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.