Pastorality

by Bandy

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7933

Celestia has a disturbing revelation about the limits of alicorn mortality. With time suddenly turned against her, she must embark on a journey to find the source of her unrest: an ancient memory drawing her inexorably to a forest that time forgot.

Celestia has a disturbing revelation about the limits of alicorn mortality. With time suddenly turned against her, she must embark on a journey to find the source of her unrest: an ancient memory drawing her inexorably to a forest that time forgot.

Winner of the October 2019 Writeoff contest: "Crossing Over."

Edited by Miller Minus. He's a champ!

Published 2020-03-29 23:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-03-29 23:20:01 UTC

The Memory

There is a place way deep in the forest where the trees give way to a clearing. A flimsy shack leans on an old stone wall, both overgrown with weeds. The paint on the wood panels has all but disappeared, exposing the cracked wood underneath. The tin roof, sagging down at one edge, is frail with rust. The golden-orange veins move out from the joints of the roof and meet up with vines snaking up the corners.

How it’s still standing is anyone’s guess.

Beside the shack is a row of trees. They shoot from the earth at wild angles, loosely grip and tangle all the way to the sky. Directly above is a veil of green and gold, leaves and filtered sunlight. The blue sky is only visible closer to the ground, where the tree trunks grow no branches.

It’s warm in the clearing. It’s summer. It’s always been summer. Here the sun shines forever, locked somewhere in the late afternoon. The mild drone of insects floats endlessly on a cool and constant breeze.

Warm and bright, like only a memory could be.

Celestia awoke yearning to return to sleep.

She could tell it was morning by the color of the light. It poured in from every angle, through smudged-up windows and miniscule cracks in the walls. She was in her hideaway, a single-room log cabin perched atop a nameless ridge on the southern edge of the Foal mountains.

Luna was there, too. She faced away from Celestia, browning vegetables in the cabin’s barebones kitchenette. Sweet peppers and mushrooms and eggs, by the smell of it. Luna hummed a melody while the butter sang.

Celestia’s heart swelled. This was just like how they lived before they were princesses. They were no longer princesses again. Perhaps they could recapture that feeling once more.

“Save some for me,” Celestia said playfully.

Luna shrieked. The pan flew across the room and stuck in the wall. Half-scrambled eggs splattered everywhere. A burst of energy discharged from Luna’s horn with a crackling Buh-vwoop and shot a hole through the log wall.

Luna whirled around, chest heaving with fright. She and Celestia locked eyes. Her breathing slowed. More light poured in from the freshly-made window.

“Are you really awake?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what?”

Luna bounded across the room to Celestia’s bedside. She smoothed the faded quilts and comforters with her hooves before sitting down. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, sister. It’s incredibly important.”

Celestia’s smile faltered. “Last morning. We flew in from Baltimare.”

“Then what?”

“We cleaned the cabin. I chased those raccoons from the storage shed.”

“Then what?”

“You gathered some wood and I set up the stove. We had dinner. I turned in but you wanted to get some extra tidying up done.” She looked around. “It looks nice, by the way. Will you please tell me what’s got you so concerned?”

Luna barked a joyless laugh. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, we have a whole month to decompress before we start our leisure travels. Why don’t you just start somewhere and we’ll find our way to the heart of things?”

Luna nodded slowly. “Our leisure travels have been postponed.” Celestia opened her mouth, but Luna held up a hoof in pause. “Nopony could wake you.”

“Wake me? Did I sleep in?”

Luna laughed again. This didn’t seem like her kind of humor. Her laughter put Celestia on edge. “Yes, you did. We thought you’d been poisoned at Twilight’s coronation. Or cursed. We didn’t know.”

Celestia pushed back the covers. Sleep called to her from deep inside. She hadn’t heeded that voice in so long. Not since before she was charged to raise the sun. Now—

“How long?” Celestia asked.

“Two years.”

The smell of something burning caught Celestia’s attention. She looked past Luna to the kitchenette, where a piece of chopped pepper had landed on the stovetop and carbonized. She lit up her horn and put the stove out.

She put the covers aside carefully so as not to wrinkle them. Luna stepped aside. She stretched her wings and walked to the kitchen and the burnt lump of pepper. With a flick of her hoof, she picked it up and tossed it out the smoldering hole in the wall.

“Two years,” she murmured. They’d passed her by like a fine afternoon cat-nap. “Is this some elaborate joke?” she asked Luna.

Luna placed her hooves on Celestia’s shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. “I would never joke about such things. I—" Luna gasped. Her wings flared, sensing danger. She stumbled back in horror. “Godsflame!” she cursed. “Your eyes!”

Fear, long-forgotten but always present, twisted Celestia’s gut. “What?” She looked around for a mirror, but the rustic cabin had none. “What about my eyes?”

Luna was back on her hooves again. Her head was cocked in shocked curiosity. “Look at me. Don’t blink.”

“What? What is it?” Celestia did as she was told. Impatience crept into her voice. Or was it fear? “What about my eyes?”

Luna said, “They’re blue.”

In the two years Celestia had been asleep, Twilight Sparkle had proven herself to be an effective ruler. She thwarted three apocalypses in the last six months alone, and beat a minor agricultural recession brought on by a heavy surplus of corn.

Celestia was proud of her student, but darker thoughts overshadowed her former student’s success.

The trip to Canterlot was made via airship. Twilight met them on the landing platform. She looked every part the revered princess, a full length taller than her guard attachment and surrounded by an ethereally flowing mane. Her regalia, the symbols of power and authority emblazoned with her cutie mark, shone in the light.

When she saw Celestia, she burst into tears and ran to her side.

“I thought—I thought—I was certain,” Twilight blubbered. “I thought you died. I thought someone killed you and this was just how alicorns—how they—pass on.” Her voice cracked.

Celestia put her hoof under Twilight’s chin. “Creativity is a good trait in a ruler.”

Twilight gasped. “Your eyes!”

“I know. There is much to discuss. May we discuss it over dinner, perhaps?”

Twilight nodded. Two guards broke formation and trotted off to deliver the message.

The old guard had returned.

The dinner was nearly three hours long. Celestia barely spoke three sentences. She stared with her blue eyes as Twilight recounted every little detail of the past two years. Together with Luna to corroborate the stories and expose Twilight’s modesty, they brought Celestia up to speed on the glowing state of the nation.

All that good news made Celestia’s brow furrow. “So, there have been no successful incursions from Tartarus?”

“No,” Twilight said.

“No mass-spell incidents, good or evil?”

“Nope.”

“No political strife?”

“Define strife.”

Celestia tapped her chin. “This is strange indeed. What could have caused my sleep, I wonder?”

“Maybe—and this is just a thought—maybe you were really tired.”

Celestia chuckled.

“Really. You’ve been raising the sun for how many thousands of years? I’m tired, and it’s only been two! Maybe it was just your body recovering.”

“That still doesn’t explain the eyes.”

Twilight hummed in agreement. “It could also have something to do with your age, or your relinquishing the sun. I’ve got staff looking into it, but I just don’t think history goes far enough back to tell us what happened to the last ponies who let go of the sun. Oh,” she added, “and even if it did, who’s to say this happened to them? You’re so much more connected to the sun than they would have been.”

“True.”

“At any rate, I believe the best course of action is a thorough investigation. We’ll throw all our tests at you and see what sticks and what stones.” Twilight giggled. “Get it?”

“As long as they don’t break my bones.”

They shared a smile, then returned their attention to dinner. As they ate, Celestia noticed how whenever Twilight went to take a bite, she smiled around the silverware.

That smile was a little tiny glimmer of the good old times.

The tests indeed did not break any of Celestia’s bones. They did, however, take three days and yield nothing but one major discrepancy in Celestia’s old health records.

“I had to change your eye color on your file,” Twilight said proudly, “but now everything is exactly the way it should be!”

Celestia nodded slowly.

Twilight set the file down, deflating somewhat. The castle clinic had a way of sucking the energy from a pony’s body the longer they stayed. Maybe it was a new machine of some kind—a ‘docilator’ of sorts. Maybe this place had simply soaked up all the years’ worth of bad news delivered inside it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything,” Twilight said. “This is all so strange. Are you sure you didn’t drink any potions before you went to bed that night? Even recreationally?”

“Only wine, and not enough to put me to sleep for that long.”

Twilight perused the file again. “I wish we knew more about your early life. It always blew me away, knowing a pony who predates history.”

“Not by much.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

Celestia laughed. “I know, my dear. But if history went all the way back, there’d be no time for bookworms like you to make the future.”

Instead of the laughter Celestia hoped for, a strange look crossed Twilight’s face.

“Is everything alright?” Celestia asked.

“What if I looked at your aura?” Twilight blurted.

A long moment of silence eked by. The eggshell walls and polished-chrome instruments squeezed ever closer. A light somewhere above her whined like a bug flying next to her ear.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Twilight said. She steered her gaze to the ground. Despite being almost as tall as Celestia, she seemed very small now. “I’m being too intrusive.”

“That’s quite a radical proposal,” she said.

“But nothing else worked!” Conflict raged in Twilight’s words. “Oh, I’m sorry Celestia, I don’t want to put you in this situation. But I don’t know what else to do. It would violate all my research ethics to do something so personal, but nothing else worked.”

“You know my aura is connected to the sun. If you look at it, even with protection, you risk serious harm.”

“I know. But what if we see something we’ve missed?” Twilight’s voice wavered. Celestia was shocked to see tears brimming her eyes. “You were gone for two years,” Twilight said softly. “Two years.”

All the strange melancholic powers of the clinic combined to drain what life was left from Celestia. It crushed her to realize that Twilight still thought of time the same way mortal ponies did.

She had so much still to learn.

They decided to convene that same evening to perform the test.

The spell needed to reveal a pony’s aura was actually very simple. As with so many things in life, complications came with the context of the act.

As Celestia paced the floor of the research lab, she recalled with some embarrassment the tradition of some newlywed unicorns to reveal their auras to each other in the privacy of their honeymoon suite.

This lab was no honeymoon suite. Perhaps to mole-ponies it was. It was after all nearly a mile underground, built into an ancient Canterlot catacomb that made up the castle’s vast underground superstructure.

Celestia felt further from the light than ever down here. Luna, sitting in the corner sipping from a canteen, seemed quite content.

“I wish she would hurry up,” Celestia muttered.

“Don’t rush your number one student,” Luna said, her voice singing with amusement. “Do you remember when she was just a little filly? Now she’s about to look at your aura.”

Celestia’s frown deepened. “Shush.”

“I tease.”

“I know.” Footsteps echoed in the hallway. “Shush.”

Twilight Sparkle all but careened through the lab’s blast door. She beamed an adventurous smile, and at a flick of her hoof an army of data mining instruments marched in behind her, kept in lock-step by her magic. Soon the room was full and brimming with energy.

Though the machines had no eyes, Celestia still felt watched.

“Okay,” Twilight announced, “this is probably going to hurt, so let’s get started before one of us chickens out. Luna, if you plan on staying, please get behind the blast shield.”

Luna cast a languid look her sister’s way before making for the door. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“You can stay if you’d like,” Celestia chimed in, feeling suddenly alone amongst all the medical machinery.

“No, no.” Luna disappeared behind the blast door. “I’m saving my aura for marriage.”

“Luna!”

The blast door swung shut. Vacuous silence rushed in to fill the space. Then one by one, Twilight began activating her machines.

“You know,” Twilight said, “A princess’s aura hasn’t been measured in nearly 800 years. Do you remember the last time it happened?”

“I remember,” Celestia said. She eyed the machinery as it blinked to life all around her.

“Of course. You were there.” Twilight giggled. “The books say the observation team never recovered their sight. Is that true?”

“No, only one of them went blind. The rest were fine after a few weeks.”

Twilight nodded thoughtfully. “They made the mistake of looking at it directly. We’re going to use machines to do the looking for us. Machines can’t go blind. Does that make you feel any better?”

A monitor of some kind crept into place behind Celestia and beeped. “Somewhat,” she muttered.

Twilight’s gaze softened. The beeping dimmed to a background drone. “I know you’re concerned, but please try to relax. I promise I’ll be safe.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

There it was. That quaver in her voice. The look in her eye. She ruled the world, yet her heart remained that of a student. The past two years had changed so much, yet so much remained the same.

“Of course I trust you,” Celestia replied. “Let’s begin.”

The eagerness flooded back into Twilight’s eyes. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

A pale purple glow washed over the room, triggering a chorus of noise from the machines. The buzz of electronics drowned out Celestia’s thoughts. Next went her sight, lost in a blinding flash of white. Burnt ozone choked her nostrils.

Something flashed all around her. Massive cables, sinew stretched to tensile strength, blood in veins, memories. The first memory. Trees and a shack and—

The light gave way in an instant. A machine to her right burst into flames, and the spell fell apart around her.

Twilight ran over to check on her broken machine. “This one’s not important!” she cried victoriously. “I was worried we were gonna lose one of the expensive ones, but this one’s not!”

Celestia felt cold. Was there a draft? Or was it her imagination?

“Did you see it?” she asked.

“I did!” Twilight replied, still tinkering with the broken machine. “I got a ton of good readings, too.”

“Did you look at it directly?”

“Well, the machine sensors were able to—”

“Did you look at it?”

Twilight paused. “No. Alicorn eyes are stronger than regular pony eyes, but I didn’t want to chance it.”

Celestia walked over to Twilight and put her hoof under her chin. Their eyes met. Two purple. Two blue.

“What did you see, Twilight?”

“Light. Light and fire. What did you see?”

Fragments of a memory flashed through her mind. “Colors,” she said. “And blue was one of them.”

That night, Celestia dreamed of the clearing in the forest.

Breakfast the next morning was a turgid affair. Wisps of steam rose off a bland mound of oatmeal topped with clumps of cinnamon and, absurdly, pears.

“We hired a few of Applejack’s relatives to cater,” Twilight explained, puzzling over how to attack her own pile of pear-infused pancakes. “It’s been a lot of pears, but it’s only for a few more years.”

“Nothing to us,” Celestia said.

Luna pushed her plate away. “Guards—if you would be so kind.”

The honor guard about-faced and strode out of the room. Celestia had barely noticed them when she came in. Luna had evidently grown to enjoy her independence from the royal guard in the two years since she retired. She wondered how she was handling being back after such an absence.

Twilight took one more half-hearted bite and surrendered to the remains of her meal. She blinked the plate away, replacing it with several large binders. “I crunched some numbers last night, and though your aura is obviously off-the-charts powerful, it’s still pony-shaped. So that’s good.”

“That’s it?” Luna asked.

“Not quite.” Twilight flipped through to one section of binder stuffed with loose papers and pie charts. “These equations seem to indicate an imbalance. More like diminution.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Diminution?”

“Yes. Sort of. It would be nice to do a follow-up next month to corroborate this evidence.”

“What exactly does diminution mean in this context?”

“Well.” Twilight bit her lip. “It seems like your aura is getting dimmer. Relatively speaking.”

“Oh,” Celestia said.

“It’s still five million times more powerful than a regular pony’s aura. But over the course of the test its power actually dropped by point-zero-zero-zero-one percent.”

“But the test only lasted a moment. That must add up.”

Twilight looked up in puzzlement. “We ran that test for nearly an hour.” Lines of worry appeared in Celestia’s forehead. She opened her mouth, but Twilight beat her to the punch. “Now that we have a direction, we’ll need to bury ourselves in data. Celestia, I would like you to stay at the castle for daily tests. We have the best mages on staff to oversee—”

“Twilight—”

“And of course you can have your old quarters. Since the incident, I’ve made sure they were kept in tip-top shape just in case you ever needed to come back—”

“Twilight.”

Twilight fell silent.

“Keeping me here is no doubt a tremendous imposition on your routine. You are no longer a scholar. Focus on the kingdom first and foremost.”

Twilight slumped. “But Celestia—”

“Plus, Twilight, I’m retired.” A note of sweetness snuck into Celestia’s voice. “There’s so much to catch up on from my long nap. But I have a new life to live. If you’ll allow it, I’ll return in one month, and every month after that, until we know what’s going on.”

Twilight nodded. Some of the life returned to her eyes. Ever the curious mare. Ever the faithful student. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

A month of errant thoughts and strange dreams came and went in the blink of an eye. When Celestia returned, Twilight embraced her like it had been another two years.

After their next round of tests, Twilight sealed herself away in her study for nearly a week. When she finally returned, bleary-eyed and woozy, she delivered her working hypothesis.

“Ok—so, alicorns can’t really die. No one’s ever seen one die, anyway. There’s only been three generations of alicorns—the makers of Equestria, you and Luna, and now me and Cadance. The four of us are all accounted for. So what happened to the first ones? I don’t think they just disappeared. But they didn’t really die, either. Alicorns can’t just keel over like we—like ponies can. Their magic is too strong.”

“So you’re suggesting something else happens?” Celestia asked.

“Exactly! Instead of a traditional death, they become one with the unbound fabric of reality. The makers didn’t disappear. They were freed from the shackles of time and space, becoming matterless and perfect in every way. “

“Freed...” Celestia pondered the thoughts for some time. “So—”

“So it’s a gradual diminution of your aura’s essence.”

"I melt,” Celestia said curtly.

“Not at all. Ice cream on a warm brownie melts. Ponies don’t melt.”

“Sounds like melting.”

“If you’re really attached to that analogy, you could say you ‘melt’ into oneness with the universe. It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

“Storms are beautiful, when observed from a distance.”

Twilight’s ears drooped. “Sorry. But let me reiterate that this is all speculation. We just don’t know exactly what will happen. Two points of data do not a correlation make, after all!”

Celestia’s blue eyes grew distant. “I will return next month, then. We all deserve to know.”

She shied away from adding the other thought, the reason Twilight deserved to know. That one day it may happen to her, too.

A surprise awaited the alicorns when next they met. Celestia made her way from her temporary quarters in Canterlot castle to the dining area, moving in a practiced pattern down the winding corridors so as to avoid the morning patrols. She liked walking by herself.

When she arrived, Luna spat out her cereal. Twilight nearly fainted.

“Godsflame,” Luna sputtered, her mouth caked with half-chewed pear-io’s, “your mane!”

Celestia grabbed a silver spoon from the table and stared at her warped reflection. Sure enough, her mane had turned a floral shade of green. Light burst through in geometric patterns and scattered every which way.

Pure confoundment sealed her lips shut. The light reminded her of trees, and for a moment she could have sworn she had seen this color somewhere before.

Celestia couldn’t be sure why Twilight chose to wear librarian’s glasses. Perhaps it was some new fashion trend she had missed. Maybe she wore them simply so she could take them off. Alicorn eyes were exceptionally powerful, even when they changed colors. It’s not like she needed them.

Still, there they were. Sitting atop her scrunched up nose, cocked slightly to one side. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Twilight said, shifting through a stack of papers. “The evidence is trending strongly towards diminution.”

“Melting,” Celestia corrected.

“Not melting. Diminution.” Twilight sounded unconvinced. “It appears to be exponential, also.”

“How exponential?”

Twilight tapped her glasses with a pen. “If I’m wrong about it being exponential? Two hundred years at least. Maybe more.”

“That’s all?” Luna interjected. She rose from her perch in a plush corner armchair. “That’s nothing to us.”

“That’s two lifetimes.”

“No,” Luna insisted, “not to us. Not to you. Not anymore.”

“The evidence—”

“Damn your evidence.”

“Luna!”

A whimper stopped them short. Celestia wondered who had made it. Then she heard it again and realized it was coming from her. “And if it is exponential?”

Twilight flipped through the tables again. “Two weeks.”

Celestia looked around, her eyes suddenly unable to focus. “How long is two weeks again?”

Utter turmoil crossed Twilight’s face. “Fourteen days.”

“But what does two weeks feel like?”

“I...” she grasped for the right word. “It’s not that long.”

Celestia sucked in a breath. What had she been doing two weeks ago? Two weeks before? What did the passage of time feel like? The harder she tried to focus the weaker she felt.

“I could be wrong!” Twilight said. “It could really be four hundred years. The data could turn on a dime. We’ll do some more tests next month and see. The words caught in her throat. “Maybe tomorrow, actually.”

Her words assuaged none of the worry. Now all that Celestia could think of was her body at fifty percent dissipation. Then sixty. Seventy. Ninety five. Icy pins ran up her spine. Godsflame. Ninety nine.

Celestia said, “At what point do I stop being me? What do I become then?”

The other two alicorns shared a look, then shrugged.

“I see.”

Celestia burst into tears.

That night, Celestia and Twilight shared tea on the balcony, like they used to when Twilight was still a pony and Celestia was still immortal.

Celestia sipped her tea casually. Twilight’s cup chattered against its saucer.

“When you see the end,” Celestia said, “you see the beginning too.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight stammered.

“I’ve been having dreams of places I thought I would never see again. Places erased by time.” She looked out over Canterlot. The familiar soft glow of lantern light lent a pleasant warmth to the evening. “What was your first memory, Twilight?”

“I don’t know. Baking cookies with my mom, probably.”

“Think back. Was it the sight of the cookies? Or the smell? Or the taste?”

Twilight swirled her tea in its cup, nearly spilling it. “The smell, I guess? I’m not sure what came first.”

Celestia hummed to herself. “My first memory was of the home Luna and I lived in before we were crowned princesses. Before we became alicorns.”

Excitement flashed in Twilight’s eyes. “Nopony mentions that in the history books.”

“That’s because history hadn’t begun yet,” she said simply. “Would you like to know about my childhood?”

Twilight’s eyes went wide.

“I thought so.”

Celestia went to work pinning together the ancient memories while Twilight settled in under her wing.

“Luna and I were born to farmers. We worked fields for the first twelve years of our lives. Then, like you, we were marked for ascension through a divinely magical event. In your case, it was the sonic rainboom that marked you as a bearer of harmony. In our case, it was Discord’s incursion into the west.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing at first. He was different back then. Truly evil. But his shadow rarely fell over our farm, so we ignored it. That was a grave mistake. By the time he reached our land and uprooted our farm, so many ponies had been lost to chaos. More than I could ever know.”

“That was when you defeated him the first time.”

“You make it sound so easy. We were still so young. We had no idea what we were doing. We spent two years searching for some way to defeat him. When we found the elements of harmony, our fates were sealed. Its power bound our souls to eternally serve this realm. It turned us into alicorns. Most importantly, it let us return everything to normal.”

“Wow...” Twilight’s eyes moved back and forth, no doubt imagining the battle. “Where did you find the elements?”

“They found us. Perhaps one day, they will return to this world and you can endeavor to learn their secrets.”

“Maybe. I still can’t believe you grew up on a farm.”

“It makes perfect sense to me. There’s no better place for earth ponies to grow than on a farm.”

Twilight nearly spat out her tea. “You used to be earth ponies?” She looked away. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I just assumed you were unicorns for some reason.”

“It’s okay. Everyone views the past through their own lenses. They fill in the blind spots with what they know.”

“What was your farm like?”

“More colorful than anything I’ve ever seen before or since.” She sipped her tea. “I have to find it again.”

“But that place has to be thousands of years old. It might not even be there.”

“Perhaps. But I have to try. Look at me, Twilight. This is well beyond anything I’ve ever encountered before.”

Twilight turned away. Her cup started chattering against its saucer again. “I wish I could come. I wish I didn’t have to...” she gestured vaguely at Canterlot. “How did you come to terms with being their leader?”

“I didn’t ever fully come to terms with it. I just did it until I wasn’t afraid anymore. Fear fuses your bones together when you know you ought to move.”

Tears streamed down Twilight’s cheeks. But her voice was as strong as ever. “I think I understand. When you find what you’re looking for, please come back and tell me about it. I’ll put a bright lamp on the tallest tower just in case you need help finding your way home.”

Celestia wrapped Twilight up in her massive wings, and together they slipped back into their most cherished memories.

Early the next morning, before the rising of the sun, Celestia departed from the south gates of Canterlot. There was no fanfare. Twilight and a half dozen honor guards saw her off. She carried her saddlebags, weighed down with provisions, a bedroll, a journal, and a hat.

She’d never felt lighter.

As she cleared the city limits, she heard a pop of magic behind her. “Luna,” she said.

“Couldn’t resist,” Luna said. “If this happens to all of us, I need to know what it’ll be like.”

“You don’t have to go. I promised them all I’d come back.”

Luna snorted. “They don’t know what you’re like when you’re adventuring.”

“Fair enough.” Celestia slowed up. “Would you help me carry these bags?”

Luna held up her hooves. “This is your adventure, isn’t it?”

When they got a few miles down the road, Celestia turned back to take one last look at her city. As she took in the scene, a bright beacon of light came to life on the tip of the castle’s highest tower. It twinkled in the predawn darkness like the north star.

Celestia swore she’d never forget that sight as long as she lived.

They could have made the journey in ten hours by flight, but Celestia elected to walk instead. Her path was well-marked but seldom used—a hiking trail extending from the heart of Canterlot south through the heartland, then east, terminating at the base of the Foal Mountains.

The hike would take three days. The prospect agonized Luna, but Celestia was undeterred. Walking was its own form of meditation, and she had much to think about.

Her focus and fortitude would be tested, because under pain of death Luna would not shut up for even a single second.

“We could have flown,” Luna said for the thousandth time. “We could be there. We could figure it all out and get back to Canterlot in time for breakfast.”

“Knowledge is not to be plundered like the fruit of a tree. It is to be cultivated, like the tree itself. And besides, do you really want more pear-io’s?”

Luna shuddered. “Not for another hundred years.”

All around them, the land changed.

The Foal Mountains were widely believed to be the birthplace of farming, and modern Equestrian society in general. Celestia knew the truth—that it was, more impressively, off the rocky coasts of Baltimare where farming first took root—but frustratingly, all the evidence to back up her claim was lost to time.

That didn’t mean the Foal Mountain basin wasn’t ancient.

Crystal-clear rivers fed deep underground wells. Mild seasonal floods fed the soil with mineral-rich silt. Mild winters and long summers all worked in tandem to build a single massive forest stretching millions of hectares. A superorganism larger than any other living thing on the planet.

The first thing Celestia noticed was the aura of the forests stretching far beyond their treelines. They beckoned her in, and she obliged.

The stone cart path became a dirt road, then a set of wagon ruts. Then any semblance of a path disappeared completely. Above them, branches intertwined to form an unbroken canopy. Light filtered through in shimmering geometry.

“Can you feel it?” Celestia asked Luna.

“I feel something.” Luna swatted at a bug buzzing in her ear. “They ought to tidy the path up.”

“They’re not allowed to. This is protected land.”

“Of course.”

Celestia waited for her sister to catch up. “You can feel it, right?”

“Yes, yes, I feel it. It’s like when we were foals.”

“I think the forest has a lot of memories from back then.” An idea came to Celestia. “Luna, correct me if I’m wrong. A pony is made of their aura, right?”

“Right.”

“What is an aura made of?”

“Magic, of course.”

“Then what is magic made of?”

“Energy.”

“What is energy made of?”

Luna shrugged. “Semantics. Small bits and pieces.”

“I think energy is everything we do and don’t do. A pony’s energy is connected to their actions. A forest’s energy is connected to where it grows and what it grows, what trees get chopped down or struck by lightning, what animals are born and die in it. So in a way, we become what our memories say we are.” She stopped by a nearby tree and ran her hoof along the grain of the bark. “Just by being here, we imprint our aura on the forest, and it imprints its aura on us. We are the forest, and the forest is us.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“We haven’t even been in this forest an hour and you’re already going native.”

Celestia pouted. “Am not.”

“Yes you are. Look. Your mane is the same color as the canopy!”

They both paused.

They made camp that night near a clear stream. The earth around the riverbeds was dry, so they set up their solitary tent right next to the water.

The first order of business after making camp was to make dinner. Celestia volunteered while Luna went to gather kindling for a fire. As she set out their ration of fruits and oats, she noticed her hooves had become muddy from the walk.

No bother. The river was only a few paces away. She hopped right in and started scrubbing, but after a few seconds she realized the dirt wasn’t coming off.

She scrubbed harder. Still the dirt remained. Frowning, she dug through her bag for a bar of soap, but found nothing.

She went back to the river and started furiously scrubbing, muttering ancient curses under her breath. Luna returned and took note, but kept her distance.

Celestia looked up. “We didn’t bring any soap.”

Luna had already finished building the fire’s foundation. “Why would we bring soap?”

“My hooves are dirty.”

Luna looked around at the wilderness, then back to Celestia. “I suppose they are.”

With a huff of annoyance, Celestia returned to scrubbing. Her green mane fell into her face. She tried to tuck it behind her ears but it wouldn’t behave.

The water babbled happily as Celestia lost her cool.

She scrubbed past the point of pain. Fur started coming out.

Luna finally intervened. She wrapped Celestia up with both arms and held her until she stopped squirming.

“It’s fine,” Luna said in a soft and soothing voice. “Everything is fine.”

“It won’t wash off,” Celestia panted.

Luna wrapped her up with her wings and rocked her back and forth. Almost instantly, Celestia felt sleepy.

“It’s not mud,” Luna cooed, “that’s the color of your fetlocks now.”

The night was dark, but the fire was warm and inviting. Celestia sat on one side with her legs drawn up beneath her. Luna sat on the other, poking the fire absently with a stick.

Both pairs of eyes watched the flames dance and die on the logs.

“My hooves hurt.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Did we bring any pain tablets?”

“Yes, they’re right next to the soap.”

Celestia sighed and went back to watching the flames. The sounds of the forest fell around them like a drapery of thick velvet. Muffled in some places, articulate in others. In the dark she could hear things she never would have heard during the day. Animals pitter-pattering in the underbrush. Birds flapping their wings in the canopy. Wind rubbing tree branches together.

“What will you do when I’m gone, Luna?”

Luna looked at her through the flames. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just curious.”

Luna didn’t reply.

“Really. I want to know.”

Luna looked into the forest. One eye lit up with firelight. The other was lost to shadows. “I don’t know.”

“Even if Twilight was right, and it takes another two hundred years, it’s going to happen.”

“I know.”

“It’s happening right now.”

“I know,” Luna said, louder this time.

“Then why do you not understand?”

“I understand just fine.” The insects and birds lost track of their song. The forest around them fell into silence, then found its tune again. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“Yes, and you’re the one taking this in stride.”

“Look at me. I’m barely myself anymore. It’s... freaky.”

“Yes, it’s very freaky. Especially your hair.”

The forest song swelled with laughter. But not Celestia.

“Listen,” Luna continued, “it kills me that we don’t understand this. Don’t think just because I’m cracking jokes that I don’t care. I’m scared too. Whatever’s happening to you will most likely happen to me. For my own sake... for Twilight and Cadance too, I need to stay observant.”

“And the jokes?”

“Jokes are merely observations of life’s insanities.” Luna paused. “Like your hair.”

A weak chuckle escaped Celestia’s lips. A small victory for her sister.

Luna smiled and moved to Celestia’s side. “Don’t think for a second you aren’t the most important thing in the world to me. Say okay.”

“Okay.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Luna rattled Celestia playfully.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure.”

“Good.” Luna settled down. “You’re my older sister. I’ve shared every moment of my life with you. I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

Celestia nestled close under her sister’s wing. “Love you, too.”

The fire dimmed to the low glow of dark red coals. Wrapped up tight against the evening chill, Celestia melted into a dream, and Luna became the night.

The two sisters walked all the next day. Luna lagged behind, complaining about the portions of oats and fruits. Then, sometime around noon, she abruptly stopped speaking.

Celestia put her head back and savored the other forest sounds she’d been missing. “The aura of the forest is changing,” she said aloud. “Can you feel it?” She turned around. “Luna?”

Luna seemed pale. Distracted. “What?”

“I said, can you feel the aura changing?”

“I feel it,” she said softly.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” She looked around for anything other than Celestia to focus on. “Feels as if the forest is pulling us somewhere.”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, exactly. I think it wants us to go back.” She considered the trail before them, then the underbrush to her right. “I think we should go this way.”

“There’s no path that way.”

“Life never guarantees a path.”

“Alright then. Do you feel it that strongly?”

“I do.”

“Then lead on, sister. And watch for ticks.”

The old flame of adventure flared in Celestia’s heart. With a burst of magic she pushed the foremost layer of branches aside and stepped into the loamy earth beyond the beaten path. Luna followed behind at a trudging pace.

Celestia kept her eyes open to duck branches and sidestep brambles, but her mind was solely focused on finding the source of the forest’s aura. Something this powerful couldn’t be calling to her by accident. This had to be the work of something greater.

They walked through the undergrowth for hours. More than once, they had to pause when Luna stepped in something foul or sharp or had a branch snap back into her face.

The younger sister took the abuse without a single complaint.

When they finally emerged from the densest of the undergrowth, both sisters were scratched and frayed at the edges. This part of the forest had been scored by a fire some months ago. The floor was bare earth and blankets of fallen leaves, and the canopy was held up by massive oak trees spaced every ten lengths or so apart. Here the earth was damp and the light was dim. Magic all but erupted from the ground.

“We’re close,” said Celestia.

“Why don’t we rest? I need to clean these cuts.”

Celestia nodded. She set the saddlebag under a nearby tree, signifying camp. As she dug out a vial of healing salve from her pack, she said to Luna, “You’ve been really good this morning. No complaints.”

Luna smiled bitterly. “Believe me, I’m complaining on the inside.” She looked away. A creeping mote of worry snuck into her voice. “Celestia, what is a pony made of?”

“Magic. Blood. Bits and pieces.”

“Their aura, right?”

“Oh, yes. Aura.”

“Even though you’re changing physically, your aura is still the same pony shape.”

“Melting, in my case. But yes.”

“So even though you look like a weirdo, you know I still love you. And you’re still you in there.” Celestia gave her sister a confused look. Written all over Luna’s face, unhidable, unavoidable, was the same pale, distracted look she had on this morning. “You know that’s true, and that will never change.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Did you roll your ankle? Did you get a bad cut? Let me help.”

“First swear you won’t scream.”

“Is it that bad?” Celestia glanced at the meager poultices in the bag and wondered if they’d be enough. “What happened to you?”

“Promise you’ll stay calm.”

“I promise. Now tell me where you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” Luna pointed. “Look at your flank.”

Celestia set herself down in the bed of dying leaves and loam and looked behind her. Her eyes moved across her tin-grey coat to the spot on her flanks where the sun would be.

Her cutie mark was gone.

In its place was a speckled pattern of rust-red spots spiraling together, then extending down one leg.

She locked eyes with Luna. Then she looked at her flank again.

“Exponential,” she murmured.

That night, Celestia had horrible dreams. The sun had flown out of her control and disappeared, casting the world into a thousand-year night. Then, without warning, the sun returned, hurtling towards earth like a rogue meteor.

She flew towards it, pleading, “Stop! Stop!” but it wouldn’t listen. When the sun drew close and swallowed up everything else on her periphery, she pumped her wings harder and flew straight into it. She slammed into the molten surface and tried to push it away, but in an instant the plasma swallowed her up.

The inside of the sun was dark as night.

They set off at dawn without a word.

The air hummed with magical energy as they approached the forest’s core. Strange tricks of the light played across the forest floor. Beams of shifting sunshine became extinct animals not seen by pony eyes in millenia. Spotted Forager Jackrabbits and Pike Deer and Beaver-tailed Squirrels and Gryffonettes in packs of ten.

Celestia called out to them. They all scattered at the sound, never to be seen again.

The light wasn’t the only thing playing tricks on them. The wind picked up. It phased in and out of time with itself. First it sounded like trees groaning. Then it was long-dead relatives calling out. Then it was children shrieking with joy. Leaves and dead bits of foliage scattered in all directions. Celestia lowered her head and soldiered on. She could barely keep her eyes open. Neither could she stop. As hard as the wind blew against her face, something far stronger pulled her deeper into the unknown. As the wind crescendoed to its final fever pitch she heard the voice of her sister as a child, calling her name.

Then, all at once, everything stopped.

The silence was deafening. No birdsongs. No wind. The whole forest went dead quiet.

Celestia raised her head. She and Luna had emerged into a wide open field five or six acres wide and twice as long. The earth beneath their hooves was arranged into neatly plowed rows, ready for seeding.

The magical pull of the forest’s aura sapped the strength from Celestia’s legs. It was all she could do not to collapse. This was the core.

Whatever force pulled Celestia down had no effect on Luna. She hopped nimbly between the plowed-out rows, stretching her wings and basking in the sunlight.

“I like this,” she said. “No more brambles in my face. Isn’t farming here supposed to be illegal?”

“We’re not here,” Celestia said, and dragged herself forward. The call of the forest pushed her forward. Each little mound of earth felt like a mountain. Climb, summit, descend. Repeat. There had to be hundreds of neat little rows between them and the treeline.

But that’s where she had to go. To the other side of the field.

“This place looks familiar,” Luna said.

Celestia grunted in acknowledgement.

“These hills feel familiar, too.”

Celestia nodded. One hoof in front of the other. Halfway across the field now. The silence fell heavier by the moment. Now two-thirds of the way. Luna was at her side, shaking her shoulder. Her lips moved but no words came through. Celestia was engulfed.

The last hundred yards was like moving through a dream.

Then all at once, the resistance around Celestia gave way. She stumbled forward and landed face-first on a hard-packed dirt path.

Luna was at her side in an instant, hauling her to her hooves.

“Talk to me,” Luna said. “What’s going on.”

“Look,” Celestia choked out, pointing ahead. “Look.”

Before them, a flimsy shack leaned on an old stone wall, both overgrown with weeds. The paint on the wood panels had all but disappeared, exposing the cracked wood underneath. The tin roof, sagging down at one edge, was frail with rust. The golden-orange veins moved out from the joints of the roof and met up with vines snaking up the corners.

Beside the shack was a row of trees. They shot from the earth at wild angles, loosely gripped and tangled all the way to the sky. Directly above was a veil of green and gold, leaves and filtered sunlight. The blue sky was only visible closer to the ground, where the tree trunks grew no branches.

“Godsflame,” Luna whispered. “It can’t be.”

Despite the age and degradation, there was no mistaking it. It looked almost the same as when they had left it six thousand years ago.

“This is it,” announced Celestia.

Luna took a cautious step forward. “I don’t believe it. This is our old house. From before we were alicorns. That field—” she whirled around. “That’s mom and dad’s farm. How could it still be here?”

“It’s not,” Celestia said.

“What do you mean it’s not?”

“When you see your end, you see your beginning.” Celestia put her hoof on Luna’s shoulder. “Try to understand, Luna. One day, you’ll find yours.” Her voice grew fleeting like distant birdsongs. “I love you forever.”

Celestia pulled away and left Luna stranded at the edge. She walked towards the shack, and as she did an ethereal breeze picked up around her. Her mane was light cascading through the forest canopy. Her coat was ancient tin and flecks of rust. Her hooves were black soil.

She turned around to look at Luna one last time. Her eyes were the blue sky peeking out from behind the trees. The soul behind them moved deeper and deeper into the memory until there was no going back, until it was ever-distant as the horizon. Perpetual. Immovable. Forever far away.

Luna blinked—and Celestia was gone.

The birds and insects resumed their song.

In Celestia’s mind, she was already back at the beginning. Back at the clearing. The drone of the insects rolled softly in the distance, and the light played out in shifting geometries on the earth, scattered by the canopy of green. The shack stood stubbornly in place, collecting leaves and light. In the distance, harmless clouds loped across the sky, their long shadows never to burden this patch of earth.

It was afternoon. Summer. Warm, like only a memory could be.