They left us.
Those who flew above the sky. Those who never wondered why. Those who knew they’d one day die. Those who kissed what is goodbye. But who never really missed it.
Them. They left us.
And what is Equestria without them? Nothing so terrible. The forests are still green and the fields are still golden. The towns are still quaint and the cities are still beautiful. Ponies are still happy. They play and they work and they party together, and they think that, life is good.
But they don’t wonder if it might be otherwise.
Starlight was one of the first to go.
Such an impassioned rant to which she’d launched. “Twilight!” she cried. “We can create a perfect society. Equal, but without oppression, unbroken, but with individuality. Where the strength of one does not equate to the weakness of another.”
Such plans she had, for spells that let ponies use each other's magical talents, for schools that could teach every unicorn to be a wizard, for academies that could make every pegasus an ace, for machines that would free earth ponies from manual labor.
“That’s nice, Starlight,” Twilight said, and she sipped her tea and read the morning paper. Rants like these were not so unusual from her often-troubled apprentice. Her head was in the sky.
“Fine,” Starlight snapped, gathering up her charts and graphs and little balsa-wood models. “If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll go find somepony who does.”
“Mmmhmm. Good luck.” Twilight waved with her mug as Starlight stormed out. She slammed the door behind her, and was never seen again.
But did Starlight not often vanish, sometimes for weeks at a time? She’d been gone for days when the next creature disappeared, and nopony was yet alarmed.
Gallus rounded a corner. “Headmaster Twi... uh.” He caught himself. “Your Royal Highness, ruler of Equestria, Twilight.”
“Just Twilight is fine,” she smiled. “Did you need something?”
“Check it out!” In a flash of green light, he transformed into a perfect mirror of Twilight. Then of Rainbow Dash. Then of Smolder.
“Oh, hello, Ocellus.” Twilight offered a nod. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize it was you. You know you really shouldn’t impersonate creatures like that.”
“No no. It’s Gallus.” In another green flash, Gallus transformed back into himself. “I realized there’s a way for any creature to learn changeling magic.”
“You’re putting me on.” Twilight smiled. “Is this a prank?”
“No, I’m…” Gallus paused. “I’m serious.”
“Okay.” She played along, her tone gently humoring. “How did you come by this amazing discovery?”
“We were… all of us, that is,” he pointed every which way, “studying the magic of friendship. A lesson about empathy, and seeing things from the perspective of others. And I thought, I don’t really know what the world is like for a dragon. Or a diamond dog, or a mare. And I thought, wouldn’t it be cool to be able to see things that way? To actually know what somepony else’s life is like? And there was that magical… friendship rainbow thing.”
In a flash of green, he transformed into Rarity. “And now I can do this! Cool right?”
“So, Gallus really wants to know what life is like as a mare?”
On Rarity’s white cheeks, the red flush stood out clearly. Her ears folded back, and her tail tucked between her legs. Humiliation was written upon her every feature. And in a green flash, she turned into Ocellus.
“Ha ha, you got me,” she snapped, before storming off.
“I was just asking!” Twilight called. “I didn’t mean to…” But they were out of earshot.
Later, Twilight ran into Ocellus, who had no memory of their conversation. Gallus was not seen again.
Scootaloo had gone mad, they said. Well, her friends didn’t say that. But her friends would support her no matter what.
She had gone to Zecora, and from her received the secrets of a potion that could make wood as hard as steel. Harder than steel. “Strength flows not from saw or mill; but from the builder’s strength of will,” she said.
And from twigs that never bent or broke, she built a tower. First a play tower, then a modest structure, then a small home. Then, a staircase. A spiral staircase that looped in around itself, made from the treated wood of the Everfree Forest, one twig at a time.
“A ladder to Cloudsdale,” she said. “So I can visit without help.” And ponies laughed, until the tower exceeded fifteen stories, and still showed no signs of tumbling.
One day, Celestia came to Ponyville to see Twilight, and saw the tower in the distance. At Celestia’s request, they investigated, and they found Scootaloo at the bottom with a little pile of twigs. She dipped them one at a time in a cereal bowl she had filled with Zecora’s bubbling liquid.
“A tremendous achievement,” Celestia said.
“You’re so bright,” Twilight agreed.
“But I’m afraid it needs to come down,” Celestia finished. And Scootaloo demanded to know why.
“It is unsightly,” Celestia explained. “If your will were to falter, or if Zecora’s magic should fail, the tower could fall on Ponyville and cause great injury. It would get in the way of passing cloud homes. It would increase earth pony and unicorn tourism in Cloudsdale -- which in turn, equates to more uncautious ponies falling to their deaths every year. And it is useless. You can get a pegasus friend to fly you to Cloudsdale any day, can you not?”
“I don’t want to get a friend to fly me to Cloudsdale,” Scootaloo snapped, her little crippled wings buzzing behind her. “I want to walk there on my own four legs.”
“Why?” Celestia asked.
“Because nopony has ever done it before.”
And Celestia smiled her beatific smile, and said, “You are a brave and heroic creature, my little pony, but that is not reason enough to endanger my other subjects so. Sometimes, we must give up a little of what we want, so that everypony around us can be happy.”
Scootaloo argued. She ranted and raved, screamed and cried, but Celestia would not be moved. She extracted a promise, that the tower would come down that night.
And so, after Twilight and Celestia were gone and the sun had set, Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo set the tower on fire. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom hugged their friend.
And by the time the fire brigade arrived, Scootaloo was gone.
Rainbow Dash was one of the last to go. By then, Equestria was in a panic.
Trixie was sobbing that Starlight had left her. The school was in lockdown, for the number of students who had vanished into thin air. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle could say nothing about where Scootaloo had gone, only that, “she left,” and that they did not think she would be back soon.
“Twilight,” she said, “I want to fly to space.”
Twilight stared at her—furrowed her brow and peaked her ears. “I don’t think this is the time for that.”
“Time Turner said it should be possible.” She lifted a bundle of equipment she’d been carrying over her back. “He made a special flight suit that should withstand extreme cold and low pressure. And a breath mask, so I can… breath. Breathe? Yeah, breathe.”
“Rainbow, ponies and creatures are disappearing and we don’t know why.” She shook her head. “We really need to focus on the problem in front of us.”
“There’s always a problem in front of us. I want to fly to space.” She fiddled with her special flight suit a moment. It looked bulky, made from hardened plates and thick fabric. “The problem is, as I get higher and the air gets thin, my wings will become less effective. I need a speed boost of about a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour to make the last leg. I was thinking you could come up with a spell.”
“No, Rainbow.” Twilight sighed. “I get it. You like flying or whatever, and space is the best flying. But how can I justify spending time on things up in space when we have very real problems down here on the ground?”
Rainbow swallowed. Her wings flapped awkwardly. “I don’t understand.”
“Why do you want to go to space so bad?”
“Because it’s there.”
“Rainbow!” Twilight hissed, drawing a hoof down over her face. “Do you really think, in the middle of a crisis, that’s a good enough reason?”
“It’s the only reason,” Rainbow said. “I mean. It’s the only reason that matters. Life can be good or life can be bad. Ponies can be happy or miserable or whatever. But I’ll always be the first pony who went to space.”
“You think you going to space matters more than the happiness of everypony else in Equestria?”
Twilight’s tone made the intended answer sufficiently clear that Rainbow did not dare contradict her, but nor would she lie to her friend, and so she said nothing. “What if you die?” Twilight pressed. “High flying like that is extremely dangerous.”
“It would be safer if you’d help me.”
“No, Rainbow,” Twilight snapped. “I know you’re a pegasus, but get your head out of the clouds. We have real problems.”
When it was time for Rainbow’s flight, only a half-dozen ponies came to see her off: the unicorns who made her flight suit, the earth ponies who made her mask, and one pegasus who wanted to be her. Not Scootaloo. She hadn’t returned. But Rainbow went off without her.
From her castle, Twilight saw a blue streak ascend into the heavens. A brilliant, circular rainbow radiated around her as she entered the last stage of her ascent. Then the rainbow faded, and the blue streak became a white streak. Then a white dot.
A new star appeared in the sky.
Then, that star faded away into nothing, and seconds later, all the other stars faded with it, and Equestria’s sky was black.
And what is Equestria without them? Nothing so terrible.
The forests are still green and the fields are still golden. There are many ponies who appreciate them, who work in them, who take pride in how friendly they have become. There are no ponies who wonder what might be there instead of forests and fields.
The towns are still quaint and the cities are still beautiful. They don’t change much. Neighborhoods remain unaltered for decades and houses stand for centuries. The cities have character, ponies say, like they were living creatures. Nopony starts protests or social movements or drones on about public transportation. And if the sewers overflow sometimes, that’s just life.
It doesn’t happen often.
Ponies are still happy. They play and they work and the party together, and they think that, life is good. Life is better, even, without anypony to drone on about social justice or utopian theory or class warfare or heroic deeds or the honor of the nation. What good did that ever do?
Equestria is simpler, without the stars. The day is bright and the night is dark.
And it will stay that way forever.
