North

Chapters

The Dream of Sustenance
The God in the Roof
The Harm We Have Done to Those Who Loved Us

The Dream of Sustenance

Nightmare Moon stood on the bank of a river. Beneath her hooves was bare dirt, broken with bare trees. At the edge of the water was a flat-bottomed boat with two benches built into the sides, on black water that reflected an empty sky. Beyond that was the other side of the river, the place that they called the far country, the place from which the dead did not return.

The boatman was long gone from this place. His oar and cloak were thrown over one of the benches, empty. His role in events had been consumed, when the gate had opened. (Why would there be a need to take the Neath to the far country, when the far country had come to the Neath?)

She turned around and began trotting, moving up a slope away from the river. The world around her slowly became brighter. The ground below changed from black to brown. The trees brightened from ebony shadows to mahogany, walnut, teak. The sky began to shine, like matte transforming into a black mirror. Until – until –

The light was the oil lamp on the brow of her barge. The river was gone. She was on her boat in the middle of the sea. The false-stars in the roof of the Neath were all no more. The only light was her lamp. Her superior night vision let her faintly see the walls of the Cumean Canal, at the very edge of the light of her lamp. The gate leading into the lock system was still open, as designed. She could guide her barge into it and activate the systems to bring her back to the surface, if she desired. But that would not happen for a good long while. She had work to do.

Nightmare Moon closed her eyes and reached out to dreams…

...She stood, now, up to her knees in slow brown water. Mud sucked at her hooves. The only light was orange candle flames, floating like will-o’-the-wisps that had been painted upon a great dome. Within the water floated round red shapes, bobbing and rolling. There was a buzzing like bees. The smell of rot hung in the air.

"Drowned Man!" she screamed, out into the darkness. " Drowned Man! I demand an audience!"

Silence.

"I know dreams were your home, eaten one. I remember! This is the dream of sustenance. This is what you created, after the betrayal. If there is anywhere in the land of dreams you would be, it is here! Now speak!"

No one responded. The bees buzzed, just far enough away to not be illuminated. The lights hung, unheeding.

"I bear a blessing, my sister's word! I bear the power of the Liberation of Night. You will come, and open the way!"

The only sound was the splashing of her hooves in the water as she turned.

One last try. "Now we have the wax, which is the streak beneath our skin, and the wick, which is the faith we have skeined, and..."

Nightmare Moon sensed nothing. No one was watching, or they refused to speak, or had turned away, if they had even been there.

Nightmare Moon grit her teeth. She closed her eyes and opened them again.

She was back on her barge. A waste.

Very well. Their preparations had included such a possibility. There was another method to force open the Seeking Road. It would be more difficult and more dangerous, but it would not require Mr. Eaten's sanction to go North.

She went to the back, next to the folded engine. She pressed down on a foot pedal, and the engine unfolded like an accordion, gears and pistons expanding and locking into place to form a boiler and propellers. A clever arrangement of flexible pipes allowed for the channeling of zee-water directly into the boiler. A crate of lead plates was next to the engine; she took one and magically inscribed a rune into it: an intimate understanding of the substance of flame. The rune glowed red as it was finished, and smoke began to rise from the plate. She put it into the boiler where the coal would normally go and closed it.

The use of a Correspondence plaque was not a particularly refined way to create the heat needed to run a steam engine, but there would be no coal left in any station. She needed a method that was as fuel efficient as possible.

She steamed southeast, towards Kingeater's Castle.

* * *

Kingeater's Castle stood at the end of the Sea of Statues. It had no history, no past. No one could say who had constructed it, or when, or what had happened to the builders. The statues must have been built by human hands, for it did not seem likely that the Drownies or the devils or the Rubbery Men might have carved them, but that left the question of how they had been sunk in water so deep that only their reaching hands remained above the surface, or where in the Neath someone may have built sculptures larger than a cathedral's steeple without leaving any trace of a construction site.

The castle itself was no castle at all. It was more like a theater in the round, or an arena. Rows of seats, carved from dark stone, rose in a circle around a central altar, and at the tops of the seats, the size of ships, rose five stone hearts.

Nightmare Moon tied her boat to a great stone fist at the edge of the Sea of Statues. If what she was about to attempt worked, then it would be safest to keep the boat as far from the castle as he could. She flew the rest of the way, through the arms and heads and torso that rose from the sea.

She landed next to the altar. The two braziers on each side of it still burned. Stone veins threaded along the top of the rows, intertwining the five hearts. Nothing moved. There were few powers that were left in the Neath who would witness this, but the castle was one, and she felt it watching her. Very soon, she would draw another.

"My name is Nightmare Moon," she began. “On the surface, I am the guardian of dreams and the darkness between the stars. I betrayed my sister and my people. I accepted darkness into myself. For these, I was chained to the moon for a thousand years. Now I come, one who betrayed and was betrayed in turn. I am here to open the way to the North.

“None may approach the well unless they have suffered as the Drowned Man suffered. The way North is death, and then torment. This is the law, and none may break it. When those who loved the Drowned Man went North, they embraced it. They gave of themselves willing to feed him. They were asked for seven scars, and seven chains, and seven stains, and they gave all those with joy. They gave up their pasts, they gave up their presents, and they gave up their futures. They drowned in pain as he drowned in the well. They gave the very head from their shoulders. They walked the path North, and they opened the gate, and they gave all they were to the Drowned Man.

“None may approach the well unless they have suffered as the Drowned Man suffered. This is the law, and none may break it. But I am an alicorn, and I am high in the Judgments’ Great Chain of Being, and thus I have the strength and permission to bend it.

“I will suffer, but it will not be suffering through sacrifice but suffering through struggle. I will walk the Seeking Road, but not to join the Drowned Man, but to destroy him. I go forth in opposition to him. I say this so that all will know it; let him gnash his teeth with it!

“The Seeker must bear seven stains upon their soul; I offer the one stain of becoming the Nightmare. The Seeker must place seven chains upon their mind; I give you the thousand years I was chained on the moon. The Seeker must endure seven scars; I offer one, the wound my sister gave me before I came down to the underworld. With my sister’s blessing and my own strength the rituals will accept this.

“I gave up my past, when I embraced the Nightmare. I have given up my present, when I put on her face and died on the Surface. Now it is time for me to give up my future. I dedicate my future to the destruction of the Drowned Man.

“I will walk the path North, and I will open the gate, and I will bring a final end to the Drowned Man. And the well will be silent and the candles calm, and Equestria’s dreams shall be truly her own.”

“He has closed the path to me; he knows I am coming.”

The wind blew across the surface of the castle, breaking the stillness. The flames in the braziers flickered and danced. The water around the castle moved back and forth, lapping at the land.

“Storm! I know you are listening! Once you barred the way North, before the coming of the Drowned Man. I demand that you once again open the way! I call upon the clouds and the thunder! Come to me!”

The wind came again, more urgent this time. She looked up. Something pale was moving, above her. Clouds?

"I speak the words: Now we have the wax, which is the streak beneath our skin – "

The clouds were gathering above her, carried by a suddenly stronger wind. One raindrop, then another fell.

"- and the wick, which is the faith we have skeined – "

The drizzle that had been falling increased to rain, pattering all across the castle. The flames hissed as the water hit them, but did not go out.

" - and the tinder, which is the harm we have done to those who loved us – "

The wind was howling, now. The white clouds above her were thickening, turning black. The rain redoubled to a deluge. Distant thunder rolled.

" - and the flint, which is the name, the Name, the treasure of music stilled!"

The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind screaming, threatening to drown her out. A lightning bolt came down, smashing into the sea and sending bright sparks across the surface of the roiling water. The fires on the altar flared higher, burning brighter against what was coming.

"Now," she cried, roaring to be heard above the coming storm, "it will hurt, we must render ourselves a little, there will be scars, but one more scar, what is that – "

Storm, the dragon, the ancient anger, the god in the roof, fell from the clouds. His wings were open, wide as the castle, and lightning gathered in his jaw. The rain and the thunder fell with him, a hammer coming down to crush the one who dared to demand to go North.

Nightmare Moon spread her wings and rose to face him.

Author's Note

It would be regrettably out of character here for Nightmare Moon to go point-by-point through all the facts that are going into her logic here, since the only people who would be listening ought to know them already. So for those of you who are new, the first several steps of the Seeking Mr. Eaten’s Name quest go something like this:

A little while after the quest starts, various opportunities will come up to demonstrate a little more blatantly your allegiance to the Drowned Man: things like grabbing people in the street and screaming at them to tell you what is the Name, or setting a place for him at your dinner table and having a mealtime conversation with his most probably nonexistent presence, or eating your own teeth. Once you’ve done enough of those, then in no particular order you need seven Weeping Scars (gained by killing yourself seven times in various elaborate ways), seven Memories of Chains (get sent to jail seven times), and seven Stains on your Soul (an operation which very likely does not involve the cooperation of devils). Then you need to betray seven NPCs or real human players by sending them messages that, when opened, get them started on the same quest you’re on. Pull that off, and you pick up an item that lets you move on to the next stage of the quest. The general idea seems to be that in order to travel to where Mr. Eaten currently is, you need to commit the crimes he committed and endure the punishments he endured.

Nightmare Moon has a different idea. T here's something called the Great Chain of Being, which creates tiers of supernatural ability. The higher you are on the chain, the more supernatural power and ability you can wield. Alicorns are brimming with magic, so they're probably pretty high on the chain and therefore can get away with things with doing magic rituals wrong and getting the right results anyway. In this case, instead of seven of the scars/memories/stains, she’s going to use only one of each and just skip all those steps. Probably the biggest change she's making is that instead of going North to give themselves to the Drowned Man to aid his vengeance, she's going North to kick his flank through his jaw.

There's no real information on what dragons can do in Fallen London/Sunless Sea. We know they're very powerful, but there's no detail on what kind of capabilities to expect. Probably Sunless Skies has something, but I'm writing this before Sunless Skies comes out, so I think I'll just use my author's fiat on what to include.

The God in the Roof

Nightmare Moon had the magic of a pegasus. She had the power to shape clouds and thunder, to create snow and tornados, to fly head first into a storm and tear it to wisps.

Storm had once been a dragon, like none seen in Equestria for a thousand years. He had made of himself from the living lightning. He had become born to the ice and the typhoon. He came from the High Wilderness, where his wrath was matched only by the burning stars.

Once, she might have been able to reason with him, simply ask for what she needed. But now all that was left of him was euphoria and wrath. He spoke in lightning bolts and thunder bursts and hail. She would need to speak the same.

Nightmare Moon smashed into him, through him. His storm clouds were shredded around her and as she passed they were restored. A hundred bolts of lightning speared towards her and with a beat of her wings she scattered them all. Sharp hail raked her body, and with earth pony durability it was like a thrown pebble against tempered steel. A claw formed from ice and hail formed around her, and she put on speed and was gone. When she burst through the other side of him the tunnel she had cut was already almost as if it had never been.

They stopped and turned, looking at how they had not even scratched the other.

Nightmare Moon reacted first, firing an energy beam through his body. It passed through as harmlessly as her first charge had, the rent in the clouds filling up almost immediately. He threw a chunk of hail as big as she was, and she blew it apart with another energy blast. She grabbed a portion of his cloud in her magic, trying to catch it in a bubble and dissolve it, but it beat against the bubble from the inside and rest of the clouds flowed around the bubble towards her, forcing her to abandon it. He burst a lightning bolt in front of himself, creating a thunderclap that would bleed the ears and fracture the bones of a mortal; for her it was no worse than a distant trumpet blast. She threw a cyclone, and it whirled through his body, twisting away clouds in long streaks, and when it had passed the storm had grown it all back. He screamed in her face, words of incineration and dissolution, and the air around her crisped and blackened, and the words washed over her like a summer breeze.

She flew down beneath him, leaving a trail of stardust, carving straight lines out of the falling water. It was possible to draw Correspondence runes on non-solid surfaces, and if she could summon a great flame –

Storm followed her down, a gust from the north sprinkling the air with lacre. The ammonia-like smell of it rose around her, and –

She was in the gardens around the palace, nose almost to the ground as she followed the hoofprints of her sister. Celestia had taken Luna’s favorite teacup again, the china one with the red and blue stars, and last time Luna had had to get the servants to help her find it. But not this time! She was bigger now, and smarter, and Celestia hadn’t hidden her hoofprints. She followed them around the palace maze, around a rose bush, and into a clearing. “Surprise!” said Celestia, waving. Before her was a small rollmat with a teapot and a bowl of sugar and two teacups, one Luna’s and the other Celestia’s –

No! She shook off the lacre-induced memory and instinctively dropped down lower, the world around her coming back into focus as three thunderbolts snapped like teeth through the space she had just occupied. An ice spike passed by her close enough to feel the wind of its passing on her coat, and she cast a shield bubble, letting more spikes shatter themselves against it. Below her, the sea was raging, waves bursting up ten feet high, almost to her hooves. The rune she had been drawing was blurring and fading. She rose back up, flying a zigzag path to throw off further thunderbolts, until she burst out of Storm and was in the clear air once more.

She dipped down, towards the sea. Her horn blazed, touching one of the statues. The giant shuddered, its hands shaking and its arms flexing as the Come-To-Life spell took hold. Slowly it stood, gouts of water the size of buckets running from its torsos.

A hot wind blew from the south, and she turned to look. In distance, there was an orange haze, by the moment becoming brighter and brighter. She refreshed her shield bubble. Below her, the statue began to walk towards Kingeater's Castle, each step sending waves around it.

Lightning bolts flew up from the roiling cloud mass below, seeking her. She rolled, dodging the ones that came too close. The clouds were moving up, towards her level. The bright haze was almost upon her. She pulled some air and moisture around her to create a downward gust and held it between her and the south.

The Wax-Wind reached them, burning wax flying through the air to gather around everything it touched. It splashed against her bubble and sheared off; even from within Nightmare Moon could feel the heat that could cinder a mortal's flesh from bone. The gust she had created pushed the wax that came directly at her away, towards the statue that had reached the walls of Kingeater’s Castle. It had placed one massive foot against the walls and was reaching up, searching for a handhold.

The statue slowed even further as heavy wax collected on it, but the wax lit it up, creating burning clumps and trials across its head and shoulder and arms. Hot air rose above the flames, condensing the clouds above the statue into a light drizzle. Steam rose from the wax as the water was evaporated. Nightmare Moon hovered above it; it was warm enough for sweat to start to prickle on her coat, but it kept the air around her free of clouds.

Something shifted in the air above her, and she dodged away without looking. A large sheet of hail, smooth and flat as glass, fell from the clouds above her. It landed on the statue and shattered, scattering ice all around the burning wax. The flames guttered as the cold hit them. The Wax Wind slowed, then stopped.

Nightmare She landed on the statue, cast flame upon her horn, and touched it to the statue, melting the ice and rekindling the wax. The statue stood on the top of the walls of the castle, reaching up towards the roof, through Storm, until its arms were cloaked into clouds

She moved to its shoulder and focused, pushing pegasus magic through her horn and her hooves and into the statue’s arms. Now as its arms passed through the storm the clouds parted around them and did not reform, pegasus magic dismantling the weather around. It reached out, swinging ponderous arms, the fog dissolving into clear air between its slowly closing fingers.

There was a low rumble that echoed through the air and sea, so deep it was less heard in the ears and felt more in the bones. The storm rose back up like a beast that had put a foot on a pin, jolting away from the statue. Nightmare Moon poured more magic into the status, casting a transfiguration spell to stretch out the arms and disperse more of the storm.

The air filled with the scent of ozone, building rapidly. Nightmare Moon looked up at the violently swirling stormclouds and increased the strength of her shield bubble before diving low and casting an illusion of the raging sea over herself.

She was not the target. A giant lightning bolt, like a rent of light torn out of the sky, came down on the head of the statue. The thunderbolt it brought was less sound than solid, a wall of sound that smashed into her, spinning her around.

The sea was suddenly above her, her senses thrown. A wave of heat washed over her, blossoming from where the bolt had struck. She threw her wings open and corrected on instinct, righting herself just before she slammed into the waves. Behind her, the shockwave continued on, carrying a wall of water before it, reaching up to the heads of the unanimated statues.

The statue stood still for a moment. There was a cracking sound, audible even over the storm, and a fracture appeared down the side of the statue's head, big enough to see through. It spread down, under the wax and along the torso. The statue teetered, then fell, coming to pieces along the fault line as it collapsed. The water rose thirty feet high as the pieces hit, and Nightmare Moon rose back up towards the clouds to dodge the wave.

A direct hit from that might very well only break her shield bubble instead of her. But even if it did not touch her, it would still disorient and stun her, which she could not afford. She created an illusion of herself flying off to the side before turning to her invisible mist form and drifting back towards the castle. The mist form was slower than flying with wings, but harder to notice. The cold winds of storm and small shards of hail passed through her, but in this form she could ignore the chill.

She could still see through and control her illusion, and she wove it through the spaces underneath the storm, dodging lightning and hail, at an angle leading away from the castle and her moored boat. It had no ability to weathercraft or cast magic, but it was flying towards the south, and if she could move the battlefield there Storm would need more effort to call lacre from the north and be more hesitant to call the Wax-Wind from the south.

Unfortunately, with increased distance came a slight lag in the illusion's response time. Two lightning bolts intersected the illusion's head and flank and passed straight through into the sea.

There was a moment when the storm took a breath. The rain lowered in intensity, the hail came down in pebbles instead of spikes, and the lightning was silent.

Then a great, skeletal claw, the same color as the white clouds, came down from the storm, reaching for the illusion, big enough to crush it in its grip.

It snapped shut around the illusion, the bones audibly straining together, and Nightmare Moon let the image disperse, leaving a few shreds of color to fall towards the sea before they faded. The claw opened, and then shook in rage as the storm screamed, blasting lightning and ice down like a curtain. On one of the rows at Kingeater's Castle, Nightmare Moon hunkered down, thinking, as Storm pulled the claw back into himself.

The claw had not been made from clouds. It had been solid.

There were three more statues that were close enough to the castle for her to use. Nightmare Moon partially remanifested her material form, just enough to rebuild her horn, and she cast the Come-To-Life spell on two of them. The last one she laid an illusion of itself over, and then wrapped the real statue in an invisibility spell. With another spell all of them were wreathed in flame, kept alight in the deluge through a constant expenditure of magic. The heat rose up, sending great clouds of steam billowing up into the clouds.

The wind came like a hammer-blow, hard enough to send the waves racing south. Nightmare Moon focused harder, forced more magic through her horn as the wind focused on the fire, casting long tongues of flame from the statues. She began moving the statues forward, raising their arms, burning the cloud.

All the lightning bolts stopped, leaving only the hail and the rain, and Nightmare Moon braced herself.

The overcharged lightning bolt came down right in the middle of one of the real statues’ head, and the thunder's shockwave shook Kingeater Castle's pews and sent water washing over the altar. It staggered backwards, reeling, before its head slid apart and its arms fell to pieces, plunging into the roiling seas, the sound of it lost amidst the tsunami around them. Nightmare Moon redirected the magical energy towards the remaining statue and illusion, keeping them moving forward.

There was another pause as the storm gathered its breath, and blew outwards, towards the illusion this time. It was unharmed, the lightning passing through to crackle across the lashing waves.

Nightmare Moon in her mist form flew out to meet it as it marched forward. Another bolt came down when she was halfway there, and she had to stop to fly high enough to clear the waves. But then she had entered the illusion, and using her real body she cast flames upon it, burning intensely enough to send the rain away in hissing waves. A moment later she changed back into mist, falling away.

A claw came down towards the illusion’s head as it reached the castle, and it tilted backwards to dodge the limb. Both statutes began to climb the castle just as the first one had, seeking to reach the sky.

The black clouds above stilled. The rain slowed to a haze. The wind became a breeze. The lightning lifted.

The storm twisted inward, gathering all its strength into itself. The clouds hardened into bones and the hail into scales. Lightning burned in eyes the size of ships, bright as sunlight. A claw the size of an island formed, opening. He came down legs first in the water, too big to fly in this cavern.

He stood level with the illusion and grasped it with both arms, the powerful claws passing easily through the flames to close on empty air.

She was exposed - but this was her chance. Nightmare Moon changed to her solid form as the illusion was crushed around her, and she flew straight up past Storm's teeth. He growled as she saw her, deep enough to shake the water around him, and he opened his wings, standing up straight reach after her. She darted above him, a black moth dancing over an avalanche. His claws sliced the air below her as they reached hundreds feet above the water. She turned, aimed her horn, and fired a wide beam.

The beam played across his arms and face, leaving a trail of glowing blue in its wake, and he screamed, immediately transforming back into clouds. The clouds parted around the energy beam, as intangible as they had been before, but now there was a glowing azure band like a scar across the surface of the storm. Nightmare Moon teleported just in time to avoid a volley of lightning bolts, and Storm tracked her position, a wave of bolts chasing after her.

As Nightmare Moon dodged the lightning bolts trailed off, until Storm had stopped firing. The rain slowed to a mist falling downwards. The clouds began to glow a bright electric white like the filament of a floodlight, bathing all the sea in a burning light that made it glow bright green. There was a crackling in the air like barely restrained electricity, growing louder and more urgent with every moment. The black alicorn’s shadow stood out like a smear across a painting.

Nightmare Moon transitioned to her mist form and dove for cover, gliding under an outstretched hand as the electrical buildup reached a crescendo like the cage reached its breaking point.

The world turned white as a solid wall of lightning dropped down to the sea. The roar shook the stones, churned the water like a tsunami.

The lightning faded – except now it was the sea that glowed with that same stormy light, casting visible shadows above the statues. Nightmare Moon repositioned herself onto the palm of the hand, still in her mist form.

The statues shook as the lightning shot back upwards. There was an ominous rumbling beneath her before the stone hand flaked away, the ore broken at its core by the thunder right next to it.

When the lightning has cleared, there were no more statues. The only structure left was Kingeater’s Castle, still untouched.

Her mist form would let the lightning pass through her, but it needed energy to maintain. She could not let herself be caught out in the open or she would be forced to spend magic that she needed to reserve for offense.

She changed back to her alicorn form for speed and flew, weaving back and forth to dodge more hail and lightning, until she landed on the ground of Kingeater’s Castle. There was no roof, but there was solid ground under her hooves.

Storm was forming up further away from the castle, charging more regular lightning bolts. He wouldn’t attempt the wide lightning attack again, not while it could destroy the castle. But if he stayed there, then the two of them would simply snipe at each other with beams until one of them tired, and Nightmare Moon believed that with her flesh and blood she would be exhausted first.

She cast her teleport spell, but not at herself. A moment later, she held something bright and jagged, holding it up for the dragon to see. A lightning-bolt taller than she was, made solid; Storm’s old sky-spear.

The storm paused, its clouds roiling in on itself like something drawing in a breath.

She held it higher, trying to lure him closer. Instead, he stayed in storm form and fired another lightning bolt, and she dodged to one side to avoid it. He was being more careful, now; the azure scar was burning him, curbing his rage.

Nightmare Moon focused on the spear, casting. The Want-It-Need-It spell settled over the spear, visible even at this distance.

The storm shuddered visibly. It shifted forward, then pulled itself back. Storm was resisting; she did not tempt him enough, not yet.

One more. She flew up, darting into the sky, away from the castle and its protection.

The storm approached. She danced backwards, pulling him east. He reached forward with arms of clouds, spreading towards her.

No. She needed him to be solid, and now he was too close.

She divided her magic into two points and exerted pressure on both ends of the spear. It bent, quivering, and she focused harder, pressing more –

With a blast of thunder right over her ears, the spear broke it in half. She took each half and threw them into the sea.

The storm stopped, astonished. She hovered in place, daring him.

He screamed, and he was solid again, lashing out with his claws and wings. She flew backwards, zigzagging back and forth to dodge him, and she fired.

The beam danced across his face and his belly, and he howled. But the concentration required to aim the beam had cost her. One claw found its mark, and closed around her left wing.

She screamed in pain as he crushed the wing between his claws, grinding the bone like sand. She was held aloft by her smashed wing, hoisted high as her nerves screamed red-hot at her. Below her, Storm was opening his maw, gathering lightning within.

She fought through the pain, pushing it back into the wing, clearing her head. She aimed downwards, and fired.

The beam pierced the lightning clustered in his teeth, scattering it, and tore a deep hole in the back of his neck.

His eyes grew wide as he felt the wound. He howled in pain, his wings slowing. But then his eyes narrowed, power surging over him as the wound began to close.

She was wounded, and he was ascending, and in a moment he would seize the momentum of it and destroy her.

But he was close, close enough to touch. She reached out, grabbing his claw with a hoof, and pulled –

* * *

She was lying upon leaves, scattered over dirt and grass. She opened her eyes to see trees rising above her, under a gray, cloud-covered sky.

Pain flared in her shoulder, and she hissed, drawing in a sharp breath before turning her head to look at it.

Her wing was gone. What was left was a mess of bone and muscle, the pain like a coiled mass of coals.

She had overestimated her reaction times. If she could drag an enemy like Storm into dreams she could defeat him there, but that would require physical contact to overpower his defenses. She had attempted a ranged fight first, to avoid that danger. But when she realized that she was running out of options, she had thought she could dodge him well enough to lure him close.

She grit her teeth, before slowly getting to her hooves. She would simply have to deal with it.

She stood within a forest, with a light fog about her. She knew that if she picked a direction – any direction – she would eventually find herself on a clifftop, overlooking the sea. This was the dream of what the thunder said, a place that Storm had made for himself. A long time ago, when he had still ruled the way north, there had been priests, and sacrifices.

Unlike many dreams, though, this one had an ending.

Nightmare Moon stepped in a direction that was at an orthogonal angle to “forward,” and the world spun around her. The trees and fog became a gray blur, and she kept walking until her surroundings became brown, with bright yellow points.

She was standing in an empty street upon uneven cobblestones. Pubs built from old wood and gardens made of mostly decorative fungi were around her, lit with wrought iron lamps. Above was the black cavern roof, with the occasional light of a false-star bright enough to be visible past the light pollution from the lamps. This was Veilgarden, one of the districts of London.

She did not need to waste time searching. She walked down the street towards her destination, doing her best to ignore the pain that lit up in her empty shoulder as each step jolted it. There should have been crowds, but in this dream they were only a backdrop, like the trees in a forest.

She found him in a back alley, inhabiting the body of a poet whose coat and scarf were threadbare and stained with honey and wine. He had one arm against a wall as he staggered and reeled like an aimless drunk. He looked up as she entered the alley and stared at her wildly through the poet’s eyes. “You’ll never catch me,” he said. “I am the gale, the whirlwind! I am wings! You will stay here, scurrying among the rocks and grass, while I possess the sky.”

“An interesting idea,” said Nightmare Moon. “But a strange one. Who are you, to say such things?”

“You do not know? Impossible. I am known everywhere!” He threw an arm out to encompass the world. “When the thunder rolls you hear my voice. The lightning is my sacred writ. A thousand names are mine. They raise their faces and their voices in supplication!”

“Call forth one who knows you, then,” she said.

“I shall!” he roared. He pulled himself out to the mouth of the alleyway, towards the people on the street. He pointed at one. “You! Do you hear my voice? Have you heard it roaring in your ear?”

The man he had pointed at turned, and his eyes were full of storm clouds, and they lit up with recognition like St. Elmo’s fire. He was dancing, covered in the rain that nourished him, and when he opened his mouth his tongue was lined with lightning –

Nightmare Moon gently pushed him away. She wiped the rain from his eyes, and calmed his limbs, and brought him back to the cobblestones as she filled in the blanks of the dream. The other person was a nobleman’s son, enrolled in Summerset College, here for a night that his father would not approve of. His world was one of wine and silks and occasional Surface food, imported at great expense. He had been born and raised in the Neath, and had never known rain. He recoiled at the poet’s hand, and quickly turned and hurried away.

Storm stared, his hand outstretched.

“What is this?” he said. “I command! I…it is nothing. I still control the storm! Behold! The tears and blood of the sky god!” He turned his face towards the sky. Above, clouds were gathering, a haze obscuring the false-stars and reflecting the light from the lamps. Around them, the people were starting to stop, turn their faces as well, point upwards. One drop hit the ground around them, then another, then –

A third tear ran down Storm’s cheek, to follow the other two. The clouds were slowly dispersing, and as they did so did the people watching them as the show faded away. Storm stood, his mouth open, as a fourth and fifth tear hit the ground. He slowly lifted his hand towards his face. He wiped a tear away, and stared at his wet fingertip.

“It matters not,” he finally said. “I can still touch the sky! I climb the trees, and the wind carries me away! I…” He looked around. There were no trees in this place, only lampposts and fungus.

“Here,” she said. With only one wing she could not carry him. Instead, she drew forth a cloud, tapping the pegasus magic that still coursed through the rest of her body. With her magic she picked him up – he was lighter than a human, as light as a cloud – and placed him on the cloud next to her. With both of them secured, she flew upwards, above the city.

They came to a stop when the lights of the city were as small and distant as the false stars. The lights stretched out under the cloud, constellations marking the boundaries of the Forgotten Quarter, the Stolen River, the Unterzee.

Storm’s hands dug into the cloud. He was silent.

When they had been there for several minutes, Nightmare Moon guided the cloud back down to where they had left. She helped Storm to the ground before getting off herself and letting the cloud disperse.

They stood in silence for several moments. Storm stared at the parks around them, the pubs, the ground. Occasionally he would turn his head to look at her out of the corner of her eye, where she stood silently, waiting.

“I am feeling smaller than I thought,” he finally said.

“You are exhausted,” she said. “You need rest.” She put her one wing on his back. “Come.”

She led him several streets down, to an inn in a quieter corner of Veilgarden, surrounded by bookshops. At this hour, everyone was filling themselves with wine and honey, and the bookstores were dark and silent. She skipped over paying the innkeeper, taking Storm to one of the rooms on the upper floor. An oil lamp was lit, its soft flame illuminating the table and bed. She drew back the covers, took off his shoes, and helped him into the bed before drawing the covers back over him.

“This is warm,” he murmured. His eyelids dipped, before opening again. He reached out to where she was sitting next to the bed. He grasped her leg and met her eyes.

“I still live, yes?” His hands were loose around her leg, but tense, as if he wished to grab her like a life preserver in the sea. “I will wake, when the clouds next come.”

“You will live as you always have,” she replied, brushing his forehead with the soft feathers of her remaining wing. “Now close your eyes.”

He closed his eyes.

* * *

Nightmare Moon awoke slowly. She was lying on her side on her barge, her wing splayed out under her body. The sea had mostly calmed; the ship only bobbed up and down with the last traces of the waves the battle had stirred. She tried to move, but was met with burning agony from her open shoulder. She had successfully pushed it aside while in the dream, but now that she was awake it was flaring up again, the coal-like pain lighting up again. She grit her teeth. She would not scream.

There was a great dragon’s jawbone, caught in the hands of the statue she had left the boat tied to. The teeth were as big as she. Five of her boat could fit in the open space between the ends. Not a trace of flesh remained on it. Both bone and teeth were brown as rock from age.

The dragon this had come from must have been dead for thousands of years old.

There was a medical kit, below decks. Slowly, using her remaining wing to steady herself, she climbed to her feet.

In front of her on the deck, lying on its side, was a black candle.

She needed to secure the candle. She picked it up in her magic and went downstairs, to the stateroom that had been prepared so long ago. On her desk was a bandolier in her size, made to be worn across her chest. She put it on, then put the candle into the first slot.

With the candle safe, she made her way to the bathroom and the mirror within. She lit the oil lamp, then peered into the mirror.

Six dark lines marked her, where the knives had taken of her fat to make St. Arthur's candle. The wound her sister had given her was a ragged hole on her neck. Her empty shoulder had filled in with scar tissue, shining slightly in the night. All the scars glistened gant, the color that remained when all other colors had been eaten.

The gant where her wing had been was telling. It would not grow back, not like her earth pony constitution might heal other wounds. She could not fly now. She still had pegasus magic, could still stand upon a cloud and command it to bear her, but it would be slow and ungainly. She had gone from legs to a wheelchair.

But the Seeking Road had been forced open. St. Arthur's candle was the first light in the path. There were six slots on her bandolier to hold candles. She would need seven to complete the journey North.

She would rest for a bit, then move on. The next candle would be on the west side of the sea, in London.

The Harm We Have Done to Those Who Loved Us

Ice rose around him in steep white-blue cliffs. Far above, the false-stars shone silently. The lantern at the prow starkly illuminated water black as oil, and the only sound was the lapping of water against the hull. The cold felt like it was seeping further through Bright Taper's clothes like slowly spreading ice water. His little ship drifted slowly forward, through a scene as still as a painting.

Bright Taper shivered in his jacket. He leaned on the wheel, feeling the resistance from the rudder as his boat slowly turned away from one of the icebergs. He would have never come out here, but the pay was too good. Every candle he could make, brought to up here in one big shipment, and they’d give him enough to never have to work again. He squinted into the darkness. How much furth –

The boat was thrown, rocking violently to the side with a terrifying sound of splintering wood. He grabbed the wheel, trying to hold himself upright as he looked to see what smashed into him.

A black mountain rose from the cold sea, a shadow against the ice twice as high as the ship. A red glow came from the water under it, outlining sharp black ridges spreading out from the mountain’s base.

The impact had pushed his ship away from it, and he spun the wheel frantically, trying to put more distance between him and the mountain. But it loomed larger, and for a moment, he thought the wheel wasn’t working. But the ship was turning; it was the mountain, rushing towards himself by itself.

The mountain slammed into his ship in slow motion, shattering the railing, the side. It pulled away, leaving a crescent-shape gap where the side of the ship had been crushed inward. The ship began to tilt, as water rushed into the lower decks.

No. No. Where had that come from? Why was it doing this? Already the ship was sinking below him. He needed to fix the breach before it went under – but he needed to get away from this thing or it would ram the ship again – but he needed to repair the ship before he could get away –

He stood, frozen, as the mountain turned, preparing to meet him again.

A bright light flared, almost blinding him. He threw a leg up to shield his eyes, and as his eyes adjusted he saw the shadow of the black mountain receding into the distance. He blinked, staring with his mouth open at where it had been.

Nothing moved. Even the ship seemed to have stopped taking on water. The bright orange and yellow light illuminated the ship around him. Where was it coming from?

He lifted up his hooves.

He was burning. Flames danced over his hooves, slowly moving up his legs as his coat and skin were rendered into black ash. The ash flaked away, revealing the milky white of candle wax. The smoke was rich and glorious. His mouth watered. There was no pain. He was getting smaller – no, he was melting, burning down. When the time comes we will all burn together.

He was fuel.

– – – – –

He blinked. It was dark. He blinked again, and as his eyes adjusted he recognized the familiar wooden beams of his roof. It had been a dream.

Bright Taper slipped out of bed. Outside his window the sun was only an orange line on the horizon, but he couldn’t sleep now. He went downstairs, to his candle shop. The dream hung in his mind like a cloud. He breathed in deeply, smelling the wax, the cloth. He was hungry. For what? It wasn’t the soft texture of bread, or the sweet firmness of fruit. He wanted – he wanted –

He picked up a candle and bit down. The wax parted beneath his teeth more easily than fruit. It tasted of nothing. He chewed, swallowed, and thought about the cold. One day, he would go north, and he would burn.

* * *

There was no moon in the sky, only hundreds of stars. Golden Glow was on an island, her hooves on sand. Behind her was the steady crash of the waves on a rocky beach.

Against the night sky was silhouetted a hill, with a low black shape at the top. With nothing else to do, she got up and began walking towards it. As the sand gave way to grass, the stars whispered to her in a slow, heartbeat-like rhythm. A foalhood friend she had lost track of had grown up to become a barber. One of her father’s cooks had worked an extra job cutting other ponies’ grass to pay for care for his ailing father. A pearl she had dropped and thought lost two years ago had rolled behind her vanity dresser, and she need only have the dresser moved to retrieve it.

She was part of the way up the hill now. Whatever was at the top appeared to be round. The stars’ whispers were coming faster, now. Her gardener had a batpony daughter, one he had never told his wife about. The guard who watched the garden kept a flask he wasn’t supposed to in a pocket, and he would nip from it over the course of the night. One of her butlers coveted the painting of the Everfree Forest in the gallery, the one with the moon yellow and ominous and very close. The stars winked, faster and faster. Stay away from the well. Stay away from the well. It is north under granite, and it is hungry.

She kept walking, and she could not have told you why.

She was close to the top, now. The voice she heard wasn’t the stars, not anymore. Her maid had met a pickpocket, and they planned to run away together. The maid had stood behind Golden Glow as she had opened the safe under her desk, and had memorized the code: 34-90-05. She would steal all the bits within, and the maid and her lover had agreed to leave for Manehattan in two days’ time. In one days’ time, the lover would take the bits and in the middle of the night slip out for Baltimare, leaving the maid all alone.

She had reached the top. All around her the stars were thick in the night sky, but above her they became thinner and thinner until there was only an empty void above. The round thing was clear now; it was a well, made from stone. She smelled iron. She put a hoof on the granite; it was warm with fresh blood. The maw of the well gaped at her, an open mouth. Traitors are sacred to wells. Feed it. We will feed it together.

She was water.

Her eyes snapped open in her four-poster bed. She knew where she had to go. Golden Glow got out of bed, left her bedroom, and went down her mansion stairs, her hooves silent in their velvet slippers. The moon through the windows gave her enough light to see by, and she did not light a lamp or a candle.

There. The door to her office was open, and there was a furtive glow within. Golden Glow stepped into the doorway.

Her maid was within, crouched behind her desk as she shoveled bits into a bag. She looked up as the edge of her lamp’s light caught the movement, and she froze, her eyes going as wide as plates.

Golden Glow stood there, taking it in, before she began to laugh.

They found her three weeks later, deep in the snow, on a route that took them around the Crystal Empire. The bodies of three of her servants were found in the cart she was pulling, long since dead of starvation and exposure. In an envelope close to her chest, they found secrets: her gardener’s abandoned child, her maid’s robbery attempt, the pickpocket’s lack of loyalty. Secrets enough for her to have blackmailed them into coming with her. From the way the cart was facing, they had been heading north.

* * *

The place Orange Daisy was in had no sun or moon. There was only the roof of the stone tunnel, and the indistinct black figures carrying her. A friend had betrayed her for greed. They had lured here from the sky with promises of wealth. Now all the wealth she had were the iron chains on her wings and legs. What was this place? How long had she been down here? What had happened to her daughter? She tried to speak to them, but all that came out were indistinct sounds, as if veils of silence covered her mouth and ears.

The tunnel ended in a wide room, with an altar in the center. The room was lit with fine candles on tall golden frames. Silver plates and knives ringed the altar. Around it were figures in thick robes woven and dyed as richly as birds or sunsets. Before them she felt as a pauper. They turned as she was carried in. Underneath their hoods, their eyes were sunken into their sockets and their skin was stretched thin over their hands and faces. One of them licked their lips.

They tied her to an altar, a chain for each leg. They stood over her on two legs, and they spoke indecipherable words to their fellows. One of them stepped up to the altar. In one hand they raised something that shone sharply, and she only had time to open her mouth before they brought it down into her stomach.

Treasure burst from the rent in her belly. Rings of red gold, crimson pearls, chains carved from rubies set in gold, all spurting out in a rush like someone had opened one of Princess Celestia’s vaults. The figures grabbed them in great handfuls, bringing the richness to their mouths. They got down on all fours to lap coins from the stone ground.

More of them gathered around her. They tore strips of skin from her, and the flesh turned into gold leaf as it touched their lips. They snatched garnets from her stomach, crunched them between their teeth. As they ate, the health flowed back into their bodies. Their cheeks filled out, their eyes brightened, and they glowed, lit from within with her. They cut further, opening the flesh on her chest, revealing ribs of silver. Her lungs were velvet specked with gold, parting softly beneath their knives. Finally, they came to her heart, a rose diamond from which shone a golden light. They reached out and took that from her too.

She was meat.

She woke, a taste of something like blood on her tongue. The roof spun above her. She rolled out of bed and onto her feet. She felt so terribly light, as if there was nothing in her belly. They had taken away what was precious inside her. She needed new lights, new gold, to replace what she had lost. But what did she have that was of equal value?

She stumbled up the stairs, a red haze at the edges of her vision. Her daughter was sleeping above. She would have new treasures. She would have new gold. She would have a new heart.

The guard was called after two days passed without Carnelian Blossom showing up for school. They found the house in disarray, with furniture knocked over and smashed. A single large bloodstain was found, spread across the dining table.

* * *

Celestia’s letter hadn’t had any detail in it; only a single line asking that Twilight come to Canterlot without delay. It hadn’t been hard for her to connect the dots, though. As a princess, she had access to some odd reports, things that Princess Luna had quietly had toned down in the newspapers. Four bodies found north of the Crystal Empire. A disappeared family. The most difficult had been a candlemaker who had wandered out into a marketplace, mouth smeared with wax, screaming...something.

Celestia and Luna were both waiting in the office Celestia had asked her to come to. “Twilight,” Luna said. “It is good to see you. Do you understand why we have asked you here?”

“Yes,” Twilight said.

Luna nodded. “Good.” She rose from her seat. “Time is of the essence. Shall we go to the gardens?”

They led her to a long, low building hidden behind a long hedge. It looked like nothing more than a decorative shed, the kind that were dotted around the gardens that surrounded the royal castle. Luna opened it, and Celestia and Twilight followed after her.

Inside was a tiny antechamber, just barely enough to fit all three of them. A door on the opposite wall led further in. Luna lit an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling before closing the door to the outside. Stone settled into place, and all light from the outside was blocked; the only illumination was the oil lamp. Celestia bent down to speak to her.

“Twilight, I can follow my sister through the rest of this place, but while I cam there I cannot use any magic, not even levitation. There must be no sunlight there. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Princess, what’s going on?”

“I will explain once we have finished our part in this. Come.” Luna had opened the other door while they had been speaking. A spiral staircase led further into the earth. Luna led the way, holding the oil lamp aloft. Celestia went next, and Twilight brought up the rear, her own light spell active.

After what felt like an hour of climbing, they came to a wide, round room. Metal shelves stood against the walls, full of wooden boxes darkened by age. Lamps hung from the sides of the shelves. A flat-bottomed barge with some kind of engine at the back stood in the middle of the room, on top of a circular spiral pattern cast from metal. A button on a pole rose from the metal floor next to the spiral.

As Luna approached the barge, she set her own lamp down and raised her head. Beams of light leapt from her horn, touching the lamps, and they flared to life. “Twilight,” she said. “Bring the crates down. Celestia and I must examine the contents, and then we will load them. ”

Together, Luna and Twilight took the crates off the shelves and opened them.

A jar of bright honey. A shaft of light that held a crackling tip and rumbled distantly like thunder, paired with a metal and wood tube with a trigger like a crossbow. A set of stopped jars, each with a round blue face that glowed faintly, casting the inside of their crate in cerulean light. Seven boxes crafted from gearworks and pistons, tightly closed like wound springs. Three long trunks full of tomes and binders and portfolios, all of them with preservation spells Twilight had only seen in the sections of the royal archives for books that were very old and very dangerous. All these and more passed rapidly before her; it took the other princesses only a moment to evaluate each one before instructing her to close it and place it onto the barge.

“What are all these?” she asked, as she opened a velvet bag full of black iron tokens marked a silver dagger.

“Treasures,” Luna said. “A king’s ransom. Hush. We must hurry.”

Finally, the last crate was on the barge. Luna stepped into it and stood in the center, and Celestia positioned herself in front of Luna. “Luna,” she said, and embraced her.

Luna hugged her back. “I’ll be back sister. Just be patient.”

“I will.” They let go and stepped apart again. Celestia bent her head, pointing the tip of her horn at her sister’s neck.

Princess Luna closed her eyes. She opened them again.

In her place stood Nightmare Moon, tall and proud. Her mane streamed behind her, and her armor gleamed. “Sister,” she began.

Celestia thrust her horn through Nightmare’s neck in a single stroke, until the tip came out the back of her neck.

Nightmare staggered as blood ran down her chest. She coughed, blood trickling from her mouth, her eyes wide.

Celestia stepped back, pulling her horn from Nightmare’s body. Nightmare shuddered and slowly fell to her knees, until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor of the boat. Her eyes slid closed.

Celestia lifted off and landed just outside the spiral. “Twilight,” she said. “Press the button on the pedestal. Now.”

“What – Princess – ” Twilight stammered.

“Now, Twilight.”

The tone of command of her mentor’s voice snapped Twilight from her shock. She walked to the pole next to the barge and pressed it.

The spiral under the barge irised open, revealing the water that was directly underneath it. The smell of old salt water filled the air as the barge slipped easily onto it. The water began to drain, lowering the barge deeper and deeper, until it was lost in the dark. The circle closed again, leaving them alone.

“Take the lamp, Twilight,” Celestia said. “You will have to lead us up.”

“Y-yes, Princess.” She picked up the lamp in her magic and turned towards the stairs. There was the sound of hoofsteps trotting on hard metal as Celestia came up to her.

They ascended the stairs in silence, until they reached the top. Celestia stopped Twilight before they could open the final door leading back into the daytime.

“The first thing I want to say is this: That was still Luna, there. What she must do, she must do while wearing the face of Nightmare Moon.

“I know you have questions,” she continued. “This knowledge could kill you. If I had my way you would never need to hear about this at all. But I know that if I don’t tell you, you will look it out yourself, and the consequences of that would be much worse than if I warned you now. Do you understand?”

“I…” Knowledge that could be dangerous to the one who knew it? That wasn’t logical. How would that work?

“Perhaps it would make more sense once I tell it to you. This story was old before I was born, so I don't have all the details, but I will do the best I can.”

* * *

Once, there were ten beings who called themselves the Masters. Ages ago, they had formed a pact: through their work, all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well. They ruled five cities as merchants, and kings, and gods.

There was one among them who dealt in candles and dreams. He was the one who had first brought them ownership of a city. He gave refuge to those with no other home. He fought for the sake of the small. Of all their cities he loved the second one best. One day, he gave the queen of that place something that all the Masters had agreed to hold in common, something that was not his to give. By the time they learned it was missing, it had already been used up.

To that Master, what he had done was fair and just. But where he could not hear them, the other Masters called him liar and traitor. They could not touch the queen, not anymore, but they could still punish one of their own.

As they were lied to, so they lied in turn. As they were betrayed, so they betrayed in turn. They invited him to a temple in their third city, and there they bound him in chains and gave his flesh to the people of that place. They hooked him like a fish and they carved him with knives. His soul skipped like rich blood on a griddle. They took his flesh, and his lights, and his heart. Their mouths were red and white and rich with treasure, and they gained eternal life.

Finally, when they had filled their stomachs to bursting, he still breathed. So they took him north, beyond a gate in the ice at the end of the world, and there they drowned him in a well full of tears. With the inks of the undernight they unwrote his name, and they washed the memory of him from the rest of the universe. Not even I know what he was called now.

For over a hundred years after, the rest of the Masters ruled as their always had. They split their lost Master's portfolio among themselves, and they quietly removed any proof of his existence that they found. The cities never knew there had been another Master.

But beneath their notice, hidden by the same craft they had used to erase the lost Master, lights were stirring. In the wicker of a candle-flame, in the stir of still water, in the soft tick of hours before dawn, there was a voice, and if you listened it would ask. The voice’s name had been unwritten, so those who heard him called him Mr. Eaten, the Drowned Man, the Name That Devours. He was not a god, for he came from the north, where it was too cold for gods. They would feast on candles and secrets and still-living flesh, rich and red, and they would not feast alone. Traitors were sacred to him, and to whisper his tale in other’s ears was the greatest betrayal of all. They would light fires, his candles, his mark. The Masters had wanted him forgotten; he will not be forgotten. The wax is his flesh. The flame is his eye. The due will be paid.

They would blacken their minds like paper, they would put stains upon their soul, they would never again dream without a cell, a shackle, a bar, a cage. They mourned him; they would give voice to his hatred. The wells spoke with his voice. A terrible bargain had been made in a far dry place, and all water remembered because all water was something that was once well-water. They would spread their red word of him, and those words would be seeds that sprouted, further and further, until they could no longer be forgotten. There was a gate in the north, where a pale light had begun and a drowned light had ended. They would go North, where the white waits and the gate sails. They would go North, and they would burn like a candle. They would go North, and his Name would be spoken once more. They would go North, and they would open the gate, and his pain would be more ambitiously distributed, and nothing at all would be well.

A reckoning is not to be postponed indefinitely. Not forever. Not in the end. Not for long.

* * *

As Twilight and Celestia spoke, far below the events they had set in motion began their work.

The ancient mechanisms, carved from imperishable stone and set with runes of preservation so that on a day like this they would still turn, creaked and groan as they ground to life. Nightmare Moon’s barge passed through what thousands of years ago mortals had called the Cumean Canal. Water flowed downward, guided by lock after lock, miles beneath the surface, until the last gate opened, and the boat was borne into a sunless sea.

(It was said, in the days of the sun before Celestia's sun, that this was the place where the earth hid her sins.)

Nightmare Moon opened her eyes.

Author's Note

Something like half of Celestia’s story is various bits of the actual Seeking Mr. Eaten’s Name storyline from Fallen London chopped up into a narrative format. Considering the way that storyline uses arc words and raving madness, I decided this was acceptable. North under granite.

I considered using that screaming candle picture from Sunless Sea for a bit, but I decided that the story description, tags, and chapter titles looked evil enough already.

The developers of Fallen London have politely requested that nobody spoil the ending to the Seeking Mr. Eaten’s Name storyline. I have no plans to do so. What happens in this story will be based on my theories on what that end will be like, based on playing an alt character right up (but not past) the King of Ways in the Seeking storyline, having played plenty of Fallen London and Sunless Sea, and using the barest scraps of Sunless Skies lore. Some of you may be disappointed. But perhaps others knew this already. After all, going North will profit you nothing. You were warned.