“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.