The Immortal Dream

Senescey stared in shock at the thing bubbling away in front of her.

It was a windigo. An acid green one, its misty fumes drifting upward instead of down, a vaguely chunky texture hidden beneath its surface like a cracked iceberg.

"What happened?" Senescey asked again, holding Iblis between herself and the windigo like a shield, even though striking it with the knife had caused this in the first place.

"I just gave the guy some new ideas," Iblis innocently remarked. "If you don't like it, shank him again and I'll get rid of him for good. But the poor thing was all dusty and decrepit inside. How could you resist giving him something to do with himself?"

"What kind of thing to do with itself?" Senescey warily asked.

"Whatever we need," Iblis replied. "But preferably ruining someone who really has it coming. Ain't that right, boyo?"

Ludwig wobbled back and forth, a gummy quality to its usual etherealness. "Hey... weird ponyo. Your knife has a face that can talk? That is actually pretty cool. I kind of like its face for some reason. It reminds me of the time I got to be the rude raspberry ponyo for a day and suddenly liked staring at flanks. The same exact kind of like. Can I stare at you, cool knife?"

"Aww yeah," Iblis cheered, "stare away! This is the kind of void that winks when it stares back, you know. But hey, what's this about being a pony for a day? Is that, like a metaphor, or...?"

"It's not important," Senescey sighed, feeling a stab of guilt as her mind wandered back to the Icereach mission where Corsica got possessed on her watch. "Ludwig! If you like this knife so much, think you might want to do everything I say?"

Ludwig bubbled disdainfully. "Nah. You are lame, silly ponyo. It is your knife that I have the coolness for. Hey, knife! My lame boss is ugly and not very creative. She never appreciates my face and is always going on about blah blah this and super boring that. Want to come ruin her face with me? I am getting the strange vibe that you would really enjoy it."

Iblis thought about this. "Well, boss? Any chance you have it out for this guy's boss? You did say you were trying to get rid of some windigoes, right? I vote we do it, but your call's the one that matters."

Senescey sized Ludwig up. "You're talking about the Composer, right? What are you here for? What are they trying to accomplish?"

"What's that you say?" Ludwig started to rotate. "I thought I heard something that sounded like words coming from someone much less cool and interesting than my new talking knife friend, so I forgot to listen to what they were."

"Hey, bucko," Iblis warned. "She's calling the shots right now. You want to impress me, you gotta impress her."

"For serious, cool knife?" Ludwig stopped spinning. "Wow. For some reason I am trying to insult your judgement and it is not working. If you say so!" It bobbed up and down. "So, yes! It is the same lame boss chick as last time, in my hole in the mountains. And she is here to steal something! Which I already told you, so you must be very unintelligent to have forgotten already. I think it is something that is supposed to help stop Ironridge from losing to Yakystan, and maybe get the bird thing country involved too? My boss is so annoying that she never tells me the details. Or maybe I just forgot. I have many better things to think about, because I am very intelligent."

"Nope, didn't forget," Senescey corrected. "You just said it twice. You're sure you have no idea what this thing is?"

Ludwig nod-nod-nodded.

"Alright," Senescey continued. "Moving on: how many of you are here? You said you brought the Aldebaran? Any other windigoes? Any non-windigoes?"

"Yes, the windigo boat!" Ludwig bobbed happily. "I am the only one here. She put me in the engine to make it go faster. Everything else is just remote-controlled robobobots."

Senescey nodded. "Right, spare Whitewing bodies since she can transfer between them at will... How many? Any new abilities they have since last time?"

"Oh, little ponyo, you have no idea," Ludwig chortled. "There are the normal robobobots, and then, hoho, let me tell your face all about it..."

"This is the domain of the Forest King," Gawain challenged, stepping out in front of Papyrus, Braen and Floria, his wives hesitating in the background. "I am its king. And I don't recall extending you an invitation."

To punctuate his point, he drew a rapier, perfectly matching his flashy armor.

Across from him, on the other side of the foyer, the Composer barely acknowledged him. Backed by the open, towering door, the carpet of snow, and the baleful eye looming in the storm, it gestured to him with a dismissive wing. "Step aside, please. I see some... unexpected faces in your company."

Gawain glanced back at his wives. As he did so, Braen stepped past him. "Must be referring to me."

"You?" Papyrus raised an eyebrow. "What do you have to do with-?"

The Composer nodded. "We meet at last, dear sister."

A gear in Papyrus's brain skipped a tooth. "What?"

Braen glanced over her shoulder, offering him a sympathetic look before turning back to the Composer. "It true. Composer not talking about remote controlling mechanical body, but body itself. Whitewing specification based on plans stolen from Mother Shinespark after invent for Braen. Then mass-produce in Icereach. New coat of paint, but technology all same. Braen have many sisters."

"Indeed," the Composer said. "And your parents made observation of you in Ironridge difficult. It is rare to get a good look at you."

"That right," Braen agreed, taking a step forward. "Need to keep further modifications secret so Braen can maintain technological superiority. Very important for night like tonight, when Braen have to stop sisters from being used for evil."

"Evil?" The Composer took a bow. "Though it is intriguing to finally meet you, I gather you aren't the leader of this party. Not when I see a real, living sphinx..." It glanced at Floria, and then at Papyrus. "And everyone who matters knows who you are. Now what could a pair like you be doing here if not the same thing I am?"

Papyrus sized the Whitewing up, glowing teal energy conduits tracing a spider web around its armored body. "Actually, mate, we were just flying through when your storm came by and forced an emergency landing. Don't suppose you're going to throw shade on our intentions to make our hosts distrust us and start a brawl, are you?"

Gawain shot Papyrus a wary look. The mares behind them shuffled tensely; out of the corner of his eye, Papyrus could see hoof crossbows being distributed. Everyone who was running for the cellars had fled. The ones still here were preparing to fight.

"My storm could not force you to land in an area you were not flying over in the first place," the Composer pointed out. "And I come not to 'throw shade.' I agree that your claim regarding this place is righteous. After all, was Griffonstone not historically a province of the Empire your bloodlines ruled?"

Gawain snorted. "The last sphinx to rule these lands perished over nine hundred years ago, and my bloodline descends unbroken from that house. I am fully aware that there is a live sphinx in my parlor, thank you, but Griffonstone is mine and this is not the venue for discussing otherwise."

"Griffons are famed for their pride, greed and lust," the Composer said. "Every griffon in your country could count House Griffonstone among their ancestry before a third of that time had passed. Accordingly, bloodlines are not how rulership of Griffonstone is chosen."

Gawain gave the mechanical pony a death glare. "My station and country are not for sale."

"Not your station," the Composer coolly corrected. "Merely the power you used to claim it."

"They are one and the same," Gawain insisted, patting one of his pauldrons defensively. "Who are you to barge into my domain with such egregious demands, making proclamations and justifications about things that happened a thousand years ago, insulting the intentions of my guests, all under cover of a blizzard and that ghastly eye!?"

"As I said, you may call me the Composer," the Composer replied. "My true name is Lady Catherine Manchester Volkhelm Mk.I, and I am an elder windigo. I was present when the Empire was founded, and for that I was hardly young. As for this eye, you may think of it as... collateral for our dealings." It gestured to the crimson orb in the clouds outside. "Does this sate your curiosity? There is no need to respond in kind. I care little who you are."

Gawain indignantly punched the ground with a fist. "I am Gawain, the Forest King, and-"

"Allow me to make something clear," the Composer interrupted. "I am not in a hurry. Any stalling in our negotiations will be interpreted as an invitation to remain here. Once they have reached a satisfactory conclusion, I will leave." It stared at the bristling, nervous and by now heavily-armed crowd of wives behind Gawain. "You have my word as your guest that I will not harm anyone during my stay. However, surely you know what windigoes are infamous for."

"Wait a wait wait wait," Papyrus cut in, determined to hijack the situation before Gawain could realize that his flash mob might do things other than defending him from giant eyeballs. "A windigo? Like, the spooky ooo-things that float around and turn chums into enemies in old bedtime stories? You look more like a robot to me."

"I wear many forms," the Composer explained. "This one happens to be a favorite of mine."

"Windigoes a-aren't real," said a shaky mare from the crowd. "Who are you, really?"

The Composer shrugged. "Perhaps it would be more comforting to think of me as a business partner."

"Then consider our business relationship dissolved," Gawain spat. "I have no desire to hand over my birthright for nothing."

"For nothing?" the Composer stared at him. "If the freedom from my presence and my storm count for so little, then you would take no issue if we made ourselves at home in your manor?"

"That's extortion, not business," Gawain challenged. "You're here to hold me up and you know it!"

The Composer shook its head. "My apologies. I felt it would be polite to ingratiate myself to you by taking a page from the local culture."

Gawain looked as if he had been slapped.

"Allow me to elaborate," the Composer said. "Windigoes are possessed of keen senses for strife and discord. As I flew here, I could not help but notice the immense levels of distrust and desperation in your sparsely-populated kingdom. Fertile grounds for a less-disciplined member of my kin, to be sure. But this mansion provides a minor reprieve from those feelings. Boredom and stagnation still reign here, but no one is starving. As king, the responsibility for conditions in your domain falls to you. How else should I interpret this but you purchasing the services of your subjects in exchange for relief from conditions you yourself create?"

Gawain was furious, embarrassed, indignant and ashamed. "My country's problems are intractable," he ranted, hopping up and down. "I've spent decades-"

"Was I wrong to assume that these tactics were endorsed by the ruler of these lands?" the Composer calmly interrupted. "How would you prefer to conduct this transaction? Set an example that I might follow."

"Hey, now," Papyrus cut in, stepping forward. "That kingly guy might have done an atrocious job with the place, but there's a bigger chance than you'd expect that he can clean his act up when exposed to reason. Which, by the way, we've been working pretty hard at, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to sabotage our job."

The Composer turned to him. "You believe these conditions to be the result of incompetence?"

Floria cleared her throat. "You seem to have an agenda around not giving him the benefit of the doubt."

Now the Composer turned to her. "Do you know why windigoes were created, sphinx?"

"Either an accident or a divine joke," Floria deadpanned.

"We were created to prevent unrighteous civilizations from growing too powerful," the Composer said. "A corrosive tool that rulers of impure heart would reach for, and usher in their own undoing. I am intimately familiar with the minds of leaders who care only for their own enrichment, their own pleasure. I have met them, been used by them, watched keenly as they ignored chances to take the harmonic road, and I have ultimately brought about their demise. None alive know them better than I. They cannot change. They will not change, and everyone will become them if afforded too much power. This was not merely incompetence."

Floria took a step back. But Papyrus stepped forward in her defense. "That's a very important if you've got there."

"Is it not accurate?" the Composer challenged. "You should know the minds of rulers almost as well as I, Papyrus of Riverfall. Why are you here? To 'expose him to reason' and win the power of Griffonstone through a debt of gratitude? You believe he is unworthy of it, and seek it for yourself."

"Alright, enough of that." Papyrus swung a hoof out to the side, then held it to his chest. "I'm a great greedyguts miser who only works for my own benefit and am no different from everyone else, which means that's not remarkable and we're moving on. Here's what I want to know: how did you find out that Griffonstone's been sitting on the Rod of Kraken Summoning, and what are you going to use it for, anyway? Ironridge and Yakyakistan are in the mountains, not by the sea."

Gawain blinked. "The what?"

The Composer looked slightly taken aback. "Neither of us are here for a Rod of Kraken Summoning."

"Maybe you're not," Papyrus dismissed, taking his chance and running with it. "Wait, so are you here for that old cache of documents Garsheeva left behind about the you-know-what?"

The Composer gave him a blank look, which was impressive for a robot with mechanical eyes.

"No?" Papyrus tilted his head. "The teleporter to Indus? The knife that mind-controls people and turns them into assassins? The old signet ring that unlocks the passage down below Yakyakistan's glacier? This very nice rug?" He patted the grand carpet beneath his hooves.

"Everyone who matters knows what both of us are here for," the Composer sighed. "I felt it would be a show of good faith not to name it aloud in front of a crowd of servants."

Papyrus scrutinized the Composer. He hadn't seen any hint of a different reaction when he mentioned the knife... The Composer clearly thought he knew about whatever it was they were here for, so if it was the knife, he hadn't outed anything by mentioning it. But odds were up now that the Composer was actually here for something completely different, and didn't know about Cherrabell's weapon at all.

Gawain, of course, missed all the subtext... and if it really was a good idea to keep any objectives unspoken, he didn't seem to share it. "This bandit is talking about the Regalia of the Forest King," he declared, patting his armor. "This is what bestows my right to rule."

"...Really," the Composer said. "Either you're far more evil than I expected, or Papyrus has underestimated your incompetence."

A wave of murmuring swept through the crowd of wives, and one was elected to come forward and speak. "That old armor he wears is all you want?" asked a griffoness, packing a crossbow with a bolt that had a large, angry orange tip.

"A reasonable question," the Composer replied. "Yes, it is. Do you know what it does?"

"Some kind of heirloom?" the griffoness shrugged. "Gawain, look: we're being held up. If we use these crossbows inside the mansion, it's going up in flames and we're all going to die. Who knows what the eye can do. This seems like a bad hill to die on."

"As I said, the Regalia bestows my right to rule," Gawain protested, defensive. "That thing is demanding my kingdom, my resources, even all of you!"

"The right to rule comes from the obedience of one's followers," Floria cut in. "Whether that is won through force or admiration, a ruler is one who sets meaningful rules. What does a silly old suit of armor contribute to that when the safety of your subjects is on the line?"

"Well put," the Composer agreed. "What is that armor worth, indeed? I have yet to make a single threat beyond disturbing the tranquility of your home, and your subjects already seem to value that above the preservation of your Regalia. Would they see you differently if it was gone? Would anything change around here if you made such a small sacrifice in their name?"

Gawain looked frantically between Floria and the Composer. "Y-You're not agreeing with that thing, are you? Are you in cahoots to steal my country?"

The mood among the army darkened. "Gawain," another griffoness said. "I came here because you promised to use your resources to protect me. Paying ransoms isn't what I had in mind at the time, but you made an oath."

"This is no mere resource!" Gawain spun in a panicked circle, realizing he was surrounded. "Money, certainly, but my kingdom, my throne?"

"What does that armor have to do with your throne?" a mare protested.

As Gawain pleaded something back, Papyrus started to get a bad feeling that, not knowing himself what was so special about the armor, he was playing along with something he really shouldn't be playing along with. "Hey, windigo," he called to the Composer. "Nice job setting this up so they convince him to relinquish the armor, but aren't you forgetting about us? We were here first. How are we going to settle who gets it between the two of us?"

"An excellent question," the Composer said, ignoring Gawain. "You were the more timely of us, I will admit. And from what I know of your motives, you may yet use it in a way that furthers my ends. Tell me, how would you feel about making a deal?"

From a shadowy balcony railing, Senescey watched the confrontation in the entry hall, her ears picking up every word. And she didn't like what she heard.

"No, you idiot," she hissed under her breath. "Don't make a deal with that..."

"Painful personal history?" Iblis guessed, keeping its voice down as well. "I don't like the vibe of this Composer character either. Think I can really get behind taking them down a notch, though let's try not to bail out the griffon before he gets his just desserts. That's your boss, frost boy?"

"Oh yeah," Ludwig gurgled quietly, laying on the floor as a puddle of green fumes. "Have you ever seen an uglier face, friendo? If it was me down there, I could have had the bird things beating up their gross leader three whole hours ago."

"Right, so what do we do?" Senescey hissed. "If Braen is really a superior model of Whitewing, she might be able to take the Composer in a fight, and you said there was no one else here?"

Ludwig bubbled on the floor. "No meatbags or windigoes. Just backup robobobots on the boat. Plus the ultimate weapon."

"Yep. The one you don't know how to coherently describe," Senescey whispered. "How hard would it be to sabotage the reinforcements on the ship?"

"Good question," Iblis breathed. "I'm getting a weird feeling from those two machine ponies down there. Like my blade won't actually work on them. But I bet if you got an inert one that's still in a hangar, or something, I could find a way to pry it apart. Storm's going to make it rough to reach an airship hiding in the clouds, though."

"Eh, don't worry about that," Ludwig promised. "If I ask the storm with a supreme amount of politeness, it will probably move aside and let your ugly mug on board."

"Right, because you're a windigo," Senescey said, starting to move. "Alright. Let's look for a window I can sneak out through. Not taking the main door when there are so many people down there."

"Actually, cowardly ponyo, it is because I am handsome and charismatic," Ludwig happily told her, following along. "Storms have enormous brains."

Senescey shook her head, holding Iblis's handle in her teeth as she slunk quickly into a different hallway. "Disturbing implications, not gonna think about."

She reached a small study that had a window facing the storm. Relying on a modified windigo to protect her from the weather was sheer insanity... but she had technically done it all the months she rode on the Aldebaran, its technology protecting it from its own windigo storm. And she was already all in. There was no time to question things like this in the middle of a mission when it was do or die.

Senescey jumped onto the desk and flung herself into the shadows, slithering through the window and out into the storm.

The wind caught her like a ragdoll, flipping her head over heels in an arc that cost her all sense of direction. She couldn't even struggle to right herself; all her focus was spent on remaining conscious... and then a frigid updraft appeared, catching her wings and stabilizing her enough to get her bearings.

"Mister storm is listening!" Ludwig happily proclaimed from somewhere nearby. "You should remember to say nice things about his face from time to time. Now, to the boat we go!"

Having her wings guided by the storm was extremely unsettling. The snow had already felt alive on her trip from her own airship to the mansion, quiet and insidious. But now, it felt as if she was inside a creature, not just being nudged and buried by it but actively picked up and swallowed. She wasn't sure she could fight the currents if she wanted to as they lifted her up, towards the clouds with unnatural ease... Towards the huge, baleful red eye protruding below the raging surface of the storm.

"No way," Senescey grunted around Iblis's hilt, staring limply at the apparition as the winds bore her upwards.

"Wohoa," Iblis remarked above the winds. "Nice peeper. Is this storm literally alive?"

"No, that's..." Senescey sighed. "Rondo floated it as an idea when we were still working with the Composer. 'What if we build a giant eyeball effigy on the bottom of the Aldebaran so we can skim the bottom of the storm with it and give people the scare of a lifetime as we fly by?' Everyone else vetoed it because it was tacky and pointless, but I guess you-know-who was paying attention. Can't believe they actually did it..."

"Cowardly ponyo, you have no idea," Ludwig chuckled, looping around her in a green streak amid the storm. "It is the stupidest thing ever that there is mostly ocean between here and Ironridge, but the bird things on the coast just over there? We spooked them so good when we were flying in. It was legendary, friendo!"

Senescey sighed. Down below, she saw her ship, still sitting there with the lights on. Hadn't she told everyone to turn them out to avoid drawing attention? She couldn't remember. And wait, making their way across the snow to the mansion...

"Also, it is not just for show," Ludwig went on, rambling. "That is also now our cargo door for dropping bombs and Whitewings and the ultimate weapon on anyone we fly over. And maybe some laser beams too! My stupid boss was thinking it would be really cool if we could get the ship to shoot laser beams, but because she is unintelligent, she hasn't figured out how yet. If my face was in charge of this operation, we would have had so many laser beams..."

His voice was lost as the clouds parted, flowing past in conspicuous patterns that avoided a tunnel of free air as the updraft bore Senescey up and into the heart of the storm.

"A deal, you say," Papyrus said, leaning on one hoof. "Concerning the use of this armor. Does that mean you're offering to let us walk away with it?" He didn't know what it did, but keeping it out of the windigo's clutches could never be a bad thing...

The Composer nodded. "Perhaps. Contingent on what you would do with it."

Papyrus chuckled. "Much as I'd love to spill the beans to a sinister windigo, we've already established that you don't believe people can change and thus you probably wouldn't believe me even if I did give you all my plans."

"Have you changed?" the Composer asked, clearly aware of who Papyrus used to be. "I stayed abreast of your surveillance in Ironridge. You've lost both the tools and motives that fueled your previous crusades, but is there any doubt you would repeat your actions if those circumstances returned? You are a focused creature with a stunted heart, unencumbered by thoughts such as collateral damage and emotional consequences. You pick who you fight for, and then you move mountains for their sake, even if they wish otherwise."

"Shows what you know," Papyrus lectured. "Focused? Unencumbered? Me? If I had been able to stay on track and keep from getting distracted by chaotic impulses I would have won back then and not had it all fall to pieces. And if your knowledge of me ends at Ironridge, then I'm afraid it's sadly outdated."

"Irrelevant," the Composer dismissed. "I have watched your species for two millennium, from its inception to its destruction. You were no exception to the rule in your first life, and even after escaping your tainted flesh you refused the opportunity to change. Nothing can happen in one short month that refused to happen over so many eons. If you care to show otherwise, then dispel this storm using your trust in your companions."

Papyrus sighed. "Well, you've got me there: I'm not quite goodie-goodie enough to psychokinetically banish you with the magic of happiness, as fun as it sounds. I'll believe that one's possible for anyone when I see it."

"It has happened before," the Composer said, turning back to Gawain and his army. "Rarely. And never from creatures in positions of power..."

It wasn't looking good. Gawain was alone, and his wives, armed and afraid, looked increasingly in favor of handing over the armor. The crowd was still barely managing to avoid yelling over each other, but Gawain had yet to relent.

"It's only a matter of time before they start fighting," Floria hissed. "Shouldn't someone do something?"

"Who is qualified to intervene?" the Composer asked her. "He is their king, is he not? I gave no false testimony, and opened no fault lines that were not already present. Is it not just for him to face the consequences of his actions?"

Tension crackled through the air, and Papyrus could feel a faint delirium in the back of his head reminiscent of the thrill that used to carry him away as a sphinx. "Your storm is absolutely making this a thousand times worse."

"The only metric that matters is whether I accomplish my mission," the Composer corrected. "Don't you agree? If not, why are you sitting on the sidelines and leaving him to his well-deserved fate?"

Papyrus got up and marched forward. "Well, when you put it like that, maybe I ought to get my hooves dirty."

He strolled up while Gawain's back was turned, planting a hoof on the griffon king's shoulder and making him jump.

"You-!" Gawain's face didn't know whether to rise or fall when he saw Papyrus. "What?"

Papyrus looked out at the crowd of mares and griffonesses, unmitigated fear in their eyes. None of them knew what to make of him anymore, and they watched him for the slightest indication that could help make up their minds. Despite being by far the largest and most blatantly armed force in the room, they looked very alone.

"...Doff the armor, chum," he gently told Gawain. "Aren't they the girls you love? You've got to respect their decision."

The crowd looked ever so slightly encouraged. Folded ears rose halfway, tense headcrests regained a little of their bounce. Nobody changed their position.

"I can't," Gawain whispered, quiet enough that only Papyrus could hear. "They're in love with the king. If I'm not the king anymore-"

"Then you can make yourself king again through your actions, and not your clothes," Papyrus said, refusing to keep his end of the conversation quiet. "This country sure could use some kingly actions to whip it back into shape. And I still don't get why anointing rulers with that armor is so important, but looking at how well that system has done for the place, I say toss it and try something new."

"You're lying," Gawain accused, inches away from panic. "You do know what it does, you're just pretending not to so it sounds more reasonable to give it up!"

"Do we know what it does?" one of his wives demanded. "You keep making it sound like I'm not making an informed decision, but then you're not saying what I need to know! I don't care about your customs, just hoof it over and then keep calling yourself king anyway!"

"This is a lot less kingly than being without any armor," another one added.

Gawain looked desperately at Papyrus. "See? Of course you see! You know, you know, you-"

"This had better not be what it looks like," a new voice thundered from the open doorway.

Everyone looked up. It was Felicity.

"Felicity-!" Gawain choked.

"What are you doing here?" Papyrus asked, baffled. "And how many more 'reinforcements' are going to keep following us?"

"Interesting," the Composer remarked, just watching her.

Felicity brushed a heap of snow out of her coiffed, scarlet mane, marching into the mansion. "I am a doctor and busy professional who is trying to care for a mare who has just given birth," she declared, "and your shenanigans are making that completely impossible. You." She stopped in front of the Composer, pulling out a sheet of paper from her suit and presenting it. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Papyrus recognized it instantly. It was one of Egdelwonk's employment contracts for his Ironridge janitor service.

"I have it on some authority that this belongs to someone you have a truce with," Felicity told the Composer. "That somebody has currently taken up residence on my airship and is using a magical screen to show my patient a live feed of everything that's happening in this room. It is a horrible nuisance and they won't leave until you do. Now that we've established my motive, don't try to hinder me. Is that clear?"

The Composer nodded. "Make your move. I am curious to see what you will do."

Felicity continued her march, this time coming to a stop in front of Papyrus and Gawain. "Gawain," she said, phrasing it as a gentle order. "Give me back my armor."

Gawain blinked at her. Papyrus and the wives did, too.

"I am fully aware of what it does, and why you think you need it," Felicity told him. "And let me tell you right away that Papyrus is right and you are wrong. Give me the Regalia. I will then handle negotiations with this windigo. Then in the morning, we can discuss the state of your kingdom and where our debts presently stand. But I've left this on loan to you for nearly two decades, and circumstances have forced me to come collect."

Gawain was going to protest. He was going to plead, panic, struggle; Papyrus could see it in his eyes. No matter how much emphasis the griffon put on adhering to principles, there was no way he could think rationally in this situation. Papyrus knew it, and Felicity must have known it too if Egdelwonk had really been showing everyone on the ship the proceedings.

That was why Papyrus wasn't surprised at all by the sensation of a bucket of water hitting his thoughts. He had already been keeping his emotions on a tight leash to guard against manipulation, but suddenly he was perfectly cold, distant and lucid, and he could see that everyone else was, too.

Felicity's suit didn't cover her brand, and she stood with it displayed for all to see. Gawain clearly wasn't familiar with its effects, and his wives weren't either: most of them looked baffled in an academic sense, as if the weight that was tamping down their emotions was a curious puzzle to be solved rather than an existentially terrifying form of manipulation. But there was no power he would have chosen to shut down a brewing fight instead of this one, and Papyrus found himself glad - as much as he could, standing within her aura - that she had decided to show up.

"Gawain," Felicity repeated, gentle and earnest. "Your kingdom is already on fire, and you already know that we weren't going to leave it to burn. Give me the regalia, and I can solve this situation tonight. And then we'll help you solve the one that follows it in the morning."

She let her field go out, allowing everyone's emotions to restart and letting Gawain consider it on a fair and level plane.

Slowly, he sighed. "Please don't think any worse of me..."

Piece by piece, he started to remove it. And as he did, Papyrus started to notice a reaction in the crowd.

"Wow," a griffoness remarked. "He looks kind of... ordinary."

"Not hideous," another one added. "But I guess that really was doing something for his image. So what was its power?"

A nearby mare looked like she was trying to talk herself into seeing something, though Papyrus could tell she actually wasn't. "He looks... different, I suppose?"

And then, ignoring Gawain, a griffoness said, "I know it's night and an emergency, but was this place always so poorly lit? It feels like the mansion changed."

Murmuring spread at that. "Look, the wallpaper is peeling a little next to this floorboard," one griffoness pointed out.

"No, that was always like that," a mare reminded her. "I've tried to fix it, but it keeps coming undone. Pretty much every room has one."

Within the span of a minute, none of them at all were looking at Gawain. Standing there, unclothed and alone, Papyrus echoed the evaluations of his wives: he looked like any old random griffon. Didn't carry himself in a kingly or royal manner. Kind of lanky. Just average. It wasn't much of a shock, since Papyrus never thought he looked kingly in the first place.

"Congratulations," the Composer said to Felicity. "Is the Regalia truly yours, as you claim?"

"Depends how you track ownership," Felicity replied. "I looted it from a molding airship wreck where it had evidently been wasting away for years. Then I sold it to this griffon in a deal that was immediately rendered invalid by changing circumstances, and was not able to receive payment. In griffon economic ideals, I suppose that makes me something like this mansion's landlord."

"Interesting, albeit irrelevant," the Composer said. "I would like to negotiate with you a deal regarding the Regalia's continued use. While I cannot compromise on my goals, the method of reaching them is flexible. How do you intend to use this power if I leave you with it and withdraw?"

"Hold on," one of Gawain's wives interrupted. "What's it do, anyway? Could someone stop keeping us in the dark?"

The Composer nodded. "The revisions of history find fertile ground in mortal lifespans. Allow me to fix this."

It pointed a glowing wing at Gawain. "As you are hopefully aware, these lands were once a province of the Griffon Empire, before the Aldenfold was raised and split the world in two. At the time of this sundering, they were considered the province of Griffonstone, ruled by Galdar Griffonstone and his powerful sphinx house. One of the most powerful at the time, in fact."

The wives stopped chattering, and were fully paying attention. "But the sphinx population is reliant on interaction with the royal family to sustain itself," the Composer continued. "And Equestria's border policies made no exceptions for the land of their distant neighbors, due to a geopolitical feud at the time. Eventually, Galdar's line lost its last sphinx, and was succeeded by a griffon heir, Grover Griffonstone. Time before the Aldenfold was fading from living memory, and so with Garsheeva's blessing, Grover set out to forge Griffonstone into a standalone nation. That blessing, however, was far from symbolic."

It gestured to the pile of armor on the ground. "Griffons are weak of heart, prone to squabbling and being led astray by their vices. In ancient times, prior to the rule of sphinxes, they counteracted this using a set of divine artifacts passed down among the royal line... or, more accurately, passed down among griffons and minting new royals as they went. These artifacts hold the power to speak to the vices of griffons, drawing and focusing them in constructive directions. To direct their greed, a sword; to focus their lust, armor; to unify their pride, an idol. By turning those weaknesses into attachments to a leader, the griffons enabled themselves to grow strong. And Garsheeva gave that power to Grover, that his country might endure without the mandate of sphinxhood."

The wives in the crowd stared. "Did you say that armor arouses lust?"

"It grants the power to focus it," the Composer answered. "A long way to fall, isn't it? From unifying griffons on the path of patriotism to recruiting lowly housemaids."

A wave of murmuring swept through the crowd. "Gawain, does your armor really affect how we see you?" someone in the back called.

Gawain sputtered, back in the spotlight and defending himself with a stick against rhetorical swords. "Of course it does. This is an emblem of my station. I am not merely Gawain; I am Gawain, the Forest King. My worth to you comes in the gifts my station enables me to bestow. You have known this for years, don't pretend it's some revelation!"

"It is no mere emblem," the Composer apologized. "As I have said, I am in no hurry to leave. Why not try it on for yourselves? Don your liege's armor and demonstrate its effects to your peers. You, there." It pointed at a griffoness in the crowd. "Perhaps you would care to try it. What is your name and station here?"

The selected griffoness looked away from both Gawain and the Composer. "Galena. I'm his wife. Been married for almost a year."

"His wife?" The Composer seemed slightly surprised. "Then perhaps someone of a lower station could make a more effective demonstration." It singled out another at random. "You. What is your name and station here?"

The griffoness it pointed at stepped forward, her crest specially styled to flop cutely when she bowed. "Gloria. We've been married for nine years. Galena is actually one of the newer ones..."

"Really." The Composer moved on to one of the mares in the crowd, ignoring the griffons. "You, then."

The mare it focused on winced a little. "Sorbet Swirl. Fourteen years."

In the middle of the hall, Gawain was starting to turn red.

The Composer sighed. "I had assumed, from the lack of males in your company, that you employ biased hiring practices. But your entire staff is your harem?"

"I refuse to debate my rights as king with you," Gawain muttered from the floor, utterly humiliated.

"Perhaps," Felicity suggested, stepping forward and picking up a piece of the armor, "I might be the one to safeguard this, as its actual owner."

No one moved to stop her as she deftly strapped it on over her business suit. When she was finished, she struck a tasteful pose.

"...Okay," said one of the griffonesses. "I see what it does now. Your point has been made." She turned to the Composer. "If you're not going to immediately raze the mansion if you don't get what you want, could you please leave and come back in the morning? I have some thinking to do."

"Never thought I'd look at a sarosian mare that way," another said. "I feel kind of cheated."

"Always wondered why you never took that thing off even in bed," a third remarked.

A mare glanced between Felicity and Gawain. "I still don't get it."

"From what I've learned," Felicity explained, "it affects only griffons. Now, I second the request for you to withdraw for one night." She stared down the Composer, looking much more regal in the armor than Gawain ever had. "If you are truly prepared for an earnest discussion about how this tool will be employed in the future, and are considering solutions that don't end in you destroying this mansion to get what you want, you will have a much better time of it when I am not up past my bedtime. Those are my conditions: withdraw for tonight, remove your ominous floating storm eye, and then on my honor I will debate you in good faith tomorrow. Are these terms acceptable?"

The Composer considered this. "I accept your proposition. I shall withdraw for twelve hours, and you and I shall debate the Regalia's future when I-"

Suddenly, it flinched, whipping around to look back out the door. "What."

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Senescey was back aboard the Aldebaran.

The main cabin was dark. Clearly, it was being used only as a transport, without any living crew: the Composer probably only checked on it periodically while it flew here, popping in and out of the Whitewing bodies on board.

How did their focus work? Could they see through all bodies at once, or only the one they were actively controlling? Did she have to treat any that might be on board as active sentries, or could she disable them while the Composer's focus was on the mansion down below? Hopefully the latter. But as she stared around the empty room, with only the blue light of the storm to guide her, it was all she could do to stay here in the present.

"So, cowardly ponyo," Ludwig announced, swooping up from the hold down below. "Nobody is here, and none of the robobobots reacted when I gave cool frost mustaches to their faces. So I think we are good to do some super sabotage!"

Well, there went the element of stealth. With a sigh, Senescey flicked on the lights so that she could see better.

The cabin came alive with light, and suddenly, she was back in the past.

Across from her was the table where her crew had played cards during long voyages, though the ship was fast and trips were never slow. They hadn't left any messes or half-finished games, or if they had, someone had cleaned them up. But she could see another unfinished card game in her mind's eye, superimposed over a table just like this one, only a lot less fancy.

"Hey, you alright?" Iblis asked as Leif stepped into another abandoned hangout she had once called home. "Your chord in the song is kind of acting up, again."

Leif squeezed her eyes shut, and the ghosts of her one-time companions were right there with her.

"Sorry, guys," she apologized, shaking her head. "Can't dwell on this. I've got something actually important to do, now. Focused on my future, and not the past."

The course of the future isn't for us to decide, a memory of Rondo told her, pushing back on a day when she tried to talk about her plans. That's for higher beings. What we can decide is who to back. And my life belongs to whoever will value it as more than a piece on the board or an extra set of hooves.

I tried to tell them we weren't monsters, a memory of Vivace whispered, haunted and cornered. They didn't listen. I tried to show them, but they didn't see. I struggled for years, but in the end, it was I who was blind. They were right.

Could I have stopped it? I will never know, said a defeated memory of Tempo, flying with the group even though her passion was spent. I once thought I held ages of wisdom. Maybe what happened was inevitable, and I was a fool. Either way, she was right there in front of me, and I lost her.

I lost everything before I was old enough to have convictions to act upon, her own memory said, explaining to the others why she couldn't stop, even as their party was starting to lose cohesion during the Icereach mission. I lost everything again when I refused to buckle on the convictions I had gained. But fate wouldn't let me die. That's proof that I'm right. In the end, I can't lose.

Senescey opened her eyes again. "I'm sorry. But that's not who I am anymore."

She made her way to the staircase down into the chaotic hold, full of junk the Composer had them lugging around. "I'm not here to say goodbye, and I'm not here to loot our old resources and start over. And I'm not going to die tonight, either. I've already got a new cause. You'll see. I've changed. I'm not stuck on that anymore. Watch me."

Her booted hooves clunked against the metal stairs to the hold. Unlike the messy pile of crates she remembered, this place had been cleaned.

Ahead, she could see a red glow emanating from a circle on the floor, which proved to be the other side of the great red eye. A console of machinery next to it looked like the controls; she sized it up and quickly determined the mechanisms for opening and closing the eye's aperture, which was actually a door. Looking down through the eye's glass-and-metal assembly, made up of supportive rods and motors and scaffolding, she could see a red-covered outline of the mansion below, blown out of proportion by the eye's curved surface acting as a lens.

Beyond the eye was a line of five Whitewings, hanging inert in a line of docking stations that had been build into the ship. A sixth station was empty. That meant only one Whitewing was unaccounted for, and had to be the one the Composer was using right now.

Towards the prow, the hold ended in a broad, dark fixture that looked a little like a huge door.

"Nice going, cowardly ponyo!" Ludwig praised. "So, that is the ultimate weapon just over there. Want me to fire it up? I bet it can turn these buckets of bolts into leaky buckets of broken bolts."

Senescey eyed up the door. "How about you let me look at it first?"

"Sure thing!" Ludwig encouraged, doing something to the door. It split down the middle, and started to retract into the sides, the light revealing something massive beyond.

Senescey stared as Ludwig's 'ultimate weapon' came into proper view. It was a bigger robot.

The thing was shaped roughly like a mushroom, with a central stalk and a huge, domelike head, asymmetrical arms affixed to the stalk and hanging down from the dome's underside. At its base, it had three treads arranged in a circle, and behind it was a massive, conical device that looked a little like a tail, sticking down from the head and wrapped in concentric rings. Attached to its many arms were all manner of weapons, including an imposing claw and a massive cannon.

"Woah," Iblis remarked. "Someone with a fashion sense made that one. Think I should try breaking this one first?"

Senescey stared for a few seconds longer... and finally, it clicked where she had seen this before.

There had been one, or something like it, sitting destroyed in the mountain tunnel that led to the bunker where she had trapped Halcyon and her friends in Icereach.

Of course this was related to the Composer.

She searched it quickly, finding a plaque built into the side of its pedestal. Pavise-Class Soul Armor Unit 5, it read.

"Alright," Senescey said, brandishing Iblis. "So how do we break this? Can you cut metal?"

She tapped Iblis's edge against the machine. Nothing happened.

"Ooh, no dice," Iblis complained. "For the record, I'm basically unbreakable, so you can try as hard as you like. But something about this metal's telling me it's special. Like it's not just designed to block mortal weapons."

"Yeah, so I remembered!" Ludwig sang, bobbing happily around the Pavise. "The ultimate weapon is a bigger robobobot! I think there are a bunch of these back at my boss chick's base, but she put one on the boat so she'd still have one if they tried to take all the others away, since she is a failure and got owned in Ironridge."

"Uh huh," Senescey said. "Any ways to break it?"

"This is supposed to be completely indestructible, friendo," Ludwig told her. "No breaking. We could steal it, though! And then use it to break all the others. In fact, that is such a fantastic plan, I think we should do it right now."

Senescey raised an eyebrow at the monstrosity. "I can use this?"

"Nah," Ludwig said. "You are not intelligent enough. But I can! My stupid boss showed me how to do it so I could steal it and get it out of Ironridge to the boat, so I have even flown it before! I think she said being a windigo gives you cool windigo powers you can use to make it move, and if a lame ponyo tried to get inside, it just wouldn't go anywhere. So what do you say, cool knife? Forget this killjoy ponyo and go have some machine versus machine action?"

"Hold up, pardner," Iblis interrupted. "I'm detecting some unease about this plan from my compatriot, here. I stand by my work in reprogramming you, but you're going to take an oath on my good name that you'll only use the machine to mangle other machines, and won't lay a lug nut on any living things who may or may not be in cahoots with Senescey and may or may not deserve a more creative ruination than you can manage on your own. Isn't that right?"

Senescey nodded. "Not sure how much I trust a promise from a windigo, but that's right. And before you do anything, let's try to break the Whitewings without that Pavise..."

She stepped back over to the rack of Whitewings, raised Iblis, and started searching for weak joints or gaps in the armor. But after a solid minute of not even scratching the things, she was forced to admit it might not be happening.

"Same kind of metal on both of these machines, if you're curious," Iblis said. "I'm no scholar, can't tell you what's special about it. But it's definitely special, and definitely the same."

Senescey sighed.

"Well, cool knife?" Ludwig pressed. "Either we fire up the ultimate weapon and kick some rude butt, or do basically nothing, and I don't like doing nothing. I will even agree to your boring terms. How about it, eh eh eh?"

"Your call, boss," Iblis said. "I vouch for my work on this guy, but it's your friends who are down there getting terrorized by the other windigo in a robot."

Senescey was at a crossroads, and she felt herself waver. "Can the Composer not take control of this one directly, then, like they do for the Whitewings?"

Ludwig shrugged. "Boy, if they could, they should be feeling pretty stupid right about now for showing me how to fly it out of Ironridge for them."

"Right," Senescey said. "Then... do it."

Ludwig did an ecstatic loop before diving towards the Pavise unit. "Oh boy, here we go!"

The whole ship rumbled as the windigo disappeared. The lighting around the Pavise shifted, and began to turn green.

Slowly, the central stalk lit up, and then the sensors hanging from the dome that made up the machine's face. Green lightning flared to life on the surface of its conical tail, and the tail began to rotate within its rings, arcing and sparking as the energy melded into a fiery plasma that glowed from within with Ludwig's life force. The double-layer treads clicked, unlocked and began to move.

"Stay out of the way!" Ludwig called, rolling slowly off the pedestal, the treads swiveling and lifting into position to carry it forward. "Can't fault me for breaking your dumb contract if you make me squoosh your face!"

Senescey backed out of the way as Ludwig rolled up to the rack of Whitewings. It extended the Pavise's massive free claw, and gripped one of the docked machines by the head. For a moment, nothing happened as it struggled with its prey, and then... crack! The head popped loose, its body sparking where it had been forced free.

"Ooh, these things are tough," Ludwig remarked, rolling on to the next one. "I might have to sit on the one my dumb boss is currently using. It will probably not hold still for me to tear its head off. This body sure feels great, though, don't you think?"

"Uhh..." Senescey watched as Ludwig moved on to the third one, two out of five decapitated and crushed. The Whitewings were getting demolished, as promised, but Iblis had better be sure about its influence over the windigo...

"Oh. Wait. You don't think, because you are too stupid to have such a great body," Ludwig said, finishing with the third. "I think I am starting to get the hang of this! Watch, watch... There goes number four! I bet neither you nor my boss chick could count to four."

Senescey felt herself sweating as doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. This was never what she had wanted. Signing power away to others was how you found yourself powerless. That was why she wanted to become the changeling queen, the goddess who could enforce fair play for others. Because she didn't trust them to do the same for her. And even if it was a modified windigo, was there anything less trustworthy than a windigo?

The fifth Whitewing snapped, and none remained.

"Boy, that was easy," Ludwig gloated. "It must make you feel pretty inadequate to know that you could not do this without my help, little ponyo. So, now I will go dunk and junk my boss, okay? I am still keeping our promise, cool knife! Watch me go!"

The Pavise reached out its claw, manipulating something on the console by the eye aperture. With a tremendous whirring and sliding of metal, it dilated, the glass sliding aside and the supports retracting, the lights in the edges that provided its red glare now shining nakedly into the stormy air.

At the last second, an alternative plan popped into Senescey's mind. "Wait!" she called. "Braen's still down there, and she should outclass the Composer. We can have her deal with-!"

"Wait? Now? Screw you, boring ponyo. I have a boss to bash. Geronimo!" Ludwig made a rude gesture towards her with its claw, and then leaped out the unblocked hole.

Papyrus, Floria, Braen, Felicity and even the Composer stared, along with everyone else, as the eye hanging in the storm dilated, opened, and something fell out.

A thing was the only appropriate descriptor for it. A massive abomination of metal and green conduits, it looked like an armored mushroom crab with a rocket engine on its back, spewing emerald energy and hanging in the sky as its head unfolded, a pair of great steel wings folding and fanning out behind it. It hovered, and it burned, and it had a massive cannon pointed straight at them.

"Eyyyyyyy robobobot!" the machine called in the unmistakable rusted-winter voice of a windigo, the storm amplifying its words instead of carrying them away. "Guess what time it is!"

"Ludwig, what is the meaning of this?" the Composer demanded. "I gave you leave to terrorize the coastal settlements, not to bring out the Pavise. And what is that green light?"

"It is my aura of coolness," Ludwig explained, aiming the Pavise cannon. "And it is time for you to get your wimpy shrimpy clock cleaned! Or more like uncleaned, since you're about to get sootcaked!"

The cannon fired, a mass of crackling green energy bursting out and flying towards the mansion. With a burst of energy, the Composer fired back, rocketing off the ground and intercepting the shot cleanly in midair. It broke over the Whitewing's body in a shower of flames, barely even leaving a singe mark.

"Fool windigo," the Composer thundered, dark with rage. "You think your life force is great enough to do more than move a Pavise? I have no place for underlings that defy my most basic commandments. I offer you a chance to evolve, and you think to use my own gifts against me!?"

"My face is cooler than you've ever been, girly-girl," Ludwig taunted, starting to fly towards the Composer. "That's why I've got the bigger robobobot! Watch what this can do!"

Its arms rotated around its core as the Composer charged, withdrawing two blades from its forelegs and slashing at the Pavise, a fountain of sparks erupting as steel met steel. The storm grumbled, echoing their clangs.

"Hey, slow down a little!" Ludwig complained as the Composer darted around with agility Papyrus had only ever seen in top-level tournament fighters back in the old Empire. "This is the kind of not playing fair that gives you a stupid face, stupid robobobot. See how much mercy I show you when you slip up!"

"Your power is limited," the Composer replied, dodging and darting and keeping the pressure up despite its inability to penetrate the Pavise's armor. "Your flailings have doomed you!"

Down in the mansion, Papyrus glanced at the stupefied Gawain, and the crowd behind him, all of them watching the duel just outside the open door. "Hey, kingly guy!" he shouted, waving his wings. "This seems like an absolutely fantastic time to get yourself and everyone with you down to the cellars with the kids? I doubt little crossbows will do much against something that overengineered!"

Gawain swallowed, looking as if he would wet himself as the Composer continued baiting Ludwig. "Yes, that's... We should..."

"Is it just me," Floria cut in, "or is the floor trembling?"

Papyrus had to admit, he felt it too. His brain wanted to chalk it up to the nearby battle, but neither of them was touching the ground... "Oh, what is it now?"

"Braen feel something coming!" Braen warned, standing at the ready in case the fighters came too close to the door. "At ready!"

From the Aldebaran's eye, Senescey watched the fight playing out below, Iblis held at her side.

"Think he's losing?" Iblis remarked. "Didn't really see that coming. Isn't the bigger robot supposed to be more powerful?"

"Looks like a stalemate," Senescey replied. "Neither of them can hurt each other, so it's down to running out of power like the Composer said."

"Hmm," Iblis mused. "Well, the windigo's connected to my song, now. Maybe it would power it up or something if I sang a little louder? Not sure the best way to do that, and I sure wouldn't want to risk it backfiring on you..."

"Hold on," Senescey interrupted. "Do you feel that? There's something, it's like... No, it can't be..."

A continent away, Faye was in control, sitting in her bed aboard Puddles' airship and reading a book Lissa had lent her about Wilderwind fashion. Several days of flying had taken them between miscellaneous errands Puddles had found to do on their way to Izvaldi, and now that they were finally approaching the province's capital, she wanted to make the most of her alone time. Soon enough, she would be off the airship and out on another adventure, and with Flarefeather's energy...

She would have fun. That wasn't really in question, at least until her luck turned sour. But for now, she was getting what solitude she could. Just herself, her bed and Coda, the large filly's iceberg secured in a closet with the door open so she didn't slide around, but could still see. Assuming she was conscious.

Something wasn't right, though. Faye sniffed, and felt like it was the air around her: it felt almost like glass, a solid sheet under heavy strain that was preparing to shatter.

That wasn't normal. She slipped in a bookmark and hauled herself to her hooves, preparing to investigate or raise the alarm-

In Equestria, in a hole on the outskirts of the Crystal Empire, Aegis loomed large in the sky.

"Have you lost your mind!?" Starlight cried, dashing towards Twilight as the princess projected a shield, bolstered with the power of the Lovebringer, defending Misophaes from the metal dragon's onslaught. "Stop!"

Twilight buckled, and Rainbow Dash charged after both of them as the ground exploded and gave way, the rocky spur beneath Twilight's hooves shattering and sending her and Misophaes plunging into the abyss below. The abyss none had returned from, and none could plumb... but Rainbow dove after them undaunted, tracking Twilight by the crackle of red Lovebringer magic emanating from her body, the remnants of her shield as she fell. The shadows rose up around her like a maw, but she didn't look back as they blotted out the sky far faster than was natural, her gaze and her heart fixed only on her friend as she followed her into the void.

Red lightning blitzed across Papyrus's vision, and time seemed to dilate until the microsecond where he had seen it was too short to have happened at all. He blinked thrice, rapping his head with a hoof to shake himself out of it. What had happened? Things were... different.

Outside, both the Composer and Ludwig had crashed, laying in metal heaps on the ground. Time still seemed to not be flowing right; he could see snowflakes from the blizzard hanging in midair, neither moving nor falling. And he couldn't hear the wind at all.

"Power supply anomaly detected," Braen's voice said beside him, static and monotone. "Attempting to bring back online..."

The machines outside, too, were recovering. Ludwig recovered first, planting a tread squarely on top of the Composer's body and pressing down, grinding it against the ground.

"Hah!" Ludwig crowed, stomping and grinding. "Who's out of energy now, stupid robobobot? Watch the great Lord Ludwig Frederick Mk.III write his name all over your face!"

"Congratulations," the Composer's broken voice crackled. "You have made yourself my new priority to eliminate."

"Look at your stupid face, giving me the respect I deserve," Ludwig cooed. "Too little, too late, you bucket of bolts! Let's do a little something to rub it in..."

Ludwig started rolling towards the mansion. As he did, Papyrus noticed something small and gray slip out from the still-open aperture where the eye had been. Was that... Senescey?

He squinted. She didn't look like she was falling normally. There was no time to hesitate: Papyrus kicked off, pumping his wings and feeling the immobile snowflakes slap against his face as he met the trajectory of her fall.

Just in time, Papyrus caught up, catching her and sparing her a devastating landing. He pulled up, shaking her, and swooped to a halt in midair. "Hey! Hey! You alright in there?"

Senescey groggily fluttered her eyes. "Unnngh... Papyrus...?"

"No one else," Papyrus promised, holding her. "What happened just now? I felt this flash, and all the robots got messed up, and the weather..."

He slowly, slowly turned his gaze upwards. The entire storm had stopped, frozen in place, a sculpture of clouds surging towards the horizon. Its blue light had been replaced with a monochrome gray. From the clouds to the wind to the snowflakes caught in time, nothing moved. Nothing at all.

"What is this?" Papyrus breathed, a trail through the snowflakes carved in the air where he had flown to catch Senescey.

"I felt..." Senescey was struggling to get her bearings. "Some... kind of energy like what Chrysalis did. When I died... But it was unfocused. Just... my head..."

Papyrus glanced towards the mansion, where Ludwig was rolling back out, a barely-conscious pony wearing a familiar suit of armor held in its claw.

"Eyyy, boss chick!" Ludwig chortled, showing Felicity off to the fallen Composer. "So I remembered with my brain that this armor is what you were looking for! Yeah! You want it?"

"Oh, hold on," Papyrus said, dropping Senescey in the snow as he took off towards the bigger threat. "No, put her down!"

Broken motors whirred on the Whitewing's carcass.

"Well, how about you come and get it?" The tail on Ludwig's machine started whirring faster, and it lifted off into the air again, tucking Felicity in under the dome and shifting into a more aerodynamic form. "It would be an awesome way to prove how much slower and dumber you are than the great Lord Ludwig Frederick Mk.III!"

And then the robot took off, blasting upwards at a punishing angle, plunging into the clouds and boring a hole straight through them.

"Felicity!" Papyrus pumped his wings harder, soaring upwards after them. "Felicity!"

The air almost lacked temperature as he chased the windigo through the tunnel in the clouds, its machine moving so much faster that it was out of sight before he even reached the tunnel's entrance. But Papyrus didn't give up, pushing his body and his wings to rise faster, the ragged edges of clouds around him whizzing past in an almost perfect cutout of the monstrosity's shape. Above, he saw moonlight, and with a final burst of speed he broke above the storm clouds and beheld the world beyond.

The storm was like a glacier, sitting immobile against the banks of the Aldenfold, their rocky slopes rising out of it like teeth. The slant of the tunnel let him out facing north, with the mountains dead ahead of him, and a speck on the horizon that maybe, maybe could have been Ludwig and Felicity. But the mountains were dwarfed by a new structure rising in the background, a needle with a point that perfectly silhouetted itself against the moon: a ruby-red spire, impossibly thin and impossibly tall, rising from a spot beyond the mountains that might roughly have been in Grandbell.

It was just like the one that had appeared in Ironridge, disrupting the day-night cycle and turning the skies gray around the clock. The one that had also appeared during a period of windigo misfeasance... but Papyrus didn't have room to think about that. He screamed it one more time, with only the clouds and the stars to hear him: "Felicityyyyy!"