trying poorly to be discreet in their gawking. A relaxed kind of jazzy tune accompanied their droning conversations, though the rumble of the train did a fair job drowning it out.

As the bartender placed her drink on the counter, she noticed a portly young unicorn making his way over. She recognized him from one of Twilight’s masquerades a couple of years ago as Lord Alpine Heights. He wore his dark mane fashionably and sported a honeydew coat and a feathered cap for a cutie mark. She remembered being impressed with his conversational skills right up until he’d been tossed out by Applejack for having made a few too many passes on Rainbow Dash, despite knowing full-well that she was married, not interested in stallions, and eighty-some-odd years his senior.

Rarity took a sip of her martini–excessively briny, as she’d requested–and turned an icy glare towards the newcomer. He walked with the lethargic gait developed in those who did very little for themselves, and when he spoke, he spoke with a lazy self-assured drawl. “Duchess Rarity! What a delight to run into you here.”

He was either ignoring her scrunched nose and unfriendly frown, or he was an oblivious oaf. From past conversations, Rarity had to assume it wasn’t the latter–though oaf might very well still apply.

“I’m dreadfully certain I’ve no desire to speak with you, Mr. Heights. Why don’t you find somepony a little more vacuous to charm in another part of the cabin? I’m sure they’d be much more receptive to whatever you think you have to offer.”

Without missing a beat, Lord Heights took a seat two stools over from Rarity, smiling brightly at her. “Ah, Duchess, you wound me. I’m afraid I’ve left you with a bad impression, though I admit I deserve nothing less. Wont you grant me a chance to prove I’ve learned from my past indiscretions?”

She raised an eyebrow at the unicorn. Even if the grease in his voice hadn’t almost made her choke, Rarity was current with all the latest Canterlot gossip, and it didn’t paint a flattering picture. That being said, there was something about the way he was smiling, the way he looked at her, that made her neck tingle in a very unpleasant way. She wasn’t sure what that was all about, but it made her both weary and curious.

“And I suppose coming over here and engaging in conversation without first being invited is supposed to aid in that endeavor?”

Lord Heights laughed and shook his head, but ordered a drink–“whatever the lady is drinking”–before answering. “I couldn’t very well make amends or apologize without speaking with you first, but would you believe that I was planning on grabbing a drink even before you blessed this cabin with your radiance?”

He was laying it on a bit thick, Rarity thought, but it was hard not to think of him as charming. Still, she was less interested in what he had to say and how he said it than why he was making her hair stand on edge. She felt dry almost. Parched? He leaned up against the counter when the bartender gave him his drink, and it made a soft scratching sound like sand against wood. What in Celestia’s name?

She squinted her eyes and cast a very discreet revelation spell, but nothing happened. Lord Heights chuckled and sipped his drink, and Rarity wondered if maybe she hadn’t been discreet enough.

“Be that as it may,” Rarity said, trying to sound unimpressed and indifferent. “I’m not particularly interested in company.” She looked away from the Lord and continued to sip her drink, though she kept an eye on his reflection in the window. To her surprise, he downed his whole martini in a single gulp, then looked at the window in such a way that their eyes locked.

“You carry with you an interesting accessory,” Lord Heights said. As he spoke, his eyes grew pale, and his voice transformed into a raspy whisper. “Where is it taking you, fair Avarice?”

Great, Rarity thought. Just fantastic! She closed her eyes, placed her drink down, and took a deep breath, then she turned to whatever it was masquerading as Lord Heights and faced it with all the poise she could muster.

“Do I need to worry for the safety of the other passengers?” she asked, voice so even-keel she might have been reciting measurements to Haute back at the boutique.

The thing wearing Lord Height’s face wheezed a scratching and poor imitation of laughter. It sounded awful, like dry wind passing through the eye socket of a sun-bleached skull. “That is a precious thing to ask for someone to whom it matters so little,” it said. “Why pretend their so-called lives compare to yours when the liquor of ages and time itself flows through your veins?”

Rarity had heard crazy from all kinds of villains and ruffians. Two of her closest friends had turned crazy into an artform. This thing wasn’t crazy, it was unhinged, and if Rarity knew anything at all, very dangerous.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, placing a hoof over the warm compass. Touching it filled her with a sense of courage and determination. Not that she lacked either–any proper lady knew how to stand strong–but it did seem to boost those feelings.

It frowned at her, clearly displeased by something. “I promise not to hurt any of these–” it waved a hoof dismissively at the other passengers, “–creatures. I’m really only here for you. Would you like some music?”

Rarity was genuinely startled when the undercurrent of staticky jazz from the cabin’s gramophone was replaced with crisp and clear violins and cellos. An elegant if somewhat somber melody. None of the other passengers seemed to notice. The bartender continued to clean glasses, and the wealthy ponies at the tables continued to gossip and shoot frequent furtive glances at Rarity and her companion, who appeared to all the world as Lord Alpine Heights.

“I appreciate that,” Rarity said, fighting against her nerves to sound like she was maybe a little bit in control of the situation. “So, mind telling me who you are and what it is you want with me?”

Its frown deepened and it shook its head. “Disappointing,” it said. Then it looked to the ceiling and called out in quite the unnecessarily dramatic fashion, “Oh, how galling! How dreadful!” Again, nopony seemed to react to the odd display. “Though I hardly expected her to remember the name of one as lowly as myself,” it continued, “I thought she must at least understand, at least remember something!”

As it monologued, Rarity’s heart grew cold. Its shadow extended out across the floor, flailing about madly, and its skin began to slough off slowly, flopping to the floor and revealing under the Alpine Heights puppet something else. It still looked like a pony, if the pony had been dead for weeks and left out in the desert to dry. Its skin was brown and taut, like tanned leather hide, and its mane and tail were thin unhealthy tangles the color of oxidized copper. It had no eyes, only empty sockets from which some kind of white mineral was slowly trickling. At first, Rarity assumed it was sand, but then she remembered the letter.

This, at last, caught the attention of the other passengers, who began screaming and fled from the cabin into the adjacent one. It took a moment, as many of them tried to squeeze through the door simultaneously to get out. Rarity didn’t blame them. Even to her, the thing sitting there was horrifying. Eventually, only the bartender remained, staring slack jawed at the two of them.

Rarity cleared her throat to catch his attention and smiled kindly at him. “Darling, it’d probably be best if you left too. No?” The bartender stared at her for a moment then fled into Rarity and Pinkie’s private cabin instead of following the crowd. Rarity sighed. Hopefully, that wouldn’t become a problem.

The desiccated thing before her waited patiently as the cabin emptied, though it kept mumbling to itself what a shame it was that she couldn’t remember. Rarity was at least glad it kept its promise to not lash out at any of the other passengers, though there were a multitude of ways this could still end poorly for everypony aboard the train.

“What do you want with me?” she asked again once the bartender had left.

The thing was pulled from its inane ramblings and glowered at her. “I’m called Kedir. I was once a master cobbler and a… oh, uhm… a master tailor… a seamstress. Did you know this? I guess not since you’ve forgotten everything else. Oh, Avarice!” It shook its head and wailed, and the action sent salt flying all over the bar and onto Rarity. It stung her skin where it fell, though the sensation was mild. Rarity said nothing, waiting. She’d found that was usually best in situations like this. No need to force a fight if one could be avoided. “I was like you! Beautiful! They desired me, stallions and mares alike. They weren’t really though. He made me that way! I guess after her? And you now!”

“Well,” Rarity said, frustrated and frightened. “You seemed rather more sane before your disguise melted off. Would you like to put it back on so we can talk like civilized ponies?” It was a foolish thing to say, but she was a bit frazzled and had clearly spent too much time around bad influences like Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie, and Applejack, and Twilight… really, why were all her friends so tactless, honest, and bold? She decided then and there that of them all, only Fluttershy had any real sense to her. At least that mare was polite.

Kedir looked at her with its–her?–empty eye-sockets, expression frozen. So much for not forcing a fight, she thought. The string music continued to play, and Rarity tensed up, ready to teleport away if Kedir lunged for her. Instead, the creature spoke.

“You should give it to me and let me kill you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Rarity asked blinking, completely caught off guard.

“Harmony is a musical term. Just a musical term. You use it to refer to an equilibrious system which does not decay and in which all parts derive maximal joy and well-being from their designated purpose. Orphic told me that. You should let me kill you. I need to drink what’s inside of you.”

Rarity ran through her options. She could probably teleport herself, Pinkie, and their bags off the train. It would hurt. Wherever they landed, the difference in momentum would be significant. She could also try her luck attacking Kedir. Her concussive blasts were nothing to sneeze at, but she thought that maybe Kedir was already dead? At least, she was something not quite alive, and blasting her might just make her angry. Rarity had been in enough fights to know that engaging an enemy without knowing what they could do could be the worst and last mistake a pony ever made. Teleporting away was the better option.

She readied herself to cast the spell, but before she could even start, Kedir opened her mouth wide and began to shriek a horrible mind numbing sound. Instinctively, Rarity aborted the teleportation spell and threw herself off her seat. At the same time, she wove a new spell, a cage made of opaque diamond shaped tiles, and slammed it in place around her assailant. As she did so, a white beam of molten salt shot out from Kedir’s mouth, shattering the wall facing Rarity’s now empty stool and searing a hole straight through the cabin wall.

Rarity tried to teleport again, and again Kedir began to shriek. The wind-up to teleport was short, but not short enough, and Rarity had to transition to another shield spell, this one several layers thick, to keep Kedir’s unusual attack from reducing Rarity to a burning stain on the floor. The beam bounced off her shields and up through the cabin ceiling, tearing another hole in the train.

Rarity had to think quick. How could she neutralize Kedir, protect the other passengers, and not die herself? She looked over at the hole in the wall and grinned. Ideaaa! She moved a bit to the left and began to cast her teleportation spell again. Kedir didn’t move from her stool, but her head followed Rarity, mouth open and ready to spew liquid death. Rarity had expected as much and brought up her shields, angling them just so and making them just a little bit concave. When the beam hit her shield, the molten salt slid up against the curved surface and careened backwards with enough force to knock Kedir off her stool and over the bar counter.

She didn’t wait to see what became of the creature, immediately teleporting back to her own cabin. Pinkie had still been sleeping–despite the screaming and magic blasts just one cabin over–but Rarity popping into existence next to her was enough to rouse her. Pinkie rubbed her eyes sleepily, but as soon as she saw Rarity’s face, she bounced out of her seat, eyes alert and body tensed for a fight.

“I’m going to teleport us off the train!” Rarity yelled, heart beating rapidly. Now that she was away from Kedir, the adrenaline was starting to catch up with her, and it didn’t help that she could still hear the string music. Kedir said she wouldn’t hurt the other passengers, but Rarity knew better than to trust an insane… whatever it was she was. If she was still in a condition to come after Rarity, then Rarity had to assume she’d follow her off the train and hopefully leave everypony else alone. “Can you make sure we don’t die?”

Pinkie asked no questions. Instead, she just nodded and grabbed their saddlebags. For the fifth time, Rarity initiated a teleportation spell… but once again, she stopped before casting it. Why risk Kedir not following her? It’d be difficult, but Rarity thought she could pull it off. She gritted her teeth and planted her hoofs firmly beneath her. She was sure she looked more like a struggling construction worker than an elegant fashion designer, but there was a time and place for keeping up appearances, and this was hardly it.

With a groan that turned into a yell as she felt something odd pull on the edges of her spell, she teleported herself, Pinkie, their luggage, and the entire bar and cabin section it was a part of one hundred yards to the left of the train tracks. The light was blinding, and the deafening cracks of a cabin ripping itself apart and then re-materializing out of thin air stunned Rarity. Her lungs burned, her eyes stung, and her horn ached, but she was pretty sure she’d succeeded.

Hovering in the air, she had just enough time to see that the rest of the train was intact and continuing on its tracks before she crashed onto the ground with an unpleasant but surprisingly pliable thud. Debris rained down around her, but most of it bounced harmlessly off of several large multi-hued umbrellas that hung in the air above her head. Pinkie’s doing.

The mare in question lay next to Rarity, and though Pinkie was essentially impervious to physical harm, she looked spent. Rarity looked down and realized she hadn’t actually fallen to the ground, but rather onto several mattresses. The fall had hurt, but at least she hadn’t broken any bones. That was going to take a lot out of Pinkie, and Rarity was scraping the bottom of the barrel as well. She wished she’d brought with her something more tangible and sharp to fight with.

She stood up as best she could on the wobbly surface of the mattresses and frowned at them. They weren’t particularly thick–just enough to make her unsteady–and visually, they were an affront to the senses. Most of them were white or gray, and almost all of them were stained.

“Sorry,” Pinkie whimpered, still lying face down next to Rarity. “It’s harder when I have to go fast. Nicer mattresses take more energy and time, and I spent all the colors on those.” She lifted a weak hoof to point at the umbrellas. “Could have told me you were gonna bring half the train with you.”

Rarity winced and grimaced guiltily. “Ah, yes, sorry. That was dumb of me.” She jumped down to the grass which provided much better footing. They were in a large field of wildflowers that seemed to stretch along the train tracks for miles in both directions. “You were magnificent, Pinkie, truly one of a kind, but you need to get up, now.”

Rarity looked around while speaking, trying to spot Kedir among the wooden detritus, metal sheeting, and red velvet carpet that lay strewn all over the surrounding vegetation. The music was still playing, at least to Rarity, so she assumed Kedir must be lying somewhere out there underneath the remnants of the bar. Pinkie pushed herself to her hooves and hopped down from the mattresses, landing next to Rarity, but she was decidedly shakier and had to lean up against Rarity for support.

“I don’t–” she said, breathing heavily, “I don’t know how good I’ll be in a fight, Rares. I had to slow down time to see what was going on after you–” She stopped talking and focused entirely on breathing, and Rarity chided herself for acting like an impulsive fool. Kedir had her rattled and making mistakes.

A piece of the train exterior shifted nearby and without waiting to give Kedir a chance, Rarity sent a viciously sharp magic spearhead hurtling towards the metal sheeting. Except, it wasn’t Kedir shifting the metal out of the way, but the Bartender, who looked bruised and was bleeding profusely from several deep cuts. Buck! She dissolved the spell immediately, and the poor stallion almost fell over from exhaustion and surprise as a shower of white sparkles floated down around him. At least that explained the strange tug she’d felt on her magic when teleporting. She must have accidentally included the stallion in her teleportation spell, though she wasn’t sure how.

Unfortunately, this meant he was in danger from more than just his bleeding lacerations. Rarity couldn’t risk treating his wounds until she was sure what had happened to Kedir. If she got distracted, the creature might just kill them all.

“Stay there!” Rarity called. “Lie down! I’ll come over and treat your wounds as soon as I can, but right now, it isn’t safe!”

The bartender seemed dizzy and confused, and Rarity could hardly blame him. It was a miracle he’d survived the jump to begin with. Still, he laid down on the spot next to the sheeting he’d been pushing out of the way. That worked out well since it might provide him with some protection if things got crazy. She continued to scan their surroundings. The music was still playing in her head, which made her stomach churn, but nothing else moved.

Eventually, she felt Pinkie slide down her side to the ground, and Rarity could see she was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open. This was not an ideal situation, and they needed to do something. She couldn’t just stand there and wait for Kedir to make her move, but it was hard to think with all those damn violins playing in her head.

“Kedir!” she yelled. “I didn’t take you for a coward!” Honestly, she had no idea what kind of a creature Kedir was–other than utterly mad–but she hoped she might be able to goad her out of hiding. What had the thing said? That Rarity couldn’t remember her? She’d seemed very upset about that. “Alas,” Rarity tried, gambling. “I shall have to continue not remembering you! Woe is me.”

And then the bartender screamed. The sound curdled Rarity’s blood and made her mane stand on end, but not as much as the sight of him thrashing about as a mound of living highly corrosive salt seared his coat away and burned through his flesh. Rarity had never seen a pony melt before. Her stomach roiled and her knees grew weak, and for a short second her mind froze, unable to process what was happening. Just a second, an eternal stretching second during which she realized that nothing she could do would be enough to save the unicorn’s life. Still, she had to try. She leapt into action, trying her best to pull the salt from his body with her magic. She pulled and tossed and still the salt slithered back like snakes through the grass, leaving black streaks of burning vegetation behind. She tried to bubble him, but that just trapped him with all the salt left inside, so she dropped the bubble and kept levitating the salt away. It burrowed into his body, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t isolate it all.

“No! No! Come on, Rarity! Please!” Something burned her cheeks, and for a brief moment she thought it was her turn to melt. Instead, she realized she was crying. Her magic failed as exhaustion swept through her body, and despite her best efforts, her legs buckled beneath her and forced her to sit down. Her horn sizzled, hot to the touch, as she stared at the pile of sludge and bones that had been the bartender. He was clearly dead, and Rarity had been helpless to stop it. She doubled over to throw up, and as she did, the music stopped.

She looked up, eyes red and muzzle stained with vomit. The salt was coalescing into the shape of Kedir, who stood over the dead pony with an empty-eyed expression of indifference.

“You did this,” Kedir whispered, sounding eerily calm and collected. “All you had to do was give yourself to me.”

Rarity gritted her teeth, fury boiling inside her. She was weak, her magic was spent, and her muscles ached, but she would find a way to hurt this creature, to make her suffer. She tried to stand, but Kedir just shook her head.

“He has said I mustn’t kill you. But soon enough, Avarice. Soon enough.” She reached out a desiccated hoof and struck Rarity hard on the side of the head. For a moment, Rarity’s vision swam as the world around her grew blurry, then the darkness swallowed her whole.

Cheese Sandwich died that evening. Of course, Rarity didn’t know and neither did Pinkie. Back in Ponyville, the ancient earth pony passed surrounded by his son and his grandchildren. It was another week still before Twilight would host the first trial, but of all the Elements, only Fluttershy was there. She’d said it was painless for Cheese, but in those last moments, he hadn’t known who he was, nor had he recognized any of his gathered family.

Though sad for all involved, Cheese Sandwich had lived a long life by earth pony standards. Cheesecake had known this was coming for a long time now, and though his heart ached for the pony his father had once been, he smiled and kissed the old stallion goodbye. Certainly, wherever ponies went when they died, his father would be at peace there, enjoying the rest he’d earned through a life of kindness and joy. Instead, Cheesecake worried for his mother. He wasn’t sure if this would be a relief to her, but he hoped that when she heard the news, she wouldn’t be too sad.

Of all gathered, only Fluttershy could really see. She greeted Death with a nod when she came for the old pony, and Death nodded back. They knew each other well, and Fluttershy liked to think that they were friends. Death didn’t smile much, but the pegasus knew her to be kind. When the specter left, pulling from Pinkie’s husband the last embers of life, it was Fluttershy alone who wept.

Part I - Int. I - When Once Again I Hold You Near

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Part I - Ch. VII - What Matters Over Mind

5 In those days, they knew not the threat upon the hill, for it hid its face and conspired in shadows. Neither did they know the threat which rose up from within, dismissing it with presumptions of peace.
6 And so, a knight appointed to each was sent, elevated by she who was in each of them, and they were tasked with journeying through the abyss in hopes of averting the coming of tears and of anguish.
7 And for her, the Saint, none was elevated, for he hied to her side and had stood with her since the dawn of time.”

- The Records of Equestria, Chapter 3, Verse 5-7

24 BA

It was a night of portent and a night of wonder. Time held its breath under a frosted sky hung with brightly twinkling stars, and the spirits of the world that was and had been slept, oblivious to the creeping unstoppable momentum of history as it passed by their burrows and brooks. Silence reigned, quivering with anticipation and fear.

In Canterlot, not a soul stirred. The snow covered streets sparkled under the orange glow of a few struggling oil lamps, desperate in their effort to ward off a chill more ancient than the mountains themselves. On one particular corner, hidden in the faded shadow between two such lights, stood a being. She was draped in a cloak which hid her form and face.

“A child is born,” she said, voice a soft jingling of hope and peace. “She comes to us on winter’s breath, and her name is magic.” On the wind–carried from the dawn of time–the faint and distant thrill of music played, cautiously triumphant, though none had ears to hear it that did not lie in slumber.

And then, the lights from a nearby home lit, casting its warmth out upon the street, and the shrill cry of a newborn child spilled out into the night.

“She comes,” the being repeated. The stars nodded and smiled down at her. They were old and wise and knew things even the being had long forgotten.

“Yes, child,” they whispered. “She comes to calm the storm and rule all nations. She comes to set creation right, and peace will follow after.”

The music changed, and as the child wept its birthing cry into the cold winter air, a song took shape. It was a song of triumph and light that swelled the being’s heart and brought tears to her eyes. She tried to join the chorus, though her voice was overwhelmed with joy and wavered.

“The Princess Twilight cometh. Behold…”

100 EoH

“Do I…” Twilight hated the hesitation. She knew she was looking for any excuse to renege on her decision to end the trial early. “Do I need to end the trial, Discord?” Discord ignored her until Applejack cleared her throat.

“Well,” Discord said, clearly addressing Applejack and Rainbow Dash, “that small bit of power I left in the labyrinth just ran into something that shouldn’t be there. Whatever it was, it put up a decent fight, and it, uh… it might have gotten away.”

The three of them stared at the squirming draconequus in disbelief.

“Say what now?” Applejack finally asked, incredulous.

“Yes, well,” Discord stuttered, “I only left a little bit of power in there, you know. Maybe it got distracted?”

“Discord!” Rainbow yelled, but Twilight didn’t hear the rest, having already tuned the three of them out, focusing entirely on her scrying spells and trying to re-establish contact with Winter’s group. If something was in there that was wily or strong enough to give even a fraction of Discord’s power the slip, they were all in terrible trouble.

End the trial!

She couldn’t make the spell work. Trying to find Winter’s group felt like grabbing a beach ball covered in grease. Every time she thought she had them again, they slipped away from her with force.

End the trial, Twilight!

If she… if she dropped the other scrying spells, maybe she’d have enough extra magic to…

TWILIGHT SPARKLE! END THE TRIAL!

“Fine!” she yelled, startling her arguing friends into silence. “Fine! Damn it!”

She breathed out, trying to regain some composure, fighting back panic and tears. She’d failed. For all her bravado, all her talk about being so strong and protecting her ponies, she’d stumbled right out the gate.

“Fine…”

She released each of the scrying spells and cast a dissolution spell to bring the contestants back down onto the field and dissolve the labyrinth. Except, the labyrinth didn’t disappear, and none of the contestants rematerialized beneath it. In fact, the contestants who’d already been removed seemed frozen in place, and it was only because she’d dropped her scrying spells that she noticed the stadium had fallen eerily silent.

She turned to the others, but they were just as immobile as the contestants and, Twilight realized, the observers in the stands. Discord was still too, though, judging by the tensions in his jaw, Twilight could see that he was struggling to move, so clearly, he was still aware.

“What…” Twilight stood up carefully, then approached him and prodded him with a few trepidatious tendrils of magic. This wasn’t a time altering spell, nor was it a trap spell which would have solidified the air immediately around the target. Neither Discord, Rainbow, nor Applejack were surrounded by a magical aura of any sort, so they weren’t being held in place actively by a magic wielding creature. They were all just… frozen in place. Discord was aware, but the other two seemed dazed, eyes clouded over.

Still, things like this didn’t just happen, and Twilight was certain some outside intelligence was responsible. Her frustration flared towards anger. She was so sick and tired of monsters, despots, and other malignant forces barging in on their lives. It was constant. A hundred years of this, a hundred years of being repeatedly blindsided by one terrible threat after another.

This was her stadium, her town! These were her subjects! Whoever thought they could bring this kind of magic to bear against Twilight’s own had better be prepared to pay the price.

“Show yourself!” She yelled, stomping hard against the floor and sending sparks of angry magic flying from her hooves. “Face me, coward!” She charged her horn and cast a dispel so strong it almost blinded her. It hummed through the stadium and most of Ponyville before dissipating, but nothing changed.

Anger, frustration, and fear roiled around inside her. Her throat felt tight, and her eyes burned with the threat of tears. She’d been on edge for so many months, waiting for something, expecting the worst every morning. She’d prepared and planned and ignored awful nightmare after awful nightmare. These trials were meant to be a solution, or a partial solution, but somehow, she’d failed, and everything had ground to a halt before it could even really start.

She recognized that she was spiraling. She recognized the anxiety, made worse by weeks of stress. Deep breaths, Twilight. Deep breaths. She inhaled deeply and let the air out as slowly as she could, looking around for things to name.

Applejack. Rainbow Dash. Discord. Twilight’s throne. Spike’s larger empty throne. Five things. She placed a hoof against her chest and felt her fur. It was a little coarser than she would’ve liked. Then she touched her regalia, cold, hard, and smooth. She touched her cape; the one Rarity had made. It felt soft and luxurious. She touched her glasses, which were also a gift from Rarity–and Starlight, of course. They felt so small and fragile in their golden wire frames. Four things.

She couldn’t hear much, since everypony was frozen, so she listened to her heart. It was beating steadier, but still quickly. She listened for the wind, difficult to hear in the skybox, but still audible. She listened to a soft ticking noise that came from the wall. A clock. She hadn’t noticed it before. Three things.

She took a second deep breath in which she could smell the calm rain waiting in the walls and the faint scent of hay and apples that always lingered around Applejack. Two things. She ran her tongue along her teeth. There wasn’t anything else to taste, so she focused on the inside of her mouth, trying to notice if it had some flavor normally hidden from her by familiarity. One thing.

A last deep breath. It had been a quick exercise, but she felt more centered, less frayed.

“Alright, Twilight,” she muttered to herself, “this is just a puzzle that needs solving, and you’re great at puzzles.” She ignored the muscles twitching around Discord’s eyes which she guessed were meant to indicate an eyeroll.

She ran through a quick mental index of spells that might be responsible and spells that might unfreeze every creature, but nothing obvious came to mind. The Power of Friendship was relatively useless in this situation, as it was mostly only good for blasting foes with large rainbow colored battering rams of magic. And either way, Fluttershy, Rarity, and Pinkie Pie were all absent. The only variable was Twilight. She could still move and act, so that meant…. It meant some force or entity wished to interact with Twilight without interference. Ok, that was something.

She couldn’t see anything that was obviously sentient in the room other than herself and her friends, and when she tried the door, it remained firmly locked. That was disconcerting, as she’d have to break the viewing class if she needed to escape. She made a mental note to catch any falling class should the need arise, not wanting to hurt any of the spectators sitting below.

“Ok,” she said, trying to address her invisible captor. “I’m listening. I assume you want to talk, or you’d have attacked me by now.”

There was no response, but Twilight thought she saw something different. A small crack had appeared in the air in front of her. It was tiny, and if Twilight hadn’t been wearing her glasses and been actively searching for something out of the ordinary, she wasn’t entirely sure she would’ve noticed it.

“And what are you supposed to be?” She asked the little anomaly. She placed a hoof against it and was only mildly surprised when she felt the crack had a rough kind of substance to it, like touching a marred window or mirror. She pushed against it with a bit of extra effort.

The world broke around her, shattering into a million star-like slivers. She plunged forwards and down into a deep well of darkness, and felt her body disappear around her. She’d have screamed if she still had a mouth, but instead she fell without form until the falling was all there was. When she’d lost all sense of direction and her fear grew less acute, a soft and broken voice spoke to her.

“Do not be afraid, Little Evening Star. All is well.”

Twilight laughed. It was a voice she knew well.

Twilight stood on the peak of a frozen mountain, overlooking the black fjords of the unknown north.

“Are you sure about this?” Celestia called from a ledge further down. The wind tore through the elder princess’ hair, whipping it about like a pennant in a storm, and Twilight had to admit it was a much less refined image than she usually presented.

“I’m sure,” she said, though she wasn’t sure Celestia had heard her over the howling gale. She looked down at the thick damp moss beneath her hooves. It flourished even under the iciest patches of days-old snow, sucking life from anything it could, persevering.

After a moment of silence, Celestia called up again. “You know I can’t help you if something goes wrong.”

Twilight chuckled. She knew. Celestia was her superior in most ways, but not in this. Twilight was the Element of Magic, and she could do things already that Celestia barely understood.

“You didn’t have to come,” she called down, loud enough this time to ensure Celestia heard. “I’ve already completed most of the spell. This is just the last component.”

Celestia placed a hoof against the cliff wall as if considering flying up to Twilight’s vantage, but then hesitated before putting her hoof back down. Twilight had made it very clear she needed the space.

“This is… Twilight, all this over a dream? I won’t stop you, but please, reconsider. This is dangerous magic.”

This time Twilight laughed out loud. “Most magic is dangerous magic, Princess.” She looked back out over the fjord, smile fading. “I’m sorry, but I have to know.”

Celestia shook her head and looked away. Twilight didn’t like that Celestia disapproved but gone were the days when she craved her old mentor’s approval or needed her permission. Twilight was power, and what she lacked in wisdom she tried her best to compensate for with knowledge.

The dream had come to her several weeks earlier, and then every night after. In it, she went on a journey across the world to places she’d never seen or heard of. In these places she met a voice, and it spoke to her of things to come, of dangers and tribulations. She could never remember the specifics of it when she woke, but she knew it was important to remember. She felt certain this was more than just a regular dream. Had she not locked her mind to outside visitation, she’d have asked Luna to come confirm.

When one door closed, however, another always opened, and there were other ways, older ways, to ascertain the truth of things. In books so old only magic and spite held them together, she’d read of objects of power, things meant for communing with the elder forces of the world, for seeing the past and the future, and for ripping aside the vagaries of the material world.

She yearned to do just that. To reduce the mysteries of existence to quantifiable and documentable facts. Though the spells she’d sought were half-finished messes with faded passages and torn out pages, she’d arisen each morning filled with inspiration and determination, and being who she was, she’d reconstructed the spell of crafting needed to make an orbuculum.

Only one final component was needed, and when she had it, she’d pull the truth out from her dreams and into the light of day. She’d know why this voice haunted her every sleeping hour, why she woke in the middle of the night shivering and covered in sweat, and why she felt so afraid. She’d know.

She took a deep breath and primed her magic. This first part would be simple, a small spell, really. Discord had shown her how to do it, and it didn’t even require the use of chaos magic. Her horn lit up in an off-pink shade, streaked with angry motes of red. It felt unpleasant but not quite painful. Then, a dissonant chime rang out from the tip. Concentrated strife, a note of pure disharmony. It was bait. Bait for creatures who only lived in myth and the furthest reaches of the cold and forgotten world of yesteryear.

She held her breath and waited as tension built inside her. She imagined Celestia was holding her breath as well. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching out in nervous anticipation, each one afraid to end. The wind howled. The moss drank of the melting snow. The clouds passed by overhead. And Twilight waited.

She felt the wind shift and the temperature drop sharply just before a series of ghastly screams rang out across the dark waters below. Twilight grinned. She’d been right. As the Windigos soared into the sky before her, she laughed and jumped and whooped with joy. She’d done it! Now all that remained was to catch one and collect its hopes. But she was Twilight Sparkle, and they were only monsters of legend. How hard could it be?

“Is it what you hoped for?” Rarity had asked.

Is it what you hoped for?

Twilight’s left wing had been pulled clean out of its socket, hanging limply by her side. A cut over her eyes had swollen so much she could barely see. Other things had broken too; ribs, a radius, a tibia, more bones her addled mind had been too concussed to properly account for. Celestia had half dragged half carried the bleeding shattered princess into the map room, and Twilight had been grinning.

Because she was an idiot, she’d been grinning.

She saw herself, as if through smoke stained windows, and she had no mouth to scream with, no legs to wave. She needed to tell herself it wouldn’t work, that she’d end up hurting Fluttershy, that Trixie couldn’t be saved, that the trials would fail. The little green vial of Windigo hope that the other version of herself had stashed away in her portable pocket dimension would bring nothing but pain.

Somepony had screamed. At the time, Twilight had assumed it was Rarity, and floating above it all, here in the void, she could see that she’d been right. Fluttershy had wasted no time rushing to her side, ministering to her wounds and broken bones, while Applejack had been forced to physically restrain Rarity from rushing to Twilight’s side and getting in Fluttershy’s way. Rainbow Dash had taken to berating a silent and haunted looking Celestia.

Twilight’s memories of the event were understandably foggy, and though she knew she’d worried and hurt her friends with her reckless pursuit for answers, she hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on Celestia.

“Why did she not provide aid against the Spirits of the Everdeath?” the familiar voice asked.

Twilight was still voiceless, but she thought her answer, willed it out. Rainbow Dash had blamed Celestia for standing by, and Twilight had been in no condition at the time to tell Rainbow to back off.

Celestia didn’t know the proper magic needed to draw hope from the essence of disharmony and entropy, but even if she’d been able to cast the appropriate spells and maintain her tether to the world, she’d have been barred from interfering by ancient foundational laws, forces that had been interwoven with all of reality since the first morning and the earliest breath.

Is it what you hoped for?

She was leaning against Rarity, the two of them huddled together at the center of a massive and impossibly intricate glyph painted onto the cleared floor of one of the library wings in Twilight’s castle. Twilight was a sweaty panting mess and so was Rarity, though the later was also crying.

“It’s ok,” Twilight whispered. “I’m ok.”

“Damn you, Twilight.” Rarity stammered between sobs. “Damn you.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, though she didn’t mean it as much as she should have.

“You could have let me do more,” Rarity cried. “I said I’d help you. I wanted to help.”

“You did,” Twilight said, trying to speak a little louder, though the effort required to do so was tremendous. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What, like you!” Rarity yelled, turning her head to stare into Twilight’s lidded unfocused eyes with the fury of a raging manticore. “Twice, Twilight Sparkle! Twice in the last three days I’ve had to watch you almost die! I won’t do it again!”

Rarity extricated herself from under Twilight’s weight, causing Twilight to collapse to the floor, then wobbled off towards the door on unsteady legs. Twilight could hear her breath hitch as it caught on the occasional sob, but she was too drained to get up and chase after her friend. She couldn’t even turn her head to watch her go, instead focusing on the bluish-gray orb pulsing on the floor in front of her.

She heard Rarity open the door, then a pause.

“Is it what you hoped for?”

“Yes,” Twilight whispered. “Yes, it is.”

Another pause, then the door closed. Nopony else came for Twilight that night, and she fell asleep on the floor, shivering in her own cold sweat.

“It is a great object of power,” the voice said.

They were watching a memory in which Twilight, in her laboratory in the castle’s basement, was constructing a brass tripod on which to house the orbuculum. It was an instrument of specific and meticulously measured angles and dimensions designed to amplify the orbuculum and allow it to operate on some level even without a direct magic feed from Twilight.

Starlight and Trixie were both keeping her company. Though, they were really keeping each other company in Twilight’s vicinity, drinking tea at a table she’d set up just for them. They were laughing and smiling at each other. Starlight was speaking with pride about her daughter, Luster, and Trixie was insinuating that all of Luster’s noteworthy qualities were, in fact, inherited from her great and powerful aunt.

“It’s meant to allow a pony to discern truths,” Twilight thought to the voice, ignoring how little the memory version of Twilight was engaging with Starlight and Trixie. “Esoteric truths, mundane truths, truths about the future and the past. I’d hoped it would help me understand…”

“I know,” the voice said. “Be at peace, little one, I know.”

“Where are we?” Twilight thought. “Is this The Well? It doesn’t look like any part of The Well I’ve ever been to.”

“It is,” the voice said. “Though we never called it that.”

Twilight yearned for a quill and scrolls. As always, she was possessed of questions and a relentless need to have them answered, but she was limited in this space. She had no form, and her mind was herded away from some thoughts and directed towards others. It was disquieting and uncomfortable. Twilight didn’t handle her agency being curtailed well under normal circumstances, and this was worse.

“You must trust me,” the voice said, “as you have before.”

“Then please,” Twilight thought, seeking something, anything, concrete to anchor herself by, "tell me who you are."

“I am the Echo of Eternity. Once, before the forging of all things, we were friends.”

It was pitch black outside. Not a single star twinkled, and the moon was entirely absent from the sky. A very grumpy Luna lay prone on the grassy field behind Sweet Apple Acres, and Twilight was doing her best to ignore both her soulful sighing and Applejack’s unsuccessful effort to not chuckle–Applejack didn’t giggle–at the sight of an immortal alicorn princess throwing an admittedly very subdued temper tantrum on her lawn.

Luna rolled over on her back and once again sighed as loudly and morosely as she could.

“Oh for!” Twilight groaned, stepping away from the orbuculum and a large pile of gemstones she’d bribed Spike and Rarity to collect for her. “Do you mind, Lulu? I’m trying to gaze behind the veil of reality, and you’re making it kind of difficult to focus.”

“Twilight,” Luna said, trying to sound stern and not whiny. “You made me lower all the stars and the moon on the condition that it be a brief interlude for my subjects, not a several hour long abstinence from the radiance of my night.”

“Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s been an hour and a half, and I promise, if I can’t get this figured out in the next hour and a half, you can have your night sky back.”

“I don’t reckon anypony in town will mind much,” Applejack said, “or bother asking questions, but I hope you let the rest of, well, everywhere know you were planning this, or there’s bound to be some, uhm, some confusion.”

“Yes, obviously,” a blushing Twilight said, having done no such thing. She silently hoped Spike or Starlight had taken the initiative. Too often, she’d forget that her subjects were actual living creatures, not just numbers in spreadsheets prepared for her by Strawberry Patch or one of her aids. It made things… messy was probably the best way to describe it. All those feelings, wants, and unpredictable idiosyncrasies tended to gunk up the gears of even Twilight’s best laid plans. Focus, Twilight.

She turned back to the orbuculum and placed the tip of her horn against its surface for the twentieth time that evening. A sliver of magic leapt from the grooves in her horn to the orb, anchoring Twilight’s mind to a slumbering mass of probability and possibility. She cast another spell to levitate the gemstones, six similarly cut pieces of various species, into position above the orbuculum. They were representative of the Elements and were supposed to help establish the initial connection safely.

There were four pieces of beryl–red, gold, green, and aquamarine–as well as an amethyst and a piece of ametrine. She arranged them into a pentagon with the ametrine placed at the center, equidistant from the other five gems. She was guessing that she must have locked the gems in place slightly asymmetrically the previous nineteen attempts. The spell could technically be completed without it, but Twilight wasn’t about to leave her mind open and unprotected, not again. If she tried to complete the connection without the protective spell in perfect position, another gem she’d enchanted to serve as an alarm would flash brightly and chirp loudly at her.

This time, she was pretty sure her measurements were as exact as they needed to be.

“Applejack,” she said, not moving her eyes from the orb, “if you would.”

Applejack sighed, then walked up to Twilight. The burly earth pony took a deep breath, the knelt down and released it in the form of a soft green mist over the grass by Twilight’s hooves. For the twentieth time that night, roots sprung from the ground, twining their way around Twilight’s legs and locking her in place. The roots sprouted a few leaves and glowed with a gentle green and golden light. They served as a final layer of protection, tethering Twilight to one of the three domains of the Equestrian pony tribes and strengthening her connection to the real world.

“This is pretty draining, Twi. Like as not, I’ve only got a couple more tries in me before I’m too tired to keep at it.”

Twilight nodded, still not looking away from the orbuculum. Though her horn was still tethered to the orb, eye contact remained an important component of the spell. So far, so good. The alarm gem wasn’t flashing or whistling. Hopefully, it’d stay that way. Luna had stopped her sighing and was watching the spell unfold with a serious and weary curiosity. She’d understood all the components when Twilight had explained them but admitted that she’d probably be unable to complete the spell herself.

Obviously, that raised all kinds of questions about who, during the prehistoric times from which this spell was sourced, had possessed the power to forge the orbuculum’s predecessors and wield their power. The implications were as frightening as they were fascinating. Unfortunately, those were questions for another day.

Twilight entered The Well. Or tried to, at least. The Well was a realm of pure magic placed slightly outside the flow of normal reality. It was the place in which Celestia had elevated Twilight into an alicorn, though Twilight had since learned that her transformation had been an inevitable eventuality and that Celestia had simply helped it along.

As far as she knew, only alicorns and other elevated magical creatures could fully enter The Well. Others could partially enter or bring part of The Well into their own minds. This was, frustratingly, something Twilight hadn’t quite been able to wrap her mind around. At least, the particular mechanics of it eluded her. Shining Armor, however, had mastered the technique and had subsequently taught it to several others.

Since The Well was a place of pure harmony and serenity, it helped focus the mind and allowed ponies to perform incredible feats of will and strength. For alicorns, entering The Well allowed them access to a massive influx of raw magical power. Unfortunately, most spells cast in The Well stayed in The Well. Attempting to enter The Well now allowed the orbuculum to form a three-way connection between itself, Twilight’s mind, and the unadulterated magical matrix of all Equestria.

The air around Twilight began to crackle with static electricity and the few pebbles and loose leaves around her–Applejack kept a meticulous lawn–began to float off the ground. She had to fight the urge to laugh, lest she lose her concentration. As the spell progressed, Twilight could feel within her body a timer alerting her to when she had to activate each next step. The timer was itself an independently maintained spell.

After five more seconds, Twilight shifted the current of magic in her horn to flow backwards. A thunderous crack rang out across Sweet Apple Acres as a concussive shockwave reverberated out from the orbuculum, almost knocking Applejack to the ground and flattening the prone Luna even further. Twilight herself would have toppled if not for the roots holding her in place.

Another five seconds passed, and Twilight cast an intricate web of magic pathways under the meninges of her brain and a matching identical web on the orbuculum. It felt like somepony squishing the soft insides of her skull with icy hooves from all directions simultaneously, and Twilight felt a blood vessel pop inside her left nostril. Her eyesight grew hazy, and the wet feeling on her muzzle told her she was bleeding badly. Still, it was just a nosebleed. She’d be fine.

Five seconds passed, and Twilight began to pour as much magic as she could into the orbuculum. She kept at it until her knees grew week and her stomach lurched. Eventually, the orbuculum began to drain her magic of its own volition, and Twilight was helpless to stop it. It was a terrifying experience, but she’d expected it. If her calculations had been correct, the orb would stop well short of killing her, though she’d need to rest for a few days to recover.

Sure enough, after a few more five-second intervals, the orb went dull, releasing Twilight from its grip. The gemstones fell from the air and the roots around Twilight’s legs retreated back into the earth. She stumbled, then fell forward onto the grass, face smeared with her own blood but smiling triumphantly.

“Eat your heart out, Starswirl,” she laughed, though the laughter was strained from the effort.

Luna and Applejack both stared at her, eyes wide and mouths agape.

“Sweet Celestia, Rarity was right. You’ve gone and lost your mind, Twilight.”

“I…” Luna started. “Yes, that was alarming to watch.”

Twilight frowned, a bit hurt by Applejack’s comment, but determined to press on. They’d understand eventually. Rarity too.

“I’m fine, girls. Just, you’ll see. This'll all be worth it.”

Is it what you hoped for?

Twilight didn’t like to keep the lights in The Castle of Friendship turned up very high. There were too many reflective surfaces, too much crystal, and it hurt her eyes. So, she used candles as much as she could and light fixtures that could dim where open fire was inadvisable. Many of the castle staff felt it was perhaps a tad bit gloomy, and other than Rarity, who’d claimed to find the lighting both mysterious and romantic, most of Twilight’s friends seemed to agree.

Pinkie sometimes complained about it when she was there for lessons with Discord. Applejack didn’t say anything out loud, and neither did Fluttershy, but both of them often frowned or squinted when stepping into a new room, clearly needing time to adjust. Rainbow Dash, the paragon of tact that she was, loudly complained about it almost as often as she complained about Twilight’s rule against flying inside the castle hallways.

That evening, the Twilight of the past was sitting in a small study–not her main office–staring at the orbuculum. A few candles kept her company, but their tiny flames did nothing to chase away the dark shadows that clung to the corners of the room. A harpist she retained by the name of Cat Gut–an unfortunate and prophetic moniker if ever there was one–was playing a somber tune in the corner of the study. Twilight always told her to play what felt appropriate, and apparently, somber was it.

Past Twilight only vaguely heard it. She was in communion with the orbuculum, as she had been every night for the past week. She’d never before seen herself in the act, and she thought that it looked very undignified. She appeared addled, eyes glazed over and mouth slightly agape. No doubt, the image of an almost drooling Princess hunched before a pulsing orb in a dark and cramped study surrounded by a few flickering candles was as unsettling to Cat Gut as it was to the ethereal Twilight floating above it all.

“Yikes,” she thought. The Echo of Eternity, though invisible to Twilight, extended something that felt like curiosity against Twilight’s essence. Twilight thought it best not to admit how embarrassing and revelatory it was to view oneself from the outside like this. Instead, she stated a question she already knew the answer to.

“You were here,” she thought, “in the orbuculum. You’re the one who warned me in my dreams and whispered to me on nights like this.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it was the other. I am sorry I could not be clearer. Even here, death limits me.”

The orb had shown Twilight the future. That was what her dreams had been about, a future so horrible she’d wept the first night the orb spoke to her, the first night the orb had pulled her dreams from the realm of half-forgotten mornings into the realm of the quantifiable.

These visions spoke of an ageless intelligence that wished to rot the world. The Echo of Eternity had referred to the Windigos as spirits of the Everdeath, and it seemed an apt description of the visions Twilight had seen, a chaotic never-ending decay that stripped every ounce of life, joy, and magic from the world until reality was nothing but a gaping sucking wound.

Sometimes the narrating voice in these visions had been kind, trustworthy, and gentle. Other nights it had been insistent, aggressively so, and harsh, and on those nights, Twilight felt doubt gnaw at her heart. But then the kind voice would return. She understood now. The Echo of Eternity had been that voice, but she said there was another. That made sense, and Twilight wasn’t at all sure why she’d assumed the voices, so different in tone and quality, had belonged to the same entity. When she thought back on it, she’d actually assumed the voices were just part of the spell, a narration added for clarity.

It horrified Twilight to think that some of the advice she’d acted on could have been actively malicious and provided to her by something intent on causing harm. The Echo of Eternity was frightening enough as it was.

It was the angry voice that had first suggested the trials, but then… the kind voice had agreed? If Twilight had a body, she’d have placed her face in her hooves, frustrated with the whole situation.

Then ice swelled in her chest. A horrible realization clawed through her non-existent body, choking her thoughts. It was the angry voice that whispered to her about the curse, that warned her what might happen to her friends, it was that voice and the accompanying nightmares that had driven Twilight frantic, that had driven her to react as she had regarding Trixie… that had made her hurt Fluttershy.

Just, you’ll see. This will all be worth it.

Was it everything you hoped for?

Trust me, I know what I’m doing.

Twilight fled. Somehow, she forced herself away from the vision, away from The Well and the Echo of Eternity. She found herself in her own body again, but this time in a dark place. It felt and sounded as if she was stepping on water, and the whole thing felt vaguely familiar. She’d dreamt this place before, she thought. She also knew she shouldn’t be there, felt it as intensely as she’d ever felt anything.

A being stood before her, robed entirely in black. She couldn’t see beneath the robes, but she suspected she’d find nothing there if she looked. This was the Echo of Eternity, another thing she simply knew in this place. It lumbered and jolted in strange ways as it walked up to Twilight, and Twilight had the distinct impression that this was a realer more tangible version of longtime hidden companion.

“What are you?” Twilight asked, leaning back away from the horrible shade. “Are you… alive?”

Then a face appeared in the thing’s cowl, a face Twilight would never be able to describe accurately. It was vacant in ways that made the word seem crowded, lonely and drained and so very very tired. But something struggled there, Twilight thought. Behind the vacuous emptiness of its eyes, she thought she could see the tiniest glimmer of a sad thing trying to once again remember what triumph felt like.

Its lips parted slowly, and when the Echo spoke it was with a whisper straining to bridge the emptiness between them.

“Power. I am old power. The remnants of one who was radiant above all others. I am all that is left.”

“I don’t understand. Tell me what’s going on! I thought the orbuculum was supposed to show me the truth of things! I made the spell to do just that!”

“You were successful, but not all truths are benign. In reforging the Eye of Knowledge, you invited those who hold the keys. I am one such being, a fragment of what once was. He Who Hungers is another.”

He Who Hungers.

“It is difficult,” the Echo continued, “to be in this place. To speak to you this directly. I brought you here to tell you this, it is I who intervened in your trial, who led Captain Winter and his team down a certain path, but it was a servant of the adversary who fought against the will of Discord. I tell you now, trust that I mean you well and that you must allow the trials to continue.”

Twilight recoiled at that. No, definitely not! She’d been looking for an excuse to not cancel the trials, but that was when she thought that the wisdom and advice she’d garnered from the orbuculum was true and infallible. Knowing now that she’d been a pawn in these creatures’ games sickened her. She’d endangered hundreds with a false promise of necessity!

“I can’t,” Twilight said. “I can’t endanger my subjects knowing that this might not be necessary, that this was all some ploy by… I mean… why in Equestria should I trust you now?”

“Trust me, Twilight, because I have stood with you since before you were born. I stood with you in ages past when you blazed as a shining beacon in the void, when you were whole and made worlds in your image, when every breath you took was filled with the promise of harmony and love. Trust me because I have died once already to elevate your glory and will do so again.”

And then, with a fierce snapping suddenness, Twilight found herself standing back in the skybox in front of a very mobile Discord and her two dumbfounded friends.

“What just happened?” Rainbow Dash asked, looking slightly dizzy.

Discord looked at Twilight, inspecting her in a way that seemed too analytical, too knowing.

“Yes, Twilight,” he said, addressing her directly for the first time in two years. “What did happen?”

Author's Note

Just wanted to say thank you all for reading, those of you who've stuck with me so far. I've been nervous to release this chapter and I'm sorry for the delay. For a variety of reasons, this chapter has been special to me, so I'm hoping it resonates with you guys as well. As always, please dm me with any mistakes you might find and continue to be the wonderful people you are.

Part I - Ch. IV - What You Have Done to the Least of These

“The future should be filled with magic
Dreams and wishes brought to life
But the days ahead are dark and tragic
No time for hope when all is strife”

- Spirit of Hearth's Warming Yet to Come

Rarity was lying in her bed at home on the second floor of the Carousel Boutique. No… not her bed and not the boutique. This bed was better. Much better. Luxurious silks and satins caressed every inch of her body, and the dappled beams of sunlight colored mauve, periwinkle, and gold danced their slow kaleidoscopic dance through the windows and onto her face. Somepony lay next to her, radiant in every way, mane tossed messily across the pillows, with beads of sweat pearling on her neck and brow.

This other pony was still sleeping. Her soft warm breath tickled Rarity’s face and ruffled the few strands of wayward mane that had fallen across her cheek during the night. A blissful peace swelled in her heart. Everything was as it should be, and she knew with absolute certainty that this was her true home.

A strong lurching motion rocked her awake and tore the beautiful dream from her mind. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over in her tiny wall-mounted cot. Pinkie was already awake and was brushing her teeth over the steel sink they were forced to share. She met Pinkie’s eyes in the mirror over said sink for a moment before shoving her face back into her pillow.

“Morning, Rarity! Did you sleep well? You were, uhm, making noises.”

Rarity flung her pillow at Pinkie’s head with all the force her newly wakened horn could muster, which was to say, not much. It struck true, but Pinkie just giggled and threw it back.

“Breakfast is on in ten,” she said. “I know you like to take your time, but I think you better hurry. They didn’t make very much yesterday, and that Willow Spark has a super-duper appetite.”

Willow Spark was a kirin, and one of only two other passengers on the commercial fishing vessel they’d booked passage on. Not many ships travelled between Parish-By-The-Sea and Baltimare, so pickings had been slim.

Rarity sat up and stared miserably at the wall. She hated that dream. If she’d been less prideful, she’d have asked Luna to get rid of it a long time ago. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was definitely a matter of pride not embarrassment, and certainly not a matter of secretly wishing every night that she’d once again be drawn into its taunting embrace. She groaned at her own weakness and pushed herself out of the cot.

“See you at breakfast,” Pinkie said, smiling at her as she bounced out of their little room. It only took Rarity twenty minutes to get ready, which in her opinion was a blistering pace. She was about to head out to join Pinkie when she noticed the book on morse code sticking out of her bag. She’d neglected it for two whole days. She had several large orders waiting for her when she got back to Carousel Boutique, and she’d been busy drawing up designs and going over the budget reports that Haute Pommel had sent her Spike. She grabbed both the book and the mysterious letter before leaving.

Pinkie was on her third helping of pancakes when Rarity stepped into the cramped kitchen. Willow Spark and their other travel companion, an old and rather gruff looking unicorn called Sinker, were nowhere to be seen.

“I think I need to worry more about you than I do Willow Spark, Pinkie. Did you leave any pancakes for me?”

Without looking up from her own meal Pinkie pulled a plate covered in a dinged up cloche over and placed it in front of Rarity, who was just getting seated on the bench across from her.

“An orange and two pancakes with blueberry syrup. I peeled the orange for you.”

Rarity smiled tenderly at Pinkie. “Darling, you know me so well.”

Trying to eat and translate morse code at the same time proved futile, so Rarity downed her meal as quickly as propriety allowed and retired to the deck to see if she could make heads or tails of the letter. She felt suddenly possessed by an urgent need to know what it said and could scarcely believe she’d been so unconcerned with it for two full days. What if it contained some ominous warning or threat? Though, she thought, the sender really shouldn’t have encrypted it if it was time sensitive, or they should have at least indicated in some way that time was off the essence.

For some reason she didn’t understand, there were a multitude of cushioned lounge chairs spread across the deck near the bow. It was nice since the fishing operations were primarily handled on the afterdeck, and this allowed the passengers some reprieve from the smell, but Rarity had no idea why the Captain felt he needed so many of them. The wizened old pony had seemed genuinely surprised at having even just four passengers for this trip.

The sky was bright and blue, and the breeze was salty and brisk but not strong enough to be a nuisance. Rarity had brought a large sun hat with her that she cinched tightly beneath her chin—it had been a gift from Fluttershy, and it wouldn’t do to have it fly overboard—and a pair of yellow shades. She knew she should be using her red sewing glasses which worked quite excellently for reading as well, but the sun-glare off the ocean waves was too strong for anything but shades.

Translating the message turned out to be easier than she’d expected. Her biggest obstacle was simply keeping the letter from blowing away in the wind.

“Who’s Salt?” Pinkie asked, while glancing over Rarity’s shoulder from the adjacent lounge chair.

“I haven’t the foggiest, Pinkie. I’m not even sure it’s referring to anypony. It might just mean… salt?” The message had been short and read as follows: “Hollow Shades beware of salt”, which seemed to Rarity both frustratingly vague and intentionally obtuse. “Whoever sent this,” she said, “has certainly got a flair for the dramatic.” She’d copied down the translation under the original message and placed the letter on the inside of the front cover of the morse code book. “This is useless right now. Best just to hold on to it and give it to Twilight when we get home.”

Pinkie scrunched her eyebrows together and tapped her mouth with her hoofs a few times. “Maybe we should just go to Hollow Shades and see if anything happens?”

Rarity gave Pinkie a flat and unimpressed stare. “You can’t be serious.”

The pink pony shrugged her shoulders and made a non-committal sound.

“Pinkie, we’ve been away from Ponyville and the others for almost six weeks now. Six weeks! I want to… no I need to go home. And frankly, so do you. You know we get… odd when we’re away from each other for too long.” It was true. It had taken them several years to figure out that their so-called friendship mission always required at least two of them not only because of the combination of their unique talents, but also to keep them, well, normal was the only way Rarity knew to describe it.

The table-map-thing in Twilight’s castle had stopped sending them on missions decades ago, and with no formal structure but Twilight’s discretion and the needs of the citizenry to determine how and where to go, their missions had grown longer. They’d often travel alone or with a guard contingency, or sometimes with another friend and ally, like Capper, Sunburst, or even Fizzlepop Berrytwist. Fluttershy had gone on several missions with just Discord for company.

Years after Twilight’s ascension, Pinkie had travelled to Yakyakistan to assist an aging Prince Rutherford set some things in order and prepare the court for the transfer of power to his son. Yona had come with her. Three months later, Yona had sent a letter to Ponyville asking for emergency assistance.

They’d found Pinkie in a small shack from which none of the yaks had been able to move her. She’d been drawing intricate circles on the wall with multi-hued crayons that she kept pulling from her mane. She hadn’t eaten for several days and hadn’t responded to any of the yaks who tried to speak to her.

Twilight had entered the room first, and as soon as she did, Pinkie had flung herself at the confused alicorn, weeping inconsolably. Several weeks of testing had revealed only a handful of concrete things. Firstly, the Elements of Harmony seemed somehow dependent on one another and proximity was very much a factor. Secondly, this dependency seemed connected to the same magic that granted them their powers and longevity. That was about it.

Twilight couldn’t say why they fell apart when they were separated for too long, or exactly how long they could be away from each other, or if there was any way to mitigate the effects. They all agreed that it was unfortunate but also agreed that they all loved each other very much and would try to make it work as best as they could. And they had. Incidents had thankfully been few and far between. The one time it had happened to Rarity… she shuddered and pushed the thought away. Twilight called it a curse, and Rarity had to agree.

Six weeks was not that long, especially when there were two of them, but Rarity wanted very much to return home and feared–rightfully, she thought–how long they might get side-tracked if they pursued this mystery alone.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pinkie conceded, looking considerably more morose than she usually did.

“Honestly! I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Pinkie looked down at the deck and refused to meet Rarity’s eyes. Suddenly, Rarity was filled with concern. “Pinkie, are you alright?”

“I just thought it might be fun, and...”

“Darling, what is it?”

“It’s just hard sometimes, to go home I mean. He... he doesn’t really recognize me anymore.”

Rarity’s heart melted for her friend, and she grabbed Pinkie in a tight hug. “It’s ok,” she said. “I’m here, I’m here.”
“I feel so... so guilty for not wanting to see him,” Pinkie said, between sobs, and for once Rarity didn’t mind the tears soaking into her mane. “I’m a bad pony,” Pinkie wept.

“No, no, hush. You’re a wonderful pony. It’s normal to be scared. You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.” She patted Pinkie’s tangled curls gently and kissed her on the head.

They sat like that for the rest of the morning until long after Pinkie had calmed down. Sometimes, in her darker moods, Rarity felt certain that things would be better another hundred years from now when all their immediate friends and family had passed on and the specter of death didn’t hover menacingly over so many of their heads. And when she thought things like that, it was her turn to feel guilty. She wrestled down the pain in her chest before it paralyzed her, as it sometimes did.

The others all had their unique ways of dealing with, well, everything, and Rarity tried her best to not judge them for it. Applejack seemed permanently locked in a frown, speaking almost as little as Big Mac used to, and Rainbow Dash was barely sober enough on most days to fly in a straight line. Fluttershy was a mess, physically and mentally, and Pinkie suffered such swift and terrible mood swings she might as well be strapped to a roller coaster with a rocket on her back.

And Twilight… Oh, Twilight. Wonderful as their darling Princess was, she was beginning to scare them all just a little. When Rarity caught her in her unguarded moments, she could see in her eyes that same old manic energy from their younger years amplified a hundredfold, unsettling and focused like a lance. There was an unfamiliar intensity to her now that Rarity wished desperately to soothe. She just didn't know how. As for herself, she refused to get dragged down. She couldn’t help anypony if she didn’t keep a clear mind and a positive attitude. For her own benefit, and for the rest of the girls… she just had to soldier on.

Drill Bit mocked Winter incessantly as he fumbled with the bottle of painkillers on the counter and did his best to ignore her. His hangover wasn’t as bad as she presumed but still bad enough that he needed to do something about his headache before the first trial started. Headaches could be crippling for unicorns. Even the most basic levitation spells became nightmares of pain and exertion. So here he was, trying to use his unpracticed hooves to open a pill bottle.

Winter cursed Commander Dash for the magical malady she was. Apparently, the pegasus was immune to drunkenness–or near enough at least–and had taken no little pleasure in drinking him under the table. He knew she wasn’t actually impervious to the stuff. He’d heard enough to know better, but he couldn’t figure out how somepony so small could pack away so much cider?

Finally, he gave up, convinced that the bottle was broken and flung it across the commons area he shared with the rest of his troop. The door that the orb had led him to the day before had opened into a communal kitchen and dining area that itself split into individual rooms for each of the competitors. Some part of his mind wouldn’t let go of the fact that from the outside none of this should have fit in the coliseum but thinking about it too much just made his headache worse.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll help.” Drill Bit rolled her eyes and walked over to fetch the bottle, but as she stooped to pick it up, there was a loud knock on their door. She shot him a curious look but walked over and opened it. Winter’s first impression was that of a very large hummingbird, and it took him a moment to realize it was actually a young colt, beating his wings furiously to stay aloft.

“Uhm, can I help you?” Drill Bit asked.

The little colt tried to smile, but the physical strain caused by his absurd flying method made it look more like a grimace. “No,” he said, “but I can help you. Or him, at least.” The colt nodded towards Winter. The kid was still without his cute mark and had a pale brown coat and a long periwinkle mane that kept falling into his eyes. “You’re Winter Shield, right?”

“You betcha. And you?”

“My name is Flash Flood. Grams said to give this to you. Said it’s supposed to help with your head or something.” Flash Flood tossed an envelope onto the counter and Winter eyed it suspiciously. Still, he opened it to find that it contained one large golden gel capsule and a small note on blue stationary. Thought you might need this. Hope you perform better today than you did last night. The note was signed with a red lightning bolt.

Drill Bit, who’d come around the counter to stand next to Winter, read the note and grinned wickedly. “Your performance not up to snuff, Captain?”

Winter smacked Drill Bit on the back of the head. “Oh, for… We just had a few drinks. No need to get any funny ideas.” Drill Bit chuckled, and Winter looked over at Flash Flood, who was still hovering in place. “You, uh, you maybe want to sit down, I don’t know, take a rest. That looks uncomfortable.”

“Nu uh. I’m training. Dad says Grams could make a sonic rainboom when she was my age, so that means I’m already way behind. I told her I was gonna beat her in a race and become a Wonderbolt! And she promised she’d race me, so I gotta practice all the time so I can do a rainboom too and beat her.”

Drill Bit, who was standing behind Flash Flood, was laughing silently, and Winter was quite sure it had more to do with his own uncomfortable expression than the exuberance of this very energetic little pegasus. He didn’t mind children per se, but this one was a lot.

“So, let me make sure I’ve got all my ducks in a row here. You’re saying Commander Dash is your… grandma? And that she sent you here with this medicine for me? And that the reason you won’t sit down is because you think hovering around like a bumblebee in spring is somehow going to let you beat your grandma, who is actually faster than lightning, in a race?”

Flash Flood’s expression fell, and Drill Bit smacked her face with her hoof. Winter sighed and, with great pain, levitated the pill and a glass of water over to one of the tables in the dining area and sat down.

“Come here, kid, sit down. You’ll only hurt yourself if you keep going like that.” He downed the pill and most of the water in his cup and watched as the dejected looking Flash Flood flew over and landed on the chair across from him. He was about to say something when he realized his hangover was completely gone.

“Wow,” Winter said. “That’s one heck of pill.”

“Grams’ friend made it.”

“You mean the Saint?” Drill Bit asked.

“I just call her Auntie Shy. She gave me one when I hurt this part,” he pointed at the inside of his right foreleg, “and it fixed it right away. She’s really nice.”

“So I’ve heard.” They sat in silence for a moment, Winter thinking about what to say and Flash Flood looking at everything but him. “Look, kid, I’m sorry. What I said was downright inconsiderate.”

“What’s that mean?” Flash Flood asked, eyeing Winter suspiciously.

“It means that, unlike your Auntie Shy, I wasn’t being very nice. Who knows, maybe since you’re related to her, some of her… whatever it is that makes her be the way she is, is in you too. The only way to find out is to train hard and do your best. But buzzing around like you were doing just now is just going to hurt you. You’ve got to be smart about how you train.”

Flash Flood immediately perked up. “Really? You think I can beat her?”

“Now hold up there, I said maybe. You’ve got to remember; your grandma is very special. She isn’t like you or me or any other ponies for that matter. I’m sure they taught you about her in school, right?”

Flash nodded. “Tulip talked about Grams and her friends last year in class, but... I didn’t really understand a lot of it.”

Winter chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s difficult stuff.” He got up and nodded towards the door. “You better get going. I’m sure you’ve got places to be, and we all need to get ready for our own stuff.”

Flash Flood nodded and hopped up from his chair, except this time he walked. On his way out he stopped.

“Are you gonna fight in the arena?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know about fighting, but yeah, I’ll be in the trials.”

Flash Flood’s eyes went wide. “Wow! I really wanna watch, but Grandma Jack says there’s gonna be too much blood and that it,” he affected the worst imitation of an Appleloosan accent Winter had ever heard, “ain’t ‘propriate for children tuh see.”

Winter wasn’t sure how to feel about that other than maybe terrified, and from Drill Bit’s nervous laughter, he could tell he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, well, she’s probably just joking, right?” Drill Bit asked.

“Grandma Jack doesn’t really joke… or smile much for that matter, and she never lies.”

They all stood there in awkward silence for a moment before the tension grew too much for Flash Flood to take.

“Well, uh, gotta go,” he said before rushing out the door.

Winter closed the door after him and tried not to think about what he’d said. He knew the trials would be hard, but would they be actually dangerous? Whatever Flash Flood said, it was a hard thing to believe. The Princess would never knowingly put other creatures in harms way, right? Especially not for something that essentially functioned as glorified try-outs. He vaguely remembered Commander Dash saying something similar to him the night before, but that was Rainbow Dash, and she was famous for exaggerating.

“So, you don’t think this is anything more than a painkiller, do you?”

He turned to see that Drill Bit had wandered over to the card his medicine had come with. She was looking at it with some concern in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Like a performance enhancer?”

Winter wasn’t going to lie and say he hadn’t thought the exact same thing, but it seemed unlikely that a consummate sports pony like Rainbow Dash—and Element of Harmony, he reminded himself—would be party to something so dishonest.

“I don’t think so. She’d sabotage the whole event and possibly endanger the Princess at some future point if I made it through juiced up on magic pills. It’s probably just for the hangover, which I’ve got to say, it did wonders for.” He flipped the stationary around, and sure enough, on the back was another note written in much more elegant penmanship. Don’t worry, it’s just headache medicine. I made it myself. You’ll find it works quickly. This note had no signature, but Winter had to assume it was written by the Saint.

“Gee, Captain. Didn’t realize you were so chummy with the Elements. Makes me feel like the rest of us don’t really stand a chance.” Drill Bit looked dispirited, but Winter just shook his head.

“I’m not really. I just know Commander Dash, same as the other officers.”

“Well, she must’ve taken a shine to you since she went out of her way to ask her friends to make you medicine.”

Winter didn’t like where the conversation was heading and shrugged his shoulders. “She probably just feels guilty about last night?”

The pill had worked as advertised. Winter felt as fresh as a daisy, a little better than normal actually. A persistent ache in his left hock that had plagued him since he hurt it in Flame Geyser Swamp last year had almost completely vanished, and he felt more well rested than he remembered having felt in years. Drill Bit, seeing the effects, soured even more, and barely spoke to him for the rest of the morning. When the rest of their unit started to emerge from their rooms, she barely spoke to them either.

The trials were supposed to start at noon, and as the morning wound on, it became clear that they were all feeling the pressure. Checkers and Forelle Pear had pulled out a chess board, but after a few cursory moves, neither of them had touched the pieces for well over fifteen minutes, both opting instead to stare at the board and not talk to each other.

Swallowtail had snuck a flask out and was sipping on it in the corner, looking out a set of massive windows that gave them an excellent vantage of the castle grounds, the School of Friendship, and Ponyville in the distance. The spectators were swarming into the coliseum below and looked more like a writhing multi-hued ocean than actual living beings. How looking at that could possibly be soothing, Winter couldn’t say.

He himself had retired to a large red bean bag and was doing his best to clear his mind. Normally, before an engagement or battle, he liked to run imaginary scenarios, trying his best to predict and anticipate as many outcomes as possible. Unfortunately, that was more or less useless under the current circumstances, as nopony knew what the trial was actually going to be. Instead, he just focused on his breathing and tried to calm his nerves as much as he could.

At eleven thirty, Swallowtail got up and retreated to the restroom. This was followed by loud vomiting noises, and Winter decided he was better off wandering the coliseum than hanging around doing nothing. The upper level was almost entirely deserted. Most creatures were likely preparing or waiting in their own rooms, just like his own squad. The arches leading from this floor into the stands of the coliseum’s interior were still covered in force fields, which was disappointing but expected.

With nothing better to do–and unable to enter the trial area–he started walking counter-clockwise through the coliseum halls. He’d almost circled halfway round the whole building when he finally saw somepony else.

Or, well, someone else. It was a changeling, easily the biggest one he’d ever seen. Well, Thorax was bigger by quite a bit, but he was a king, so it didn’t seem fair to compare. The changeling was sitting in front of one of the force fields and kept tapping it with one of his horns. He’d never seen horns like that on a changeling either. There was one on his nose that swept forward and curved up slightly and another larger one on his brow that curved forward and down. They looked very dangerous.

The changeling didn’t look up but spoke to Winter with a deep and warm voice. “Your princess likes her secrets.”

Winter frowned. The last thing he wanted was to get in another argument with a foreigner; Skarn had been plenty. “You don’t like that she’s keeping us in the dark about the first trial?” he asked, trying to sound diplomatic. It made perfect sense to keep the trials hidden, but he suspected the changeling was speaking about something else.

The changeling still didn’t look at him and kept tapping away at the force field with his horn. “What, the trial? Oh, yes. That is, of course, a secret also... Very clever of her.” Finally, the changeling stopped tapping and looked up at Winter. “I’m Cercus, Under-Lieutenant of Hive Thorax.” Cercus smiled a broad and friendly smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle just slightly.

“I’m Captain Shield. Nice to meet you.”

“Ah yes, Solar Auxiliary, if I’m not mistaken. You’ll have to excuse me. To my shame, I didn’t have time to research as much as I’d hoped prior to journeying to Ponyville. I was only able to memorize some of the officers that seemed most likely to apply and get accepted. I should have known you from your cutie mark. Ilex aquifolium leaves and berries over a slanted gray escutcheon. It’s very distinct, and speaks of a long and noble lineage, as I believe cutie marks incorporating shields have long been indicative of powerful ancestors or family members. Like the great Shining Armor before you–or even the Ladies Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle–you’re destined to protect others. I hope I haven’t offended by being so slow to recognize you.”

Winter stared at the changeling, slightly slack jawed. He’d never heard anything quite so absurd and simultaneously sincere before. He spoke with the same reverent cadence Saint Fluttershy used while performing the benediction during Hearth’s Warming Eve. Cercus must have recognized the befuddlement in Winter’s expression because he quickly continued in a slightly embarrassed tone.

“Perhaps, I was a bit overzealous in my preparations. My brood siblings reprimand me for it on occasion, but it seems I’m a slow learner. I think the study of cutie marks is particularly fascinating. It seems to indicate a myriad of thought provoking things regarding the nature of pre-destination and agency.”

“Yeah, no. That’s alright,” he said. If the Princess was looking for applicants who were as excited about research as she was, well, Cercus was a shoe-in. “I’ve never heard anyone describe my cutie mark like that before. As far as I can tell, it’s just a shield with a holly twig and some berries. It’s nice enough, I guess. Suitably festive during the holidays.”

“Ah, yes,” Cercus said, clearly a little disappointed that Winter didn’t share his enthusiasm for the subject. “I guess it must all feel rather pedestrian and common to you.”

Winter felt a little off balance, and he didn’t like it. For all that Cercus seemed incredibly friendly and well-meaning, his behavior when Winter had run into him was still suspicious. “Why were you tapping on the force field?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s really fascinating, isn’t it?” Cercus said, either missing or ignoring the suspicious tone in Winter’s voice. “I mean, it’s definitely the Princess’ magic,” he said with a chuckle, “but she really can do some unusual things. I wonder how she pulled this one off. Some external artifact, maybe?”

“Look, uh, Cercus. I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, but you’ll probably get in trouble if anypony catches you sitting around poking at magic specifically designed to keep us from entering the stands.” Winter found that he enjoyed Cercus’ genial personality, and though they were competitors, he didn’t want to see the changeling disqualified over something dumb like this.

“Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary. While sitting here, I’ve been passed twice already by the Princess’ floating security orbs, and I’m certain they’d have intervened already had they found my behavior to fall outside the realms of propriety.” Cercus stood up as he spoke, and Winter felt an involuntary urge to take a step back. Nothing about Cercus personality indicated malice in the slightest, but his sheer bulk and impressive armor and horns were more than enough to make up for it. Winter was quite proud that he stood his ground and maintained his composure.

“Well, that’s fair then I suppose,” he said. Was that also part of the trials, trying to get through the force fields to gain some advantage? That didn’t seem right. It felt too much like cheating, which the Principles of Harmony specifically counselled against. As far as he understood it was neither honest nor kind.

“I can sense you’re still concerned.” Cercus said, frowning. “I hope it’s not because I seem untrustworthy to you, but rather that you’re worried about my well-being.”

Winter thought it was probably a little bit of both but didn’t want to say so. “I guess, I just don’t want you tossed out of the tournament,” he said lamely, “you seem like a nice fellow.”

An expression that Winter struggled to read stole over Cercus face. “Not all changelings are so quick to seek advantage through dishonest means. But as you say, you’re simply worried on my behalf, and it would be ungracious of me to flout that concern. Let me be on my way so as to ease your mind. After all, we do have a game to prepare for.”

Cercus turned and walked away from Winter, leaving the pony feeling like both an idiot and a jerk. He knew he should probably hurry after the changeling and try to explain himself, but as he’d just demonstrated, he possessed all the social tact of a rampaging bugbear. Like as not, he’d just make the whole situation worse. Maybe he could talk to him after the first trial.

He sat down and looked over the force field Cercus had been poking at. Winter hadn’t really thought about it since he asked the orb about them, but they sure did look different. All unicorn magic had a unique color signature specific to the unicorn who cast it. Princess Twilight’s was magenta, and Winter’s was gray. That didn’t mean tied off spells had to be that color. Most physical magic outside of rudimentary shields appeared the same no matter who cast it. But this was dark magic, and though he was quite sure the shields were tied off–nopony could actively maintain this much magic for this long–they seemed to be almost alive, swirling and undulating in a hypnotic way then suddenly hissing or crackling every few seconds.

He reached out a hoof to touch the force field. It felt normal at first, but after a few seconds, he could feel a numbness start creeping up his leg, as if he were actually touching something very cold that was also vibrating at high speeds. Disconcerting was an understatement.

He shook his head and stood to continue pacing but had only taken a few steps when a loud voice reverberated through the coliseum.

“Applicants, please make your way to the first floor and enter the trial grounds from the south side! Guidance orbs have been dispatched to show you the way!”

Winter felt a great roiling in his stomach. It was time.

Winter’s heart beat a million beats per second. He’d thought he was prepared for this, but he’d been wrong. This was… insane was the only word that came to mind. After the announcement had been made, he and the other applicants were herded into a large room adjacent to the first floor arcade that Winter assumed opened up into the coliseum itself. The room had been dimly lit and full of a screaming nauseating silence. One or two whispers had floated through the air, but most of the creatures present had been hyper-focused on what was about to happen and had possessed little appetite for conversation.

After everyone had been gathered and the orbs had left, the announcement voice had spoken to them again, giving them instructions. After the doors opened, the voice told them, they were to make their way to one of the many purple squares that had been painted on the grass. There were to be no more than five creatures per square, and they were advised to not congregate with any creature they were already well acquainted with.

The wide double-doors had then opened, and they’d been admitted to the field. Winter had been standing close to the doors and was one of the first creatures to enter. The bright light of the noon sun had been almost blinding but worse than that was the noise. There must have been at least a hundred thousand creatures from all across the world packed into the massive coliseum. And they were all cheering and shouting, some even jumping up and down in their seats. Fireworks were blasting from the coliseums top tier and painted the sky in vivid colors that shone brightly despite the light, and a loud fanfare of trumpets accompanied their entry.

The grounds themselves were painted like a buckball field–though easily a hundred times as big as a regular one–and in the air above the field floated a colossal and slowly rotating knot. The rope of the knot was thick enough for twenty ponies to march along it, or inside it, which seemed to be more likely, as it was all transparent and clearly hollow. It was tied so intricately that it was impossible to see exactly where the rope entered the knot, and where it came back out. It was sort of like a tangled ball of yarn... or a three dimensional labyrinth!

He’d been standing there staring for several seconds when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. It was Drill Bit, who looked just as awestruck as Winter felt.

“Go find a square!” she hissed at him before hurrying off in a different direction. Winter did as he was bid and hurried off to one of the nearby squares. They were easily identifiable against the dark grass, as they were painted in brightly glowing paint, and all seemed to be located on the south side of the giant knot.

To Winter’s surprise Cercus joined him in his square, quickly followed by Skarn. The latter grinned at his surprised expression.

“Figured it’s better to team up with someone I’ve actually spoken too,” she said. “Plus, this changeling here looks big enough to handle any other threat.”

Winter conceded to the logic of that, and Cercus nodded in agreement.

“Alternatively,” the Changeling said, “if we must battle against the others in our square, I’m at least somewhat familiar with one of them.”

Skarn chuckled, and Winter sighed. That was logical too.

“I’m Skarn,” the gargoyle said, holding out a hand for Cercus to shake. Cercus nodded graciously and took her hand with his large hoof.

“I’m Cercus, Under-Lieutenant of Hive Thorax, and it seems we’re both familiar with the good Captain here.”

It took several more minutes for the rest of the applicants to split off into squares. Winter’s group was eventually joined by a very stately looking deer with ribes draped over her brow and an unusually short parrot decked out in an excessive amount of gold jewelry.

The deer bowed deeply to the rest of them when she introduced herself. “I am Linden, Warden of the Circle, and this little one is Asterope.”

The parrot frowned at the deer. “Little one?” she asked. “I’ll have you know I’m almost as tall as that... uh, creature.” She pointed at Skarn, to which the deer chuckled. Winter thought she sounded awfully young which would account for her height but was a little disturbed by the notion of teenagers participating in the trial.

Asterope continued. “I met Linden in the visitor’s camp yesterday and thought it was probably best to stick together with someone until we knew what’s what.”

The rest of them introduced themselves as well, Skarn somewhat icily, and set to waiting for the five hundred other participants to finish splitting up.

After several more minutes a loud trumpet sounded off, and the announcement voice echoed out across the field. “Please stand and face the south end of the coliseum, as we welcome Princess Twilight Sparkle, Commander Rainbow Dash, Saint Fluttershy, and Dame Applejack.”

The coliseum grew instantly silent, as all of the spectators stood, and the applicants turned to face the large skybox above the stands on the south side. Even though the skybox was located high above the field, the interior was perfectly visible to every creature in attendance, likely through the use of magic.

The first to enter was Commander Dash. Winter could hardly believe that the pony in the skybox was the same one he'd shared drinks with just the night before. Everypony knew that Rainbow Dash was a little on the shorter side, but at that moment, she looked larger than life. Her tail, mane, and cutie mark were all glowing fiercely, more vivid and real than any actual rainbow. She was dressed in a brown leather flight jacket and wore shades that somehow seemed to match all of her colors simultaneously. Winter had expected armor or something more formal, but the casual attire did nothing to detract from her imposing presence.

She was followed by Dame Applejack, and Winter was sure he’d never seen a more physically imposing pony in his life. Some tiny part of his mind marveled that the stadium didn't tremble and shake with her every step. Every inch of her muscled body rippled with barely contained power. She wore only a simple red scarf, and–unlike Rainbow Dash, who was smiling at the crowd–her scarred face seemed perpetually stuck in a disapproving frown. Applejack's blond mane and red cutie mark were illuminated as well, but the glow looked muted compared to Rainbow Dash.

Saint Fluttershy followed right on Applejack's tail. She was smiling, but Winter thought it looked strained, like it took a considerable amount of effort. Drill Bit had told Winter one time that Fluttershy had once been a model years before either of them had been born, but as Fluttershy famously derided clothes and spent most of her time in the wild with animals, he’d dismissed it as more of Drill Bit's regular nonsense. That being said, she was certainly beautiful.

There was something warm and soothing about her as well. Just looking at her long pink mane and large cyan eyes made him relax, overcome with a desire to lie down and sleep, safe in the knowledge that he’d be fine, no matter what.

“They look so sad,” Linden said next to Winter.

“What are you talking about? They're all smiling. Well, not Dame Applejack, but the other two.” Winter furrowed his brow and tried to get a better look at their faces, but they all looked happy enough to him.

“No, look at their eyes. Those are pained eyes. I think none of them really wanted any of this.”

Any of what? The trials? Winter was about to respond but was interrupted by a loud fanfare playing the familiar tune Behold, Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Winter's breath caught in his throat, and he felt a chill creep up his spine. A darkness seemed to settle over the entire coliseum broken only by the brilliant blazing star that was Princess Twilight. Her radiance made his eyes water, and he felt his knees threaten to give out beneath him.

She entered the skybox wearing her gold regalia and a long ocean teal cape embroidered in gold thread and lined with white fur. Her eyes were white furnaces of magic held high on a proud and intelligent face, and the setting sun and all the constellations in the sky made merriment in her mane. The air around her warped and sparkled with the power of her magic, and as she took her place next to the other Elements, Winter knew with a certainty that this incredible creature was meant to rule.

And then it stopped. The darkness went away, and the magic ceased. Her eyes were just normal magenta eyes, and though she looked as regal and imposing as ever, it was just the kind of regality that accompanied age and experience. She smiled down at all of them, but Winter felt as if the smile was meant just for him, and his heart swelled with a desire to serve her and stand by her side.

“She could kill every single one of us in like a second, and I don't think she'd even break a sweat.” It was Asterope who’d spoken, and the rest of them looked down at her with shocked expressions.

“That is... probably true,” Cercus finally said, “but you shouldn’t say such things.”

Though Asterope looked a little ashamed, she didn’t back down. “It's just the truth! What the heck does she need with any of us? I mean look at all of you! You're a little too elite to just patrol the streets of Ponyville while the Princess is off fighting monsters and saving the world.”

Winter had, of course, entertained those very same thoughts, but he didn’t like hearing them repeated back at him. Skarn must have been feeling the same way because she looked livid.

“Don't question the methods of the Great Vanquisher,” she said, between clenched teeth. “You're a child, and she is a goddess!”

Winter wasn't sure he liked Skarn's definition of Princess Twilight as a goddess any more than he liked Asterope's casual comments about the Princess killing them all. He was starting to think that working with any of these strangers might turn out to be more difficult than actually fighting them, and silently he wished for the trials to not be a group effort.

“Cool your temper, Skarn.” It was Linden who spoke, and surprisingly, the gargoyle immediately backed off.

“Yes, wise one, I apologize. To you as well, uh, Asterope.” Skarn bowed her head to the little parrot and then kept her silence. Winter shook his head and tried to remain non-judgmental. The Book of Friendship spent a lot of time detailing the pitfalls of making assumptions and judging those who were different, but damn him if these foreigners weren't just the weirdest creatures he'd ever met.

Behold, Princess Twilight Sparkle stopped playing and all the creatures in the stands took their seats. The Princess and the Elements sat down on large white thrones, each engraved with their cutie mark. There were two empty thrones for the Duchess and the Prelate, as well as a much larger empty chair a little to the right and back of the Princess' throne. Likely for Lord Spike, Winter thought.

After a few moments, Princess Twilight stood back up and spoke. Her voice boomed into every corner of the coliseum. “Citizens of Equestria and beyond, welcome to Ponyville!”

Her proclamation was met by thunderous applause and roars of affirmation from the spectators. Most of the applicants remained silent, and Winter could see that many of their faces had taken on a sickly shade of green.

“We’re all thrilled,” the Princess gestured to herself and her friends, “to have so many of you with us here today. I know the journey for some of you was long and difficult. Trust me when I say that we are honored by your effort.”

Winter thought she sounded like she meant it. The Princess paused for a short moment before continuing. “As I’m sure you all know, my friends and I have worked hard for many years now to ensure the safety and stability of Equestria, and I speak for all of us when I say it’s been a blessing beyond anything we could’ve imagined when we were fillies. The world has changed much since then, and in most ways, those changes have been for the better. Equestria is less insular now than it once was, and the relationships we've formed with our neighbors continue to grow stronger as the years pass. If you ever have a chance to stop by the School of Friendship and speak to Headmare Belle I am sure she would love to tell you all about it.”

Her last comment drew chuckles from most of the locals in the crowd, but Winter wasn't sure why. He knew Headmare Belle–or Lady Belle, as most ponies referred to her–was the Duchess' younger sister, and he knew she’d presided over the School of Friendship since before Winter was born, but he’d never met her. Surprisingly, Asterope had been one of those who laughed.

“To help us better deal with this changing world, the time has come for Ponyville to establish its own regiment of the Equestrian Royal Guard. I want to assure everyone gathered here today that they have nothing to fear. This decision was made with the full support of the Council of Friendship and is not a response to any particular danger or threat. We hope, in fact, that the peacekeeping efforts of this new force will serve a primarily utilitarian purpose, one that will afford my friends and I the opportunity to focus on other much needed aspects of governance. As much as Rainbow Dash would like to deny it, bureaucracy is an unfortunate but necessary part of any functioning nation.”

Again, the Princess' comments drew laughter from many of the spectators, including Commander Dash. Princess Twilight turned her attention to the gathered applicants, and for a brief moment Winter was sure her eyes were made of ice and steel. “To you who have been chosen...” The sound of the crowd grew muted, and though the Princess still spoke, Winter could no longer hear or make sense of her words. Her eyes drilled into his soul, anchoring deep in his mind, refusing to let go. An explosion of sound and color echoed through his skull, accompanied by a voice he felt sure only he and the other applicants could hear.

“Be still. Be still and hear what I must say.” The voice clearly belonged to the Princess, but the words reverberated as if spoken in a large and empty chamber. “Evil moves against us. A dark hand reaches out to steal the light of life from these lands.” A flower appeared in his mind and began to rapidly wilt and decay. “But I have faith. I have faith in the strength of your souls and your commitment to Harmony. I know that together, there is no threat we cannot face. You are all dear to me, whether you know it or not, but at the end of these ordeals, only one hundred of you will still be standing here by my side. I expect greatness.”

Winter’s senses returned to him with a fierce suddenness that had him blinking away tears and struggling for breath. One glance at his compatriots told him they’d all experienced the same strange vision, or at least something similar. Linden and Cercus both glanced at him meaningfully, but he had no idea what they were thinking. Skarn was on her knees weeping, and Asterope looked like someone had punched her in the stomach.

“...would please turn your attention to the middle of the field the trial administrators will go over the rules for the first trial.”

Winter looked up in time to see the Princess retake her seat and lean over to whisper something to Dame Applejack, who still looked less than pleased to be present. The Dame nodded and sighed, losing some of the sourness in her face. The last thing he saw before the magnification spell vanished was the Element of Honesty leaning in and pressing her forehead against the Princess’ neck.

“I feel like a fish on dry land,” Cercus said. Winter agreed. Something was going on, something far beyond his understanding, and he felt less sure of himself than ever.

“You think it’s real then?” he asked. “What the Princess said I mean? Not just part of the trials?”

Linden was close enough to hear them both and shook her head. “No, I think whatever is happening is very serious. Serious enough for the Starchild to want to keep it from her subjects. I do not like it, but I suspected... well, it is why we are all here, after all, so we might as well pay attention.” She nodded towards the center of the field, where a purple and green dragon the size of three full-grown yaks had just landed. He was accompanied by an elderly and, by the look of his eyes, severely jaundiced unicorn with a grey coat and upside down umbrella for a cutie mark.

“Alright,” the dragon said once the applicants had all recovered and turned to face him. “I’m guessing most of you know who I am. If you don’t my name is Spike. I’ll be administrating the first trial.” Spike’s voice sounded something like a boulder smashing into another boulder, and Winter felt certain even without magical amplification everyone in the stadium would have been able to hear him just fine. “I’m not going to lie to any of you, this trial is going to be dangerous, but if you’re half as smart as Twilight seems to think you are and you listen to my instructions, Fluttershy should have very little to worry about today.”

Asterope laughed nervously. “He’s kidding, right?”

Winter was reminded of Drill Bit. Linden raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t respond.

“As you’ve all guessed already, you’ll be conducting your trial inside of that thing.” Spike pointed up at the giant floating knot. “It’s a three dimensional labyrinth made of hollow ropes. Gravity will be normalized for you, so you’ll be able to walk around inside the ropes, but they’re only transparent from the outside, so once you’re in there, you won’t be able to see out of your rope or into any adjacent ropes.” Spike held out his hand, and a small ball of light appeared above it.

“One of these is going to be assigned to each group, and it will be your only source of light. It will last for two hours, so I highly recommend you attempt to finish before then, otherwise you’ll be working in the dark.” He closed his hand and the ball disappeared. “The goal of this trial is to collect these.” He opened his hand again, and this time two small tablets appeared. One had an orange apple shaped crystal embedded in it, the other a red lightning bolt.

“There are a hundred each of these in the labyrinth, and your group needs to get one of each before you can exit. After you find your tablets, you need to bring them to the center of the labyrinth where you’ll be able to use them to exit. You’ll have three hours to complete the trial. Once that time has expired, we’ll bring you out and you’ll be disqualified.” Spike waved his hands to make the tablets disappear. So far, Winter thought it sounded fairly straight forward.

“A few more things before we get started, and this is important. First of all, only one member of your group needs to be present for the escape mechanism to work. Secondly, there’ll be a bunch of obstacles in your way. Magic puzzles, non-magic puzzles, dangerous creatures, you get the idea. If at any time you feel like you’re in actual mortal danger, place an appendage on your light orb and ask for help. You’ll be instantly teleported out of the labyrinth. This can be done on an individual basis, and only the person who asked for help and anyone they are touching will be teleported out. Also, if I or any of the Elements feel like it’s warranted, we will remove you from the trial even if you don’t ask for help.” Spike paused for a moment and looked up at the skybox. After a moment he sighed and continued.

“Lastly, and this may very well be the most important thing for you to remember, as you progress through the labyrinth, keep in mind why you’re here and what the Elements of Harmony stand for. If you find yourselves in trouble, remember that pretty much any problem can be solved with the proper application of laughter, kindness, loyalty, honesty, generosity, and of course, by working together.”

When Spike finished speaking, the grey unicorn stepped forward and let his gaze travel over the collected applicants. Winter thought he saw a mischievous glimmer in the pony’s yellow eyes, and for a second, he was sure the fellow had grinned at him specifically.

“Are you all ready?” the unicorn asked in a raspy sing-song voice. “I really hope you are, for your sake. Oh, this will be so much fun.”

Author's Note

This whole project started as a fluffy romance prompt. I never really meant for things to get so grim, or I guess start off so grim, but here we are ^^. I hope the absence of a Sad tag and the story summary gives some hints about what's to come.