Eternity rolled onward.
Amidst an empty plain, barren of all but the tiniest of landmarks, insignificant against the darkened, dust-swept horizon, a collection of figures walked alone. One led, whilst the others followed, two directly behind and several more at a distance.
It was unclear how long this arrangement had been in place, and if anypony else had existed even remotely nearby to ask, even the leading three themselves might have needed pause before they could truly say for sure. In the eternal twilight, excepting their own means of tracking it, time had long since ceased to have any true meaning bar telling them when to sleep and rise.
The wasteland stretched forever, or at least seemed to. Each hoof-step felt like the last, and with horizons as empty as they had been for many moons (though that phrase too held little meaning out here), the world had become an endless void consisting of nothing but the sky and the ground. Two colours, one dark and one pale, locked together in perfect parallel, half of existence ceded to each, only halted by the occasional wind-blown dune, breaking rock or smattering of distant stars.
Stars that hadn’t moved or shifted for as long as the trio and duo had walked.
Soon, from sense alone, as no knowledge of astronomy was likely to be of help, the group felt they might rest, but knew whatever camp they made would seem, to them, identical to the one they had departed from earlier in what passed for the morning. One would expect, under such repetition, any creature, no matter how hardy, might lose their mind, and perhaps they had, in some ways. No-one who came out here of their own free will, even with sound reasons, was truly sane to begin with, though perhaps it was more polite to say that such an endeavour required a certain spark to endure, rather than anything and rough around the edges as outright insanity.
Or maybe insanity really was the order of the day, which might have explained why the idea of turning around hadn’t been a legitimate thought in any of their minds for longer than could be recalled. But after coming so far, perhaps that was to be expected.
“How much further?”
“Not far.”
These back and forth exchanges, short and to the point, had become common place now. With little to focus on and talk about beyond their goal, there wasn’t much to say. There had been a time, once, when their collective, at all hours, would’ve been sharing jokes and recounting stories, but those times had largely passed now. Almost all matters had been resolved amongst them, and whilst these moments were not completely lost to time, it took considerable effort to come up with something altogether new, especially when the need for sleep clawed at them all so desperately.
And more to the point, the last time someone had broached the thought of playing I-Spy, they’d been met with more than a few eyebrows raised. That game, among others, had gotten old impressively quickly.
Abruptly, the leader halted, lifting a hoof in pause. Her eyes darted around, as if judging something only she could see. Quite a feat in the present environment. Eventually, however, she nodded.
“Here.”
Something resembling fatigue-tinged relief washed across the group, an audible breath let out among all present. This was to be their stop for the ‘day’. It couldn’t have come soon enough, bodies collapsing limply enough to throw up a minor dust cloud. Some sought comfort in others, whilst others still merely sat and rested aching appendages, worn out from the distance travelled.
After a time, though, with learned synchronicity, they rose again.
A spark lit the area, fire igniting and spreading warmth to those nearby, though the magic that had brought it forth was barely a replacement for a fire stoked with wood or coals, such resources scarce, if at all existent, out here. In the light of the embers, they made camp, blankets and belongings unpacked with a very nearly practised rhythm, repeated a hundred or even a thousand times before, but with no less heart or value than it ever had, despite how robotic it seemed. Each article was a treasured memory, a piece of the world that proved the truth of all they had been through together, memoirs and heirlooms from every port of call.
Amongst all in the world, it could be agreed, had anyone been able to witness, that few things could match their collected experiences as a group in any manner, be that diversity or value, though much of that could be said to be sentimental.
Between the fellows, now, idle chatter at last began to spring up. Pleasantries and assurances that, whilst no less overused, would undoubtedly never grow stale, even as every new step drove them deeper into lands from which return was not only impossible, but unthinkable.
In time, food and drink emerged, shared between the group sparingly. Small pickings, rationed carefully, but enough to keep them going until they next made camp. They could only really think about the next day, anything beyond leading to… uncomfortable truths, best left seldom touched on.
Their supplies would last a week’s length more, at most. After that…
Again, best left untouched, for the time being.
The leader coughed, drawing the party’s attention as their meal of scraps was finished. For a moment, she frowned, as if thinking, hoof brushing through the dust with idle motions. Then, she managed a smile, and spoke.
The words were unimportant, at the end of it. They had been spoken, either in variation or identically, on many ‘evenings’ before this, and would hopefully be spoken on more to follow, if all went to plan. What did matter, though, was the message; that of hope and determination, to keep going even when their goal seemed both unreachable and mythical. To stay as friends, as family, to the end. One band of sisters and brothers, bonds forged by many an adventure, now on the final stretch of their epic, no matter how desolate and impossible said stretch appeared to be.
Take each day as it comes, support each other as they had so many times before, and one day they would find their destination, as many sought out in life, there at the end.
At the edge.
The group rallied, and there was a loud, if somewhat tired, cheer of approval among them. With a degree of satisfaction, the leader loosened up, sliding off her hooves and beneath a blanket, another warm body resting beside her in comfort.
And yet the abyss of sleep did not claim her.
Sighing faintly to herself as those around her slumbered, the leader slowly and carefully rose from beside her other, taking light footsteps to the edge of the camp, in need of space to think.
They had come so far, travelled for so long. She didn’t regret any of it, not for a moment, of course. Even with her early doubts, so distant in the past now, she’d always known this was the right choice, where she was meant to be, no matter how hard it had become or the divides that had sometimes come between their group along the way. None of that had changed anything.
What she felt now, then, and what was preventing her from resting, was perhaps instead fear. Not of the past, or even of her own resolve not quite being enough, but of the end that was to come. It was all she had looked ahead to for so long, with all it held for her, not the mention the others that walked with her. Maybe she was scared, then, that all these things wouldn’t come.
But this was nothing new. Moments like this had become increasingly common the closer the edge felt, and she could surely chalk it up to anticipation, and the worry of disappointment. It didn’t bear that much thought, though, so it was easily pushed away.
Then, of course, there was the other matter.
The leader’s eyes, which had unconsciously drifted towards tomorrow’s route (if it could even be called that), looked the other way, where the prints of their day’s travel were all but completely swallowed up by the dust, shifting winds erasing any trace. What she saw, however, beyond that, was of greater interest.
Distant, barely visible on the horizon, was a single glimmer of light, similar in colouration to their own fire, yet so many tens of miles away from where they stood and slept, no doubt close to where they had risen from.
The leader’s eyes narrowed at the sight, knowing that, as she stared backward, another pair of eyes, ones far fiercer and angrier than her own, glared forward at her flame in equal measure, plotting hatefully as the distance between them drew shorter, if only by the barest amount, with each cycle enacted.
If their group was the spark, their pursuer, possibly even considered a stalker depending on your personal definition of the word, could be considered truly insane.
Of course, it hadn’t taken the journey to reveal that fact, and the revenge driven individual that had chased them for so long had clearly been of that persuasion even before their gaze had fallen upon the leader and her expedition.
Another reason to keep moving, if one did exist.
The leader closed her eyes, letting out a deep and sudden yawn, before turning tail and slowly trudging back to the campfire, now beginning to dwindle, tiredness beginning to take her as her thoughts were organized. Settling down again, she let herself drift off.
She would need as much sleep as she could afford, as with every waking walk, striking the balance between staying ahead of danger and not driving her friends into the dust through exhaustion.
These were problems for ‘tomorrow’, though, and right now, all she needed was the warmth by her side.
The plains grew silent of thought and action, fire reduced to embers as the wind continued to sweep evenly across the untold vastness, whipping up the occasional flickering particle clouds amidst the group who, amongst all their hopes, were close to the ending they had long sought. Maybe it wasn’t close in terms of miles, or not to the degree one would like, but soon enough, they would be there, and all questions for which answers had been desired, would be given freely.
But for every ending, there is a beginning.
Eternity rolled onward.
“There’s something to be said for pilgrimage. A great journey to a distant destination in order to find the truth of one’s self.
For some, this distance might merely be metaphorical. A description of where they are in comparison to where they want to be in life. For others, the journey is quite literal, and at the end they might hope to find a great prize that will enrich their life in ways nothing ordinary possibly could, be that knowledge, power or something more conceptual in nature.
Then, of course, there are those for whom such a journey carries both meanings at once, though these ponies, I have found, are often few and far between, but are always a breath of fresh air. Maybe that’s just a product of the age we live in, though. Under the hoof of a tyrant for so long that we’ve very nearly forgotten what it means to seek the light.
Perhaps, one day in the times to come, when our three kinds have set aside the petty squabbles that have divided us in the vacuum left behind by our dark oppressor’s defeat, we will see this light once more, and yet more of us will seek pilgrimage to find answers to those burning questions, both here in our sphere of influence and in the uncharted lands that lie beyond.
It may take an age, but I do believe this may happen. Personally, I hope to live long enough to see it.”
– Extract from a journal written by an unknown pony scholar, shortly after the Fall of Grogar. Sometimes accredited to Gusty the Great or a young Celestia, though no evidence exists for either.
“Mama?”
“Yes, my little moon?”
“Read me a story.”
“Read me a story…?”
“Please?”
“But aren’t you sleepy?”
“Can’t sleep. No story.”
“Well… Would a story help you sleep?”
“…maybe…”
“Well, then I suppose I have no choice but to read to you, hm?”
“Nope.”
“Well in that case, would you like to hear a new story?”
“Okay!”
“I think you’ll love this one. It was a favourite of mine when I was your age. Are you ready?”
“Yeah!”
“Then I’ll begin…
Once upon a time, there was a majestic pony princess, loved and praised by all.
Everywhere she went, creatures from all walks of life would become her friends. That was her gift, you see, for whilst once she had been incredibly lonely, she had the learned the value of friendship and the happiness it brought.
Though she had many friends, however, she had six best friends, who stood by her no matter what. These creatures trotted from all walks of life, and though they bickered at times, as all friends do now and then, their bonds were unbreakable.”
“Like you and Papa, Mama?”
“In some ways, my little moon…
Together, these friends, even before the princess had been royalty, had been on lots and lots of amazing adventures together. Some were scary, and there had been both happy times and sad times. Good times and bad times. But together, they saw them all through together.
But as time went on, many of the princess’s friends left.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“It wasn’t, no, but they couldn’t help it. You see, they had to… um… to go on a long trip.”
“A trip?”
“Yes, a… a trip.
It wasn’t a trip to the gardens like you and me would go on, though, and the princess couldn’t follow them to the place they were going. She had to stay, because she was a princess, and she ruled over a kingdom. She loved all her friends, but she couldn’t leave, as she’d made a promise when she became a princess. One that would last almost forever.”
“So… so she was all alone?”
“Not entirely, little one.
Her best friends still stayed by her side, and one of them had even promised to stay with her for a very long time, because he was a dragon, and he wouldn’t have to make the trip as soon as everyone else.
Her other best friends, though, were all ponies like her, and though they had time left still, the day they would have to leave her was getting closer. So, before that, they all decided to have one last adventure together, and travel to the end of the world.”
“Did the princess go with them?”
“For a little while, yes, but she couldn’t leave her kingdom alone.”
“Aw…”
“She walked with her friends as long as she could. They laughed, cried, and for a while it was like it had always been. Soon, though, the princess had to turn back, and her friends went on without her. But before they did, though, she made them another promise. That one day she would follow them, and they’d finish their last adventure together.”
“Did they?”
“Don’t fret, my little moon. It took a long time, but she kept her promise because, one day, her kingdom didn’t need her anymore. She’d worked for a very long time, and now her little ponies were strong enough that she could leave without being afraid that something would happen to them.
So, with a smile in her heart, she left, the dragon and another princess, who had once been her teacher, joining her. Chasing the best friends she’d ever had, she walked into the secret places outside of her kingdom, where their last adventure would reunite them.”
With a sigh and smile of her own, the mother set the book aside, lightly shifting it closed with a brush of magic before placing it on a nearby shelf. Turning back, she was met with the wide of eyes of a little filly, transfixed.
“Is that the end?” her daughter asked in anticipation, utterly captivated by the tale.
“This one doesn’t have an ending, really. Some say they’re still out there, adventuring together.” the parent tittered at her child’s look of disbelief. “But I know you like mysteries, so tell me.” She leaned forward. “What do you think happened to the princess?”
The small child seemed to pause at this, genuinely thinking the matter over for a few seconds, before she grinned cheekily, answering in a tone only a child could really get away with.
“Don’t know.” She stuck out her tongue. “But I wanna.”
“Well, nobody knows for sure since they never came back, but there’s been lots of ideas. I’m sure you could find out some of them if you asked the right ponies.”
“Maybe…” her daughter muttered faintly, thinking once more, though her grin returned quickly, and she abruptly sprung to her hooves, bed covers thrown slightly askew by the motion as she thrust a limb forward with purpose. “Or maybe I’ll go out there when I’m older and find out myself!”
“Oh?” the mother hummed with a degree of humour. “Should I pack you a lunch for that?”
“Three lunches.” The filly beamed. “Two for you and Papa too, so we can go and find the princess together!”
“Well, okay.” The elder mare nodded. “But if you went on your own you could send us letters about all the cool things you’d see.”
“Oh…” the younger of the pair intoned, face thoughtful with possibilities. “I could do that.”
“I’m sure you could, sweetie.”
“I’ll be an explorer! Like Daring Do!”
“Those dusty old books?”
“Mama.” the light jab got an annoyed pout of warning in return. “Daring Do is cool.”
“But Daring Do isn’t real.”
Her daughter’s eyes became dinner plates, the reality sinking in despite her earlier comments.
“The princess is real?!”
“Oh, definitely.” Mama lifted the blankets, pulling them up over her bright-eyed joy. “But I don’t think she’d want little fillies to stay awake all night thinking about her.”
“I- I won’t, I’ll…” the fledgling began, but was cut off by the call of sleep, a great and powerful yawn escaping her throat. Already, despite apparently being wide awake only moments before, she seemed drowsy, youthful energy no longer able to fend off the need for rest. “…I’ll sleep… and… and then…”
She was cut off by a tender kiss on her forehead, and, with a small, happy noise, she drifted into slumber. Tucking her in carefully, her mother smiled, before stepping away to the door. Looking back at her little moon, her smile only widened.
“I hope you do write home.”
With that, the door swung shut, the bedroom falling dark and silent, save for the distant sound of two voices talking, echoing upward from downstairs. The filly lay content, resting deep sleep.
All was still.
BANG BANG
A noise, not unlike a heavy impact, momentarily shook the room. The filly shifted uncomfortably in her sleep, but quickly settled, relative silence returning.
BANG BANG BANG
The noise insisted, and the young foal whimpered, eyes screwed shut tightly, wrestled unceremoniously from her sleep.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG
With an intrusive drone, the door swung open, and the filly spun out of bed with a yelp of alarm, as the floor rose up to greet her—
CRASH
Crescent’s eyes abruptly jerked open as the feeling of slamming sideways into the floor of her room rocked through her entire being, head bouncing off the thick planks with a reverberation that sent a splitting pain through her skull.
“Ngh!” the unicorn mare grunted in pain, lying there for a moment, tense, before she took a deep breath, letting the tension out. Slowly, she sat up on her haunches, leaning against the side of her bed for support as she let the assorted aches fade, though the light bruises forming beneath her fur were another matter, even if the dark grey colour concealed them well enough.
She couldn’t probably walk them off. She was more shaken than anything else, really. Random banging interrupting a perfectly nice dream was… not pleasant, to say the least, she mused unhappily.
…at which point it occurred to her that she could still hear said banging, and at quite a considerable pace at that, coming from the next room. The front door probably. But it wasn’t even fully light yet, so who would even be…?
Crescent paused, then grumbled, eyes beginning to roll before a throbbing stab made her wince away from doing so. Naturally, there was only one stallion with the sheer audacity, and knowledge that she’d eventually let it go, to dare calling on her at this hour.
He wasn’t usually this persistent, though.
“Of course. Lovely.” She grit her teeth, rising slowly and stumbling forward a little, walking quickly getting easier as she found her balance. “Damnit, Thunder…”
Said name lived up to itself, as the loud knocking persisted continuously even as Crescent stalked gradually over to the minor porch the layout of her somewhat upscale quarters allowed, hooves not all that silent against the well-tested, hard floorboards, ignorant or uncaring at the headache and grogginess it wasn’t helping.
Reaching the entranceway, Crescent took a deep breath, briefly considered smiling before instead deciding her ire had been well-earned instead, then suddenly grasped the door handle, pulling the door open with an intentionally violent motion.
It was a credit to the motor control of the individual on the other side that, rather than tumbling forward mid-knock, they merely flailed in the air for a short second before dropping back to standing.
Crescent stared her visitor down for an uncomfortably number of seconds, then, pushing yellow-ish golden locks away from purple eyes, sighed audibly. The visitor raised an eyebrow, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck, and generally just overall seeming a little sheepish.
“…too early?"
“A little, Thunder.” Crescent looked at the tanned red pegasus, nominally her closest friend (though at this moment he really was testing the limits of just how far that went), with some disdain, apparently for long enough that Thunder Gust decided to wing it briskly inside, giving her still sleep deprived mind little time to make her dart out of the way. It was luck that she just missed his motoring appendages as she whipped the door shut out of surprised impulse, another familiar bang filling her skull with immediate regret. She furrowed her brow at this, scowling lightly at her guest. “Sure, come on it.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Thunder shook his head, smiling despite the intrusion. “Just had to dash over to talk, you know.”
“At seven o’clock in the morning. On a Saturday.”
“Well… yeah.” Her friend replied, shrugging and grinning like that was perfectly normal.
Crescent drew in another deep breath.
“Okay, Thunder Gust.” There was an edge to her tone that seemed to give the flier pause, expression faltering visibly. “You have precisely five words to explain to me why I shouldn’t shout at you for waking me up and causing me to hit my head falling out of bed.”
There was a pause in the room, Thunder’s face screwing up as he thought. Crescent could practically hear the cogs slowly turning.
“I came to congratulate you.”
That, though… That was a little unexpected.
“…Congratulate me?” Almost immediately, Crescent’s drowsiness evaporated, the mare blinking in confusion.
“I mean, yeah. What else was I going to do? Tell you it’s all awful and that every-creature hates it?” Thunder rolled his eyes, smile still wide. “Come on, Cres. Like I wasn’t going to bolt over here and embarrass you.”
“Thunder--?”
“Besides,” the high flier persisted boldly, pacing around the room with a continual grin, heedless of his host’s protests. “You know I don’t really get most of the stuff you do. Too wordy for me.” He gagged a little, though it was largely for effect. “But even I can tell this thing’s a big deal.”
“Thunder, what are--?”
“And yeah, I guess you said you like to sleep in but come on. Of all times--”
“THUNDER!”
The babbling pegasus yelped in surprise at his friend’s exasperated shout, glancing over to find annoyance and continued lack of understanding being glared into him. Slowly, Crescent drew in a breath.
“What, pray tell,” she growled, “are you yammering about?”
“I…” Thunder began, before his eyes narrowed at Crescent, however briefly, then shot wide open, surprised realisation crossing his features. Slowly, he relaxed, his more charged demeanour giving way to something a little softer. “…you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No, Thunder, I do not.” The scholar of the pair creased her brow, gaze twitching ever so slightly as she stepped past him to the kitchenette built into the corner of her domicile, magic brushing over the various knobs on the stove, a subsequent spark of energy sending a faint flame flickering across the top. “And honestly, I doubt I’ll be able to care on an empty stomach, so if you’ll excuse me…”
“Come on.” Her friend pleaded, closing step behind Crescent. “I thought you knew. It really is good news, just so you know.”
For a moment, the unicorn paused, glancing between the hob and Thunder repeatedly, turning over the options in her mind, deducing the factors in play.
Eventually, she sighed in defeat.
“Fine.” She answered shortly, staring the news bearer down. “But this had better be worth postponing breakfast for.”
“It is, trust me.” Her friend assured with a warm nod, slowly reaching around to the satchel slung haphazardly over his back. He rummaged around in it for a few seconds, face a mask of concentration as he searched for something. Eventually, there was a victorious “Ahah!”, and he quickly drew a small stack of papers out into the open. A magazine or research journal of some description, Crescent noted at second glance. Grinning again, he held it out to her. “Page 44. Trust me, you’ll love this.”
“…okay?” With another, more hesitant burst of her horn, Crescent pulled the publication towards her, this third glance noting that this was… wait. She frowned. “This is the journal for the institute I work at, Thunder.”
“Yep.” Said pony provided, bearing an unhelpful smirk. Crescent blinked at him for a few moments, quickly deciding further complaint wasn’t exactly worth it, instead muttering quietly to herself and glancing back to the papers, quickly cracking them open.
“44, 44, 44…” Magic spinning, page after page flicked by, the mare’s eyes focusing well enough to block almost all else out. Within moments, the noted page spread open before her. “Now this is…”
Crescent trailed off almost instantly, voice practically dying out as her brain caught up to the content on the page, all thoughts of anything else dropping away. For a long time, she was silent, frozen in a moment of comprehension, and Thunder Gust almost thought to ask if she was alright, worrying for the briefest of seconds that he’d somehow ‘broken’ his best friend.
Finally, she spoke.
“Thunder?” she asked with a level tone, there being little variation in both pitch and intonation. “What am I looking at?”
“You need to read it again?”
“Not particularly, no.” Crescent continued to gaze at the page, her current flat expression beginning to twitch upwards into a grin as she read the title of the article dominating the page one more time anyway. “I mean…”
‘Northern Myth – A study and recount of research, exploration and adventure in the Everhoof Expedition’ by Crescent
“…I did write it!” With a sudden and decidedly more awake shout of glee, Crescent threw the journal aside, darting forward, Thunder barely having enough time to brace himself as a blur of suddenly overjoyed unicorn mare barrelled into him, laughing joyously.
And really, her reaction was no surprise.
Much like with most of the stuff she’d done, Thunder didn’t really understand. He was more brawn than brains, after all, something he would freely admit to and wholeheartedly didn’t mind in the slightest. But, when Crescent had, months ago, bounded up to him in excitement because she’d been selected by the institute funding her college studies, which would soon see her graduate, to be one of several up and coming academic students invited on an expedition to some old, pre-Equestria ruins that had been momentarily uncovered by the melting of the normally constant snows on Mount Everhoof, he’d been able to tell how big a deal it was for her.
When she’d returned, she’d gone on for days about how amazing it was, being on the frontier of solving new mysteries about the past and events thought lost to time. It had somewhat helped that there’d been something of an… ‘incident’, to use a kind word, whilst the expedition’s main dig was in progress, a harrowing adventure that Crescent had been so thrilled by she’d written it into the paper she’d published on her return, doing her best to weave that narrative in with the more factually standard discoveries the trip had revealed.
Honestly, Thunder was just happy she’d enjoyed herself, and the fact that her work had been published made it all the better in his books.
“Oh my stars, this is…” Crescent stammered as she detached herself from the stallion, beaming to an almost mad degree as she tried to get a hold of and control her giddiness, collecting her thoughts. “This is great! I… I don’t even know what to…” she began breathing rapidly.
“Whoa there, Cres. Calm.” Thunder reached a hoof forward to touching the graduate-to-be’s shoulder supportively, coaxing her into a safer rate of air intake. “Deep breaths.”
“I…” the grey pony nodded, taking several deep breaths. In and out. In. Out. After a moment, she seemed less likely to hyperventilate, instead returning to smiling widely, a slight blush crossing her cheeks. “In hindsight, this was probably why the board wanted to see me today.” The mare coughed awkwardly, giving Thunder an apologetic look. “Eh heh… Sorry for being kind of crabby with you, but you did wake me up.”
“Sleep’s important. No harm done, in the end” Thunder shrugged, seemingly brushing it off. “Besides,” the steady-winged pony chuckled. “Even if I don’t really understand most of the bigger words, it’s a big deal to you. I can live through ‘Grumpy Morning Crescent for that.” A generally different emotion dawned on his face. “You know I’m proud, too.”
“Thanks, Gust.” Crescent affirmed, touching his hoof appreciatively, expression still wholly positive.
Then, rather abruptly, a thoughtful grin appeared on her face.
“You know,” she smirked leadingly, though there was a slight cheekiness in the expression. “I think the bakery’s open this early. You could always, you know…”
“…buy you a donut to congratulate you?” Thunder Gust finished, laughing to himself. After a moment, he sighed. “Okay, okay. You win. It’s kind of cold, though. Might want to wrap up warm.”
“Don’t worry.” Crescent replied, quickly turning and cantering towards the front door, grabbing a bright red scarf off a hanger adjacent to it. “I’ve got it covered.”
CANTERLOT – Capital of Equestria {1752, Celestia’s Reckoning}
As predicted, the city of Canterlot, in the grip of late Autumn and early in the morning, was more than just a little bit chilly, and Crescent rapidly found herself thanking the powers that, just prior to a certain expedition, Thunder had bought her the scarf as a birthday gift.
The fact that her scarf was a near match to his bright blue one, even if his having been owned since childhood made it a little more worn, was a dead giveaway to his preference in clothing. That, and it harkened to something of an old joke between the two of them, which Crescent could more than appreciate.
As noted, though, right now, with cold stone roads under-hoof, the low foot traffic at this hour making everything seem even more frosty, she was more than a little grateful for its presence. It was a great comfort, in this weather.
The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said for other things.
“You know,” Thunder offered placatingly. “I think there’s another bakery a little further into the city. I know it’s a weekend, but they could be open.”
“They won’t be.” Crescent grumbled cynically, before shaking her head, doing her best to force a smile, though it somewhat unsurprisingly came out weak. “Nevermind. I’ll just… grab something to eat after I meet the institute board.”
“Cres--”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“…you’re clearly not.” Thunder raised an eyebrow. “This is me you’re talking to, Crescent.”
“Ugh. Yeah, I know…” the unicorn practically deflated. “I’m just hungry.”
“Well, sorry about that.” Her friend smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry, when you do get something to bite, at last, it’s still on me, okay?”
“Well, you did offer, so…” Crescent began, but trailed off as the pair reached the top of a hill, the extensive flat outcropping that the majority of the city was built onto, situated halfway up the valley wall, opening up before them.
Though this was the only version of Canterlot the pair had ever really known in their lifetime, Crescent, at least, had seen photographs of how the city had existed in times now considered historic.
To say the city had grown since the years when Twilight Sparkle had yet to ascend to the throne would be a gross understatement.
Where the city had once only taken up the far end of the expanse, built around the castle that was lifted atop it, houses and streets now extended the entire length of the overhang, crisscrossing amongst each other like some bizarre mix of pony hopscotch and a checkers board, a tribute to the rapid expansion that had occurred. The only real standard layout to be found was the set of curved roads that started from the cliff wall and went all the way to the still now precarious edge drop in the valley below, as well as the main bridleway, extending in a straight line towards the inner city’s walls, which itself wasn’t all that different than it had been hundreds of years ago.
The divide between what locals had come to call Old Canterlot and New Canterlot was easily distinguishable to the naked eye at only a moment’s glance, one a tribute to ages past, the other a credit to the speedy development brought on by an age of relative peace.
“Damn.” Thunder Gust whistled, awestruck, staring down both at the city and the deep, rolling valley beyond. “Now that’s a view that never gets old…”
Crescent merely hummed in acknowledge, taking the scene in.
Impressive? Sure, but it wasn’t exactly new. Maybe once upon a time it would have amazed her, but…
Well, it was a nice sight, at least.
“Y’know, I never noticed before, but…” Thunder peered into the middle distance, whistling idly to himself as the duo started moving again. “Yeah, I can see your work from here.”
“I have to walk this way every day. You don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” His companion rolled her eyes, smiling wryly, though her face fell just as snappily as she’d quipped, an air of nervous tension washing over her as she averted her gaze from said location, eyes searching for anything else to focus on, eventually falling on the city hall, nestled just beyond the castle, by sheer chance. Thunder noticed immediately.
“Hey, you already got the paper in the magazine, right?” he tried a smile, tapping Crescent lightly on the ankle to shake her to attention. “They probably just want to say they approve or something.” He shrugged. “Heck. My boss sometimes just calls me in because I’m off shift and he wants to chat.”
“It’s hardly the same, Gust.” Crescent mumbled.
“I know. Just saying.” The pegasus paused, then perked up again. “And anyway, with everyone so thrilled about the writing, it’s no wonder they want to give you a gold star, or whatever.” He faltered a little as the unicorn walking next to him paused mid-step, gracing him with yet another perplexed frown. “…did I not mention that I ran into something like 10 creatures reading your piece on the way to yours’?”
“You might’ve forgotten.” The mare deadpanned dryly. “But let me guess: They were mostly interested in the adventure parts of it? All the stuff about ‘daring escapes’ and ‘split-second rescues’?”
“How did you--”
“Exploration isn’t something most folk tend to read about unless it’s a big flashy tale of excitement.” Crescent cut in bluntly, seeming a little put out. “Kind of a shame. I like those parts of it, a lot, actually.” She grimaced. “But…”
“You wish more people would get the research.” Thunder completed. “I get that.” He barked out a short laugh. “Well, I don’t get that, but… I get you wanting to be noticed, you know.”
“I do.”
“And besides.” The stallion, already more upbeat again, gestured in the direction of the institute. “Just ‘cause us dummies don’t get it doesn’t mean the bigwigs won’t, right?”
“…did you just call yourself a dummy?” Crescent blinked, corner of her mouth quirking upward in amusement. “And everyone else, too?”
“Cres, I’m trying to cheer you up.” The well-built pony stuck his tongue out immaturely. “Just go with it.”
“Alright. Fine, dummy.” The dark mare couldn’t help but giggle, long since having accepted that having known somepony as long as she’d known Thunder leant itself to him knowing how to push her buttons. With a broad beam, she acquiesced. “You’re right. The scholars will read it, and they’ll get what I was going for.”
“That board of yours’ clearly did, so yeah.” Thunder grinned in turn, patting Crescent on the shoulder again. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” He assured. “I mean, it’s not like they just put it in the journal as--”
“A FLUFF PIECE?!”
The institute board of directors instinctively leaned back in their seats, despite the height and distance between themselves and the appalled student seething in front of them, fur bristling in disbelief.
This aside, though, they seemed largely unfazed by the outburst once the initial shock had passed, the collective of assorted creatures, largely but not entirely comprised of pony races, merely sharing a few looks of haughty displeasure between themselves. The sort of thing you’d expect from a bunch of older fellows who hadn’t so much as set foot on an expedition in years, were far too full of themselves for their own good, and for some, but not all, of which this exclamation was probably some twisted sort of comedy.
And yet somehow, they were among the top rungs of exploration and research in the higher societal circles.
Right now, though, Crescent didn’t exactly give a damn about that. All she saw was her good mood shattered against the floor like a priceless crystal vase being used as a buck-ball basket. She snorted, eyes misty with tears of betrayal.
“My… my research paper…” she growled, glaring down the earth pony sat with calm condescension in the centre of the grouping. “…is a fluff piece?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” the scholar in question, one Proud Scroll, technically her superior, though the term ‘tutor’ might’ve been a better fit, remarked plainly, brow quirked quizzically, as if this were somehow old news. He opened a book, apparently another copy of the offending journal, there being something almost snooty about how he peered down at it over his rounded glasses. “I’m fairly certain I spoke clearly, miss Crescent.”
“A fluff piece.”
“Quite so.” Proud Scroll nodded in affirmation, glancing downward at the document. “Forgive me if it seems harsh of me to say, but it does bear saying: This, whilst you are by no doubt one of the most talented researchers and explorers to grace the college in recent years, hence our funding you,” he held up the page containing Crescent’s writing for her to see, smiling with an almost false apologetic lilt. “is not, in this committee’s forthright opinion, anything like your best work.” He furrowed his brow, gazing down his nose at the student. “Far from it, in a manner of facts. Something this piece is significantly lacking in, as it happens.” There was a snort of displeasure, Proud’s tone becoming ever so slightly darker. “We didn’t pay all those bits expecting you to become a star overnight, but that fact that you undoubtedly have that in your future makes this lapse unacceptable.”
“I…” Crescent squeaked briefly, before scowling deeply. “What?! I perfectly summarised the expedition!”
“Including elements of intrigue that, whilst fascinating, add precisely nothing to an academic entry, and that would have been scrapped had you not been the only student to write extensively about the trip’s findings. Too much flavour and not enough function.” The creature to the right of Crescent’s tutor, a somewhat grey feathered griffon, ornamental robes draped loosely over her form as if she’d made minimal effort in attending, shot a gaze down at Crescent, the sheer distaste of the look making the grey unicorn stumble backward slightly in surprise. Nevertheless, the lion-bird persisted, speaking with what seemed like an almost practised tone of gruff apathy. “Those are not the values this institute prides itself on.”
Not mentioning that said values had been old when Twilight Sparkle had been but a filly, and that the institute, in Crescent’s mind, really needed to get with the times. But no, of course tradition and expectation won out again. She’d made that argument before, and to her dismay it had achieved literally nothing. Dredging it up again would likely be worse, either for her chances or for her self-esteem.
Honestly, she’d prefer neither took a hit today. She had to keep her cool.
“Gelt is correct, of course.” Proud continued, though the glance sideways was somewhat telling of what he thought of his colleague’s attitude, despite his own. “And those matters aside, we do worry you might be losing your edge.”
“M- my edge?” Crescent balked, the claim cutting into her like ice.
Briefly, her eye twitched.
“Indeed.” The brown stallion confirmed, mouth drawing out into a flat line, irises narrowing in judgement. “Frankly, some among the committee are concerned that, with your college graduation assured and your employment in the establishment a likelihood, you might have grown complacent.”
Crescent mouthed silently for a long moment, unsure what to say at the accusation. It was unthinkable. Infuriating, even. She’d put everything she had into what she’d written, every step of the way. She’d always done that, and it had always been to impress these… these…
Well, she didn’t even know what to think now, but she couldn’t just say nothing. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath, attempting to calm herself, then opened her lips to make her counterargument--
“You know, with that impossible fantasy rattling around in that hollow skull of hers’, it’s no wonder she can’t keep her eyes on the real world for long enough to write a decent--”
At that particularly moment, the two board members, both unicorns, off to Proud Scroll’s left, sharing this cruel, twisted joke, one colleague to another, in a voice that could only be described as derisively mocking, seemed to realise that all eyes were on them, and that they could have done to speak in something that was actually a whisper, rather than whatever they thought their volume was.
Or just not speak at all. Or take an impromptu bungee dive off the cliff edge.
Crescent would have favoured the latter, had she not been glaring the pair down in utter hatred.
If she’d been angry before, she was now thoroughly, rapturously enraged. The fact that the worst they got from the rest of the board was Proud’s light scowl of disapproval, proving they would get little more than that non-verbal reprimand, creased her brow yet more. Her eye continued to twitch as the red mist slowly began to come down, casting an invisible shadow over her, some of the less apathetic members of the board gracing her with looks of mild concern.
“Unnecessary comments aside,” her supervisor carried on as he turned away from the offenders, heedless of his charge’s current state as he eyed her work again instead. “The point stands that your work was used to fill a gap in the publication that might appeal to… less analytical minds…
Crescent shuddered for a second, as if slapped, breathing hitching slightly.
“…and I hope you can understand that we expect better of our scholars, and for them to follow certain codes of conduct when it comes to writing, no matter their age or creed. There are certain matters or elements that simply do not belong in the academic fields, after all. I am sure you can accept that and abide by those standards in future, hm? Unless you feel you’d be, even if my associate’s way of putting it was unnecessarily harsh, better off writing fiction or newspaper editorials than exaggerating fact.”
Slowly, Crescent’s head rose, shaking and twitching with visible, barely contained displeasure.
Displeasure, of course, was a gross understatement.
“Now, whilst I am deeply sorry for how cold this might seem to someone of your relatively low field experience level, the matter has been settled.” Proud looked up, a polite but entirely fabricated smile on his features. “Now, though you are free to debate this in future, I will have to ask you to lea…”
He trailed off, slightly taken aback by the sheer rage in Crescent’s eyes, her entire form tense as angry tears gradually leaked down her cheeks.
She smiled emptily, opening her mouth to speak again.
BANG
Yelping in alarm, Thunder Gust sprung haphazardly from his light doze on one of the many dedicated park benches surrounding Canterlot’s Royal Institute complex, what would otherwise have been a slight feeling awkwardness at having drifted off whilst waiting for Crescent’s meeting to conclude instead giving way to a rush of adrenaline as a sudden, double-barrelled blunt sound reverberated intrusively across the courtyard. Taking deep breaths to soothe his now rapidly beating heart, he glanced around frantically for the source of the noise.
His gaze first fell upon the now open double doors swinging on their hinges, wide open as if thrown outward with some force. The second thing he saw more or less answered the dawning question of what the cause of that force could possibly be, or rather who, specifically.
The pegasus eyed Crescent as she stormed angrily down the steps toward him, the cold sort of rage she was exhibiting telling him, from years of experience despite such breaking points being few and far between for the unicorn, that whoever had gained her ire had already gotten an earful, or at least whatever they were due. This was merely the aftermath, though, so it seemed it was once again left to him to clean up somepony else’s mess.
“You, uh…” Thunder gave Crescent a wide berth as she sidled up next to him, eyeing her with calm worry. “You wanna talk about it?”
The first response he got came in the form of low, irate muttering as pony in question stiffly settled onto the bench, not quite distinguishable as an actual structured sentence and likely coming within a hair’s breadth of outright cursing.
Still progress, though.
“When you’re ready.” He added.
For a long moment, Crescent seethed, though the chilled nature of her discontent thankfully didn’t draw much attention. The last thing she would have wanted was to cause a scene amidst the now more populated mid-morning streets. Instead, the pair sat patiently, the anger on display slowly but surely beginning to simmer.
Eventually, Crescent drew in a deep breath and let it out again, some but not all the tension in her form dissipating. Shifting uncomfortably, she side-glanced to Thunder, frowning heavily enough that she got her expression mirrored back at her.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” The student spat, limbs shaking with high-strung emotional pressure. “They…” She shivered. “They...”
“…Cres?”
Crescent was silent for a moment longer, before her gaze turned pleading, voice quiet yet intense.
“…My work isn’t a fluff piece… is it?”
There was a sound not unlike water in a drain as Thunder gagged in surprise, almost as if struck.
“What? No!” he rounded, possibly raising voice a little too much, as several passing creatures glanced at him questioningly before they continued on. “I mean… I’m maybe not the best judge, but-“ he scowled. “Who told you tha--” he blinked as the pieces came together in his mind. “Oh. Oooooh.”
“Yep.” Crescent breathed harshly. “They can all stuff it as far as I’m concerned at this point, but…” she grimaced. “It really hurt. Might’ve, uh…” the scholar coughed. “I might have blown up a little bit, in there.”
“Well… it’s over now, at least.” Thunder hummed faintly. “Right as you were, I guess you’ll probably have to apologize when they call you back, hm?”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Um… About that…” the mare looked around sheepishly, putting her eyes in any direction except at him.
“…Crescent?”
“Y- Yes?”
“What did you do?”
“I… hm.” Crescent drew air in through her teeth, visibly tense again. Sweat ran across her brow, whilst her hooves twitched unquietly. Had she had claws or hands like those belonging to dragons and griffons, she’d probably have clenched them. “D- do you remember when I said the institute had, uh… offered me a job after I graduated?”
“…yes?” Thunder replied cautiously, worry seeping into his voice. “Crescent, you didn’t…?”
“Well…” she continued sheepishly, cheeks pinching upwards anxiously. “I might’ve… in a way…” she squeaked as Thunder’s own frown deepened to previously uncharted depths, the rest of her confession coming out so rapidly that it might as well have been a stream of consciousness.
“I might’ve thrown it back in their faces when I lost my cool!”
Another awkward pause fell upon the duo as Crescent took light yet racing breaths, crickets chirping despite the time and locale.
“You… what?”
“I quit on them, Thunder.”
Slowly, Thunder Gust took a gasp of air for himself, sighing heavily.
“…you really shouldn’t have let them get to you like that, you know.” He admonished. “You were right, but… damn. This wasn’t worth it, Cres.”
“I- I know…”
Yet more silence. Thunder watched Crescent slump further, recognizing the signs of her beginning to beat herself up over the whole fiasco. A pang of guilt at the possibility that he might have inadvertently engineered this passed through the pegasus.
Of course, there were ways to lighten the mood.
“That said…” the flier managed a somewhat melancholy grin, not fully powered but evidently seeking the bright side of this train wreck. “I’m impressed you stood up to those old relics.” He chuckled. “Honestly, kinda wish I could’ve seen their faces.”
“T- They were quite surprised…” Crescent couldn’t help but titter softly, the memory of Proud Scroll’s shocked features returning to the forefront of her mind. “Still not worth it, but…”
“Gotta find the silver lining.”
“Yeah.” She straightened up. “That. Anyway…” she hopped forward off the bench, returning to all fours with a sad if hopeful smile. “I can’t exactly take it back now, can I? Probably for the best that I just live with that decision, rather than mull over it.”
“And make the best of where you are now.” Thunder tacked on wryly. “Keep up steam, like you said.” He glazed over for a moment, thinking, before a loaded hum graced his vocal chords. “You know what? I think what you really need, right now, is a break?”
“Like that donut you promised me?”
“No. Well, yes.” He spluttered a little, then smirked. “But before that.”
Curious, Crescent clicked her tongue sharply a few times in weak hesitation, before letting out a small sound of concession.
“Alright… what do you propose?”
“Well… If it takes your mind off this whole mess, I don’t mind hanging around a bunch of musty old pots and pans, so…” Thunder began to suggest, Crescent seeming to perk up as he spoke, reaching her magic’s grasp into her saddle bags for something. Smiling at this, he continued. “How about that exhibit at the history museum. The new one, with all that Grogar stuff in it.”
“I already went to see it.”
“And you went to see the last one, like, twenty times. What’s your point?”
“T- True. Thanks…” Crescent nodded lightly, before glancing down at the retrieved object in her hooves, some sort of complex pocket watch, intricate enough to mark date, time and whatever else with the utmost accuracy. Magically enchanted wear prevention and precision was a beautiful thing for an explorer, especially if you were away on a trip.
Perhaps her mother had known that, when she’d handed such an expensive family heirloom down. It’d certainly helped solve a few awkward situations over the years, Crescent would freely admit.
Right now, though, it was just telling her it was still some time until lunch.
“Okay, then.” She nodded pleasantly, putting the time piece away again. “I guess we have time. Could do with the distraction, anyway.”
“What are we waiting for, then.” Thunder turned gesturing onward. “Let’s go.”
“Right. But Thunder?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re paying.”
“I- Bu- …ugh. Fine.”
Crescent smirked in dry amusement. Perhaps the day could still be salvaged.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m entirely serious, Proud. Such an unruly child cannot be allowed to simply write whatever she feels like.”
“And I agree.” Proud Scroll scowled heavily. “But whilst it conveys the right message, what you’re suggesting is at best excessive, and at worst cruel and utterly pointless.”
The institute board’s meeting had not, as Crescent might have inferred from hints dropped, concluded upon her rather… loud departure. In fact, it was because of that very thing that it had carried on for so long. Quite frankly, there was not one member of the board who hadn’t been appalled by her behaviour, and Proud feared it may have pushed many of their members into a fit of overreaction.
Because whilst he agreed she was out of order, and too much of an unpredictable and potentially controversial element in how she wrote and what she got out of her research to properly predict, he just thought that a slap on the wrist and a little bit of critical direction was all that was needed.
But of course, Stone Quill had to go and make a mountain out of a mole-hill, turning the poor mare’s outburst on her to cover up his own missteps in, for one, not being able to keep certain opinions to himself. Or at the very least learn how to whisper.
Proud Scroll had no illusions as to what the rest of the board was like. Most of them were old crones and withered post-stallions stuck in ways that had been old when they were young. Proud would freely admit that he was little different, but he did his best to only uphold the ways as they were out of stability. His contemporaries, meanwhile, were purely invested in the perceived power keeping the rules and expectations stagnant and unchanged gave them over the entire society, as well as the leagues of explorers beyond. Of this, he was certain.
Today was just another example of that, unfortunately.
“But nothing, Scroll.” Stone Quill grunted, the silver maned stallion shifting heavily in his chair, as if any movement was chore. Not a big surprise for a pony who’d coasted on one big find for his entire life, never striving for much beyond once his voice mattered. “We have already made up our minds. Even if we cast a vote now, we all know what the answer will be.”
He smirked with a dark perversity, as if he were getting some twisted enjoyment out of what was about to happen. Unsurprising, given the outcome of this conversation had likely been decided by him the moment his opinions on Crescent had been made known.
“Honestly,” The unicorn sniffed, muzzle lifted enough that one got the impression of him gazing down it at all present. “We should have done this sooner.”
“Agreed.” A certain griffon cut in sharply, many other board members nodding in agreement. “Her outlook would reflect on the integrity of this institute. To not handle her now would be costly.”
“It’s settled, then.” Quill spoke firmly and harshly, before looking back to Proud with disdain. “I trust you will carry this out.”
“I…” Proud Scroll wanted to protest further. To continue to tout that this was too extreme a measure, but… he couldn’t. Crescent did needed to be dealt with. This was too extreme, though, and he knew Stone Quill knew that. For him, this wasn’t about being fair.
If anything, this was downright manipulative and deceitful.
“I…” The alleged leader of the institute sighed in half-hearted resignation. “I will have a messenger dispatched to inform her of our decision.”
“See that you do.”
Proud merely grumbled in response.
He would take no pleasure in what was about to happen.
