The first time Sundial had seen RSL-047, she’d been in awe. The civilian lighthouses near Horseshoe Bay and the North Luna Ocean paled in comparison to this grim edifice that spiraled towards the gray skies. If the rays of the sun could pierce the relentless ghost of the fog that lingered here, Sundial was sure she’d be able to reach up and touch them herself.
Unfortunately, sunlight eluded her as much as any other reprieve. In time, the hasty promises of the gaunt reservists who’d escorted her here proved as empty as they’d sounded from day one.
It had been almost a month since she’d been assigned to RSL-047. The lighthouse sat on the northeastern coast of Equestria, just past the jagged peaks of the Yaket Range and across the sea from Bugbear Territory.
If only Bugbears were what she had to keep an eye out for.
Other than her simple post orders, Sundial was assigned no other duties. Beyond the bare necessities of daily life, there was nothing to do but watch and wait.
And, sometimes, talk to Compass.
Compass Rose had been dropped off in much the same manner as her—and not a moment too soon. It had taken Sundial only three days of being left to this tiny existence to start talking to the noisy radar equipment and the maps on the walls. When she’d seen that same regiment return with a second pony, her heart had both leapt and sunk. While her tour of duty was far from over, at least she had somepony to talk to now.
Today, Compass seemed quieter than usual. The two mares worked at the consoles of the observation deck. The beeps and buzzes of dusty equipment and the hum of electrical wires were interspersed with the steady crash of the sea. Nothing lay beyond their windows but fog, sea, and biting winds.
Sundial looked up from her window vigil to cast a sideways glance at Compass. “You hungry?”
Compass shook her head, bringing her mug of military-grade coffee to her lips with a flick of her horn. Sundial grimaced. They’d never been able to brew a pot that tasted like anything but burnt grounds. Better to go without.
“I’m going to get something downstairs,” Sundial announced.
Compass said nothing as she left the room. Her eyes remained fixed on the endless task before them.
Sometimes Sundial forgot what they were even looking for. Right now, her thoughts were affixed on a snack. She made her way down the lighthouse’s spiraling staircase, long having lost count of the steps.
When she reached the breakroom, the ethereal glow from the ancient vending machine in the corner caught her eye. The malfunctioning snack dispenser had been left behind from the lighthouse’s old days as a tourist attraction. Now, it was used to cover up an unpatched hole in the wall. However, no amount of artful appliance shuffling could draw her eyes from the chipped paint and peeling wallpaper. Nor what suspiciously looked like a mildew stain on the ceiling above it.
Sundial could abide all that as long as she could still get her snack. The expired junk food was better than anything in this month’s “care package” anyway. The reservists could’ve thought to include a roll of bits for the machine as well. At least Sundial had the foresight to bring her purse along.
Sundial searched through one of the pockets of her fraying tweed jacket. Nothing. She checked the pockets of her matching pants next. Still nothing.
With a sigh, she placed a forehoof on the vending machine’s streaked glass. Her breath fogged as she stared at the treasures inside. Rather than returning back up all those stairs, the thought of rocking her chips free tempted her. Then again, this model was known to be unstable—as the almost-scratched-off warning sticker reminded her.
If Sundial was going to die up here, she wasn’t going to die over potato chips, for pony’s sake. Maybe the peanut butter crackers, but not the chips.
The sound of hoofsteps tore her from her dilemma. She turned around to see Compass step through the entryway, a black coin purse in her aura. “Looking for this?”
Sundial's eyes widened. “Where’d you find that?”
Compass stared at her, her sunken eyes boring into Sundial’s like two deep-set emeralds. “It slid out of your pocket when you got up.” She tossed it over. “For your snack.”
Sundial barely caught it. She pulled at the drawstrings, the few meagre bits staring out at her from their velvet prison. “Compass?”
She was still there. Still staring. “Yeah?”
“Let’s share it this time.”
Sundial watched Compass with absolute fascination. The mechanical precision with which she slid back the bolt of the antique rifle, the insertion of a new round, the sliding forward of the bolt, and the movement of her hoof to the firing trigger was near perfect. It was like watching a mechanical contraption go through the same movements over and over and over.
As Compass reloaded, the crack of the shot brought Sundial out of her trance. The spent casing rolled off the edge of the lighthouse’s high balcony to the sea far below.
“Sundial.” Compass’s magic found its way into the bag seated between them, the slight crinkle of the bag the only indication of a chip being taken.
Sundial shook her head, clearing the fog from her mind. Her mane was tightly seated under her thick wool cap to prevent it from obscuring her vision.
“Do you see the buoy? Two hundred yards. Green top.”
Sundial looked down the sights of her own weapon. She tried to ignore a bolt that needed to be tightened down, which was currently digging into her flank. “I... “ She swung the rifle side to side, trying to sight the target.
Compass’s words lapped in time with the waves. “Relax. Open your other eye. Find the target. Then close it.” Her muzzle was pressed into the stock of her rifle as she spoke, soft puffs of steam rising from her nose.
Sundial closed her eyes. She pictured the sea and the stars. The moon somewhere above their heads. The billowing clouds that gave way to that silvery light. She pictured the buoy, green with a red stripe, bobbing in the surf.
Sundial opened her eyes.
There. Following the rise and fall of the surf as it flowed around their little cold island, the buoy’s green top appeared at the crest of the waves before disappearing into the next trough. Sundial watched the shape, imagining its movements. She slowly put her hoof to the firing trigger and closed her left eye.
The rifle jumped in Sundial’s grasp as the buoy crested the wave and was lost to the next trough. For a moment, she feared it’d never return. She breathed a sigh of relief as its little green top ascended the next wave, a perfect hole visible through the thick red line of the center.
With a smile, Sundial took a chip of her own, savoring that stale, salty morsel.
As Compass pulled apart her weapon’s firing assembly, lining up the screws on a little magnetic strip, a quiet, almost nonchalant cough tore her from her daily task. She looked over at the far side of the table to see Sundial watching her, a stupid, crooked smile plastered over her face.
“Yes?” Compass asked.
“I—I really enjoyed the other day. Sharing the snack, and… and the target practice.” After a brief pause, Sundial returned to her own task. She dipped the dirty rag in her little jar of oil before running it along her rifle’s breach.
“Mmm.” Compass pushed the screws into a neat line with her magic, all the points facing away from herself. The assembly gleamed in the low light of the kitchen. It had been stripped from the rifle and laid out in precise alignment to make sure all components were cleaned in the correct order.
Over the next few minutes, they worked in silence. The sound of metal components being shuffled and the smell of oil filled the small space.
“So…” Sundial glanced over at Compass, the component in her hooves already having been polished within an inch of its life. “What’d you do before all this?”
After setting down the section she was looking over, Compass stared at Sundial, who seemed to wilt under her gaze. Sighing, Compass replied after another pause, “I was an archeologist.”
Sundial’s eyes lit up. “You studied ancient cultures?”
“Sort of. I did most of my work in archives and workshops.” Compass picked up the stock and searched it for cracks.
“That’s… Well, that’s actually pretty cool. What made you want to join up?” Sundial cocked her head. A strand of mane slipped from under her knit cap. She pushed it back into place, the grease on her hooves staining the fabric. She didn’t seem to notice.
The wooden stock in Compass’s aura groaned as she inspected it. She gently set it back down. “I didn’t. I was given two options: Join the reserves, or join the front.” She frowned at the stock before looking back up at Sundial.
“You were drafted?” Sundial’s jaw was agape, her topaz eyes widening. As she dipped her head, her cheeks bloomed crimson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” Compass began picking up the pieces and slotting them back into the proper order.
Several more minutes passed before Sundial said, “I… I joined.” She absentmindedly ran the oil-soaked rag over the stock of her rifle.
Compass grimaced. She’d have to clean that for Sundial so she didn’t get oil in her fur the next time she brought it to her shoulder.
When Compass didn’t reply, Sundial continued on. “It felt right, y’know?” She blinked, the corners of her mouth twisting slightly. “After my wi—after she died.” In the dim light, her eyes shimmered. “I… I wanted to make a difference.”
Compass froze.
Sundial's shoulders shook, her head dipping down to her chest. She hid her eyes beneath the brow of her cap.
As Compass stared at this mare—simply another colleague, another face and name to be catalogued—something within her caved.
She felt herself set down the stock. Before she knew it, she moved to the opposite side of the table and put her forelegs around the other mare. The gesture wasn’t something she was accustomed to. Even so, it felt… correct.
For that briefest of moments, they shared in the silence and grief, deep within the obelisk on the sea.
Another day, another boring afternoon. Beyond the grimy window, low clouds sat along the horizon. The sea was relatively calm, the waves averaging no more than small swells. Sundial stretched her neck to work the stiffness out of it, then put her head back in her hooves.
A wayward forelock of mane draped across her eyes. She blew it out of her face. It fell back. She blew it away again. Sundial watched it inch its way back towards her eye. She grunted, then pushed it back and jammed her hat on to keep it in place.
With a heavy sigh, Sundial looked back out at the gray surf. It almost looked like a pony was standing out there in the waves. She got closer to the window, squinting at the figure—and yelping when it moved.
Sundial whipped around in her seat, glaring at Compass. “Sweet Sisters! It’s two hours before your shift!” She huffed, crossing her forelegs over her chest.
Compass simply stood there, watching this ridiculous mare as she spun too far in the chair and had to wiggle her hindlegs back to face her.
Sundial huffed again. “Well?!”
As that rogue forelock fell over Sundial’s eye, Compass stepped forward. Leaning in close, she pushed it under Sundial’s hat with a touch of magic. “There. All better.”
Sundial spun away from Compass, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I… I asked you a question, Compass.”
“I thought I heard something.” Compass stood beside Sundial's chair and craned her neck, looking out the window. Those emerald eyes scanned the sky before coming back down to the sea.
“What could you possibly have heard? We’re the only ones here. Unless you’re hearing the sea.” Sundial narrowed her eyes. “You’re not losing it, are you? I can take your shift tonight if you need more sleep.”
“I’m fine.” Compass met her eyes. “Any word from the radio? Our weekly check-in is today.”
Tearing her gaze away from those sparkling gems, Sundial pulled a key from her sweater pocket. “Well, I suppose we might as well check the book. I haven’t heard anything yet though.” She jumped from her chair and hurried to the filing cabinet at the rear of the room. The rusted lock protested as she jammed and turned the key.
The filing cabinet sprung open. Sundial withdrew the thick binder, closed the filing cabinet, and returned the key to her pocket. “Okay, let’s see what the book has to say.” She dropped the binder on their workstation, dust flying up from its yellowed pages, and flipped it open. Next, she located the current date using the last code that had been delivered with the last ration shipment about two months ago.
Compass peered over Sundial’s shoulder as she worked. Then, Compass went to the radio’s control station and flipped it on. With a pop, soft static filled the room from a pair of overhead speakers. “Station?”
Going through the procedure was just an artifact of their training. They both already knew which station it was; there was only one that had the range to get to them this far north. Although there were other lighthouses somewhere out in the sea, their transmitters were only tuned back to their local command and control stations, just like their own. Not that the lack of communication mattered much. There was never anything of interest to report.
Compass spun the dials, honing in on the signal. The static sharpened into proper focus as it became harsher, louder. After clearing her throat, she pressed down on the microphone’s transmitter. “Rodeo Buffalo Solstice-0220, this is Rodeo Solstice Luna-047. Come back, over.” As she released the button, the harsh static returned, punctuated by small pops.
Sundial checked the clock. They were two minutes early. However, somepony should still be there for the scheduled call. When Compass turned to her, Sundial simply shrugged.
Compass began again. “Rodeo Buffalo Solstice-0220, this is Rodeo Solstice Luna-047. Come back, over.” The pops intensified, multiplying through the harsh static.
Compass pressed the transmitter one more time. “Rodeo Buffalo Sol—”
The sounds of screeching, popping, and metal rending filled the tiny room. Both mares threw their forehooves over their ears.
Sundial recovered first. The harsh static was replaced by a soft hum from the overhead speakers. She rubbed at her ears. The hat had done little to dampen the sound. “Compass, what the fuck was that?”
Compass just stared at the radio console, her forehooves still pressed firmly to her ears.
Sundial tapped her on the shoulder. Although she jumped, Compass quickly removed her forehooves from her ears, then looked up at her. “What?”
“I said, what was that?” Sundial scratched her ear. “It nearly blew my eardrums out.”
“I have no idea. I’d say it was just weather, but we’ll need to check the receiver to be sure.” Compass turned back to the console and flipped the radio off. The sudden absence of static made the room feel that much colder.
Sundial followed Compass as they climbed to the very top of the lighthouse. Outside, they stood on the balcony overlooking the sea below as they checked the antenna. Neither spoke much as they worked, using their limited knowledge and tools to comb over the receiver’s hardware.
Several hours passed before they finished the inspection the best that they could. While there were multiple components that would, ideally, need to be replaced, everything seemed to be in acceptable working order. Compass was right; it was just the weather.
To the north, the clouds continued to mass. Through the gray, waning light, a serious storm was brewing. Nevertheless, the lighthouse had withstood many a storm before and would continue to do so long after they rotated out of this post.
By the time they headed back in, Sundial leading this time, the wind had picked back up. They struggled to close the storm shutters, the fierce gusts buffeting the reinforced glass and steep sides of the lighthouse. The waves were whipped by the constant wind, whitecaps forming as the tops of the waves were stripped from their lofty perches.
When they returned to the observation deck, Sundial lit the lighthouse’s beacon and sent it spinning. There weren’t any ships on the radar, nor any particularly dangerous underwater hazards in the immediate area. Still, they jointly decided it was better to be safe than sorry. It wouldn’t do to be accidentally rammed by a ship passing in the night.
The next morning, Compass awoke to more gray. A low fog had rolled in during the early morning hours and blanketed the sea for as far as the eye could see. Another check of the radar confirmed their suspicions. The fog extended out beyond their limited range. Although no ships were currently pinging their position, it was best to leave the light on.
They attempted to reach the base again without success. Compass double-checked the antenna after Sundial was unable to get through. With no immediate cause, Compass figured that whoever was working comms was just slacking off. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Once they breezed through their morning duties, the pair retired to the observation deck. The signal light above them spun slowly. Its flash lit the small room with each rotation, announcing their presence to the fog and sea.
Compass lounged on the ancient couch, while Sundial sat on an old, wicker rocking chair across from her. Minutes or hours passed as Compass laid back, closing her eyes, the whir of the light and rhythm of the waves almost tempting her to sleep.
Luckily, Sundial broke the silence between them. “Compass.”
“Mmm?” Compass sat up, small puffs of dust rising as she moved.
“...Thank you.” Sundial had her forehooves clasped between her knees. For some reason, she seemed to avoid her eyes, looking between the floor and the couch.
In response, Compass waved a hoof nonchalantly. “What are friends for?” She closed her eyes again, relaxing back into the couch.
The sound of hooves hitting the creaky floorboards made her open one eye.
Sundial smiled softly as she stood before her. “Compass, I want to show you something.”
“Show me something? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everything here.” Compass looked back up at the signal light, tracing the cracks in the ancient paint on the ceiling.
“Well… not everything.”
As Compass looked back down at Sundial, the latter mare’s cheeks reddened. Before Compass could comment on it, Sundial added, “Anyway, get up. I think we need a break.”
Compass cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s what we were doing.”
“Come on. It’s better than sitting around here all day, everyday, staring at all this.” She swept her forehoof across the room.
The beeps and buzzes of radar equipment followed, showing nothing to report. The low consoles took up the majority of the room, none of their screens betraying anything of interest. The few readouts that were still working showed the functionality of the lighthouse itself. Everything was fine.
Compass sighed and heaved herself from the couch. “Fine. But we need to take a look at the auto-cannon later today. You need to log some more hours.”
Sundial started down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah. I still just pencil in my time.”
“That’s cheating, you know.”
Sundial grinned cheekily. “Yeah, but who’s checking?”
As Compass chuckled back, Sundial led her down to the center of the tower. She brought them before a nondescript door. When Compass realized what lay beyond it, she came to a halt, looking at her with another slight raise of an eyebrow.
“Sundial… This is your room.”
Sundial gave a playful roll of her eyes, “Well, of course it is, silly.” There was that cheeky grin again. “You said you’d seen everything in this lighthouse, right? Well, you haven’t seen this yet.” With that, she pushed the door open.
Compass felt her jaw drop a bit. “Sundial… I…” Her eyebrows knit together like a pair of wooly caterpillars. A low heat rose in her cheeks.
“Come on! Look, this is what I wanted to show you.” With sudden strength, Sundial pulled Compass into the room, then kicked the door closed.
Once inside, Compass looked around, sweat trickling down her neck.
Like Compass’s own quarters, the small room was nearly bare. Unlike hers, however, a guitar sat in one corner. Stickers adorned the instrument, which appeared to be well-loved. Above Sundial’s small bed, a few pictures had been taped to the wall. A small dresser was pushed into the corner of the room, one of the drawers missing.
Sundial busied herself with some sort of cabling tucked behind the tiny dresser. She hummed some unfamiliar melody as she worked. “Make yourself comfortable, Compass. I’m just about ready.” Her hips sashayed back and forth in time with the rhythm of her humming.
Compass tried not to stare. “Uhh… Sundial...”
“Got it!” Sundial turned around, an electronic music player between her forehooves.
Compass released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The wave of tension in her shoulders rolled free. “You—you want to play me music?”
“I want to play you music! And not just any music, but my favorite.” Sundial sat down on the bed and plugged the device into the lone outlet behind it. “I figured we could listen to it here first. Later, maybe we can plug it into the sound system while we work. I-if you’re okay with that, of course,” she added, beaming.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Compass merely nodded.
It took a few minor shocks and one bruised hip, but they got the music player hooked up to the lighthouse’s announcement system the next day. Hearing the sounds of Equestria was worth the trouble.
After another failed radio transmission, the rest of the day went by smoothly. They took some time to wash down the observation deck’s wide windows with saltwater and rags. By midday, the usual heavy cloud cover had dissipated and left the sea quiet and calm.
Once her task was completed, Sundial lounged on the small, dusty couch. Reading a book about electrical maintenance with one forehoof, sipping filtered seawater with the other, she barely noticed when Compass approached. She did when the other mare kicked the sofa.
“Compass!” Water splattered on the crinkled pages. “I’m reading here!” Sundial sputtered, then set the book and empty glass on one of the disused consoles.
“Enough reading.” Compass tossed her a pair of earmuffs. “Time for more target practice.”
Ten minutes—and one set of clean clothes—later, the pair stood on the balcony. The sun sat low in the sky behind them. Its warm, deepening rays had already begun casting shadows.
After leading Sundial over to it, Compass smacked the aging piece of artillery with a hoof. The weapon vibrated slightly in its mount, but remained upright. “Right. So, I noticed this earlier today. We have more than enough ammunition, but salt water got to a bit of the mechanism on this side.”
“It won’t fire?” Sundial peered over the shield at the mechanism. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“It’s all internal. I can strip down the whole mechanism, but it will take time, and I’ll likely need to see about replacement parts…” Compass trailed off. “Regardless, you still need to practice with this to officially get your time in.”
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Compass was right. With a sigh, Sundial shimmied onto the hard saddle between the linked cannons and dipped her head to the reticule. “You’re sure this thing will work with only one cannon?”
“Positive. As long as we don’t load the left, it’ll be fine.”
“Alright, Compass…” Sundial smiled. “I trust you.”
Compass returned the gesture, then focused back on the task at hoof. “Alright, now… Left hindhoof is pitch, right is yaw. That’s up-down, and left-right.” Compass tapped each control as she walked through them. “Forehooves are for fire control. Just press on these pedals to send it.” She placed her left forehoof atop Sundial’s.
Sundial tilted her head up off the mount to look at Compass.
“First, however, ear protection. I’d like to be able to hear in the morning.” Compass shot her a joking grin. “If you have any questions, lock the firing mechanism and signal. I’ll be behind you on the right, reloading for you.” As she stepped away, smiling, she used her magic to pull her earmuffs into place.
Sundial settled back onto the hard saddle and slipped her own protection over her ears. Her world became very small. She was suddenly aware of each breath, each heartbeat in her chest beating against the hard saddle.
Somewhere behind Sundial’s right ear came the sound of a heavy clunk. Sundial swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. She gently pressed her hindhooves into the controls. The gun came to life, the motors spinning the aged machinery at her command.
Blood rushed through her ears as she flipped the safety off the right cannon’s controls. Just as Compass had taught her, she slowed her breathing and closed her eyes. The darkness welcomed her, its warm embrace allowing her to relax into herself.
Opening her eyes, she depressed the rear pedals. The reticule flew over the sunkissed waves and found its way towards a familiar green buoy, its red stripe standing out against the deep blue of the sea.
Sundial inhaled the scent of the sea. Ever so slowly, she let it out and depressed the controls with her right forehoof.
Bullseye.
The sea was serene today.
Sundial was surprised to see the break in the skies. Beneath the veneer of black and gray, the gentle lap of the waves almost lulled her into submission. She sat in her office chair, no longer spinning, the prospect of doing nothing but staring out into the waves making her eyelids heavy. She was sure she had fallen asleep for at least a few minutes before she decided to get up.
Yawning, Sundial stole one last glance at their radar equipment. Nothing. Just as ever. The 34th Equestrian Reserves must have generous coffers to pay her and Compass to do nothing other than watch the same tired signals repeat over and over. Nothing ever changed. Nopony did. Nothing and nopony and nevermore.
Nopony would even talk to them anymore. Sundial didn’t want to admit it, but it seemed like they’d been forgotten.
Ignoring the chirps of the equipment, Sundial rose, then stretched. After adjusting her hat, which had fallen over her eyes, she headed downstairs. She rubbed the last bits of sleep from her eyes, thoughts of a snack on her mind.
As she descended the stairs, a steady thump filled her ears. Curious, Sundial carried on faster, reaching the break room in record time. What she saw left her with more questions than answers.
With her back to Sundial, Compass rocked the vending machine over and over. The corners of her muzzle curled into a frustrated snarl, the force of her magic exerting its fullest upon the old machine.
Watching in silence, Sundial observed as the unicorn’s horn pulsed. Once, twice, a third time. Finally, the ancient appliance gave into Compass’s whims, the sound of several snacks rushing in freefall a fitting ending to the struggle.
“I hope that was worth almost killing yourself.” A chuckle escaped Sundial’s lips as she approached Compass. “Those old machines have a warning label for a reason.”
Compass jumped, her magic faltering as it retrieved its prize. Sundial looked past her to raise an eyebrow. “Three packets of peanut butter crackers? Really?” She snorted. “Risking yourself for that?”
Green mana levitated them over to Sundial. “They’re your favorite.”
Though she accepted the treats, Sundial raised an eyebrow. “So? I could have just bought them.” She pulled her coin purse from the pocket of her frayed coat. As she held it, she realized how light it felt now. How little remained inside.
Her surprise must have shown. That acknowledgement, along with something else, flickered across Compass’s pupils. “Why should you have to buy them in the first place? It’s been months since they sent us here. The least they could do would have been—”
“—To include some bits for the machine.” Sundial stepped closer.
Rather than flinch, Compass just stared back at her. Emeralds crashed into topaz, betraying no hesitation. “Yes.”
“Mmmm.” Sundial put her purse away, then looked down at the crackers. “Well, since you went to all this trouble…” She smiled as she finished, letting her words proliferate like fog across Compass’s ear, “Why don’t we share them?”
When Compass met her gaze, Sundial saw something else—something new—shimmering behind it. They shared another snack, as they had every day for the past month.
The crackers never tasted so sweet.
Compass held no love for the ocean before this.
There was little of interest to be found within the depths of the sea. Many of her archaeological missions had yielded little more than a piece of broken pottery, a water-logged manuscript, or yet another variety of seaweed. From her time in university, to her internship, to her first dig—a path that had been interrupted, as had many others’, by the drums of war—she had only been to the coast a hoofful of times. While some ponies found meaning in the rhythm of the waves, she found nothing more than another inconvenience.
Her months in the lighthouse had changed her mind.
The sea was beautiful. Unique. It had its own sort of charm. Despite the omnipresent fog, every day was different. Some days, the ocean was somewhat tranquil, its waves coming and going with the whim of the winds. The waters were happy then. Almost playful. On other days, the tides rose and fell with surprising tenacity and shocking strength. There was a mystery to them—a storm she wasn’t always sure if she’d weather.
There was danger in it. A danger that made her feel alive.
She looked over at Sundial, the other mare staring out at the waves as they broke against the shore of their tiny island, and smiled.
That same sense of danger thundered in her heart as Sundial’s eyes found her own. It didn’t take long for the silly Earth pony to smile back.
The soft lap of the waves against the rocks filled the silence between them.
Then, Sundial chuckled. “What?”
Compass played innocent. “Hmmm?”
Another laugh. “I’ve never seen you smile so much before.”
“I just…” Even as she failed to explain it, Compass’s grin didn’t waver. “It just happens.”
“Does it, now?” Sundial hummed. She reached over to their shared packet of peanut butter crackers—the last of the ones Compass had rocked free from the machine three days ago.
There remained little in the machine that Compass could not liberate. If not by magic, her hooves could do the trick. She would pummel the rusted metal, shatter the tempered glass, chase the machinery straight to the schematics if that was what was needed. If that was what stood between Sundial—between them—and the treats that remained. It had been over two months since the last ration box; they needed more food. They needed sustenance. They needed something to look forward to.
She needed it.
Sundial chewed, her lips and tongue flicking between the crumbs, before she gave a thoughtful grin. “I feel like there’s more to it than what you say.”
“Oh?” Compass felt her heart pound. “How so?”
This time, when Sundial reached across the control console—across panels, sensors, and gauges that long proved useless—her forehoof found Compass’s. Right on top.
If Sundial were any other pony, Compass would have pulled away. This was a colleague, after all. A coworker. A compatriot.
Boundaries were important. Expectations even more so. Yet, it was difficult to worry about these things when there was nothing between them but fog and sea. When there was nothing else...
Sundial smiled wider. “You got those for me because they were my favorite.” The crimson on her cheeks was unmistakable. “You… admitted as much.”
Compass could only nod…
… To her friend.
“So…” Sundial was almost whispering now. “There was no other reason?”
Compass hesitated.
Sundial’s eyes met hers. “None… at all?” She licked her chapped lips. “No reason you can’t… look me in the eye?”
Compass paused, unwilling to lie, to nod…
… To this mare.
… To this mare who, even here, at the edge of the world, on the edge of the map, shone brighter than the fleeting sun.
… To this mare, whose eyes shined with the reflections of the fog, whose muzzle twisted into a smile, whose breath smelled of peanut butter as she leaned forth…
… Who kept her company, kept her close, drew her into stories and memories and moments, of everything and nothing, of life before the lighthouse, of possibilities beyond the platoon, of a world without the enemy and the equipment and the echo and—
Sundial gasped.
In the same moment, Compass groaned, kissing her with a ferocity she’d long been holding back.
Forehooves found withers, pushing Sundial into the dusty countertop. Long-obsolete equipment beeped and hummed as clothes, fur, and keratin pressed, unbidden, into buttons and dials. Whatever signals the crumbling lighthouse could transmit were echoed in the succession of seconds as two joined into one.
Far above the sea, Compass summited the greatest distance, closing the chasm between them.
“C-Compass…” Sundial whispered when they broke free, panting, her forelegs tight around the other mare’s neck. She stole a deep breath between a violent crash of the waves as the weather outside their windows churned into a storm. “Sweet Sisters, whattookyou so long?”
On the balcony, Sundial looked at the sea anew.
Beside her, Compass held her close in forehooves and forelegs that seemed stronger than her lithe unicorn form was capable of.
Tonight, Sundial felt strong. Stronger than her Earth pony lineage. Stronger than her warrior ancestors. Stronger than the enemy, who must have looked across the ocean and decided that they weren’t worth the hassle.
They hadn’t spoken much after. There was no need. Everything had been conveyed in that ancient rhythm of sea upon the shore. No amount of training or descriptive manuals could have prepared either for what had transpired.
Despite having shed their cold-weather clothing, they were warmer than ever, their breath steam in the rising night.
When Sundial nuzzled at Compass’s chest, Luna’s parish lantern twinkling above them as they gazed upon her tapestry, there was no further mystery left. Nothing more to report. Nothing to attempt to communicate on the old radio, no matter how the static buzzed, or the waves fizzled, or the book lay blank.
Here they were, two ponies brought together by the schemes and echelons of those far above them. By Kings and Princesses and politicians and policies they would never fully comprehend.
None of it mattered. Nothing mattered as much as this moment. As this embrace beneath the stars. As this exchange of breath and heartbeats and laps of tide in the night.
“Compass,” Sundial whispered, her breath misting above the fog.
In spite of their heat, Compass shivered. “Y-yes?”
“What…” Sundial chewed on her words. “What do you want to do when—when this is all over?”
“... Over?” Compass peered down at her, ears flicking.
Sundial flicked hers in turn. “The war.”
“Oh.” Something appeared to hover before Compass’s eyes before she answered the question. “I’m not sure.” Another pause. “I’m not sure if there’s going to be an after, to be honest.”
“No?” Sundial stared up at her. “You don’t think…”
“I’m… not sure.” Compass sighed. “I could be wrong, but… I just don’t see an end to this.”
“Oh.”
Silence, starlight, and broken promises passed over them.
Then, Compass cleared her throat, prompting Sundial to look back up at her. “But I don’t think that’ll be so bad.”
Sundial tilted her head, one eyebrow raised.
Before Sundial could question further, the hint of a smile ghosted across Compass’s muzzle. “Being here will make re-upping my contract easier.”
“... Y-yeah?”
“Yes.” Compass was close now. Closer than the moonlight shining above, than the reliable turn of the sea. “As long as nothing else changes…” She moved with the tide. “... I think I’ll get through the war just fine.”
A veteran in more ways than one, Sundial met her. The shadows reflecting off the moon above faded in another tangle of hooves.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“Not really, no.”
“The manual says it’s good to talk about personal traumas.” Compass drew her utility knife across her sharpening stone, the sound hollow in the confined space.
Sundial snickered. “And if I wanted to be lectured from a book, I’d have stayed at home and gone to the sessions.”
Outside, the wind howled. “Tell me about her then.”
“She… We—we met in university. She was studying ballistics. I was in classical Equestrian literature. A mutual friend introduced us. You know how it goes.” Sundial paused. “The first few months were perfect. We wed in the spring and had a little apartment on campus. She finished her degree first. I still had a semester left, but she had a job offer in Stalliongrad. It was only supposed to be for a few months. I was finishing out the lease first, then intended to join her.”
Compass gave a few more strokes of stone across her blade, then sheathed it. “Then… That was when…”
The thump of waves breaking upon the monolith was the sole reply.
Then, Sundial said, “Yes.”
“And…” Compass looked over, her breath hitching in her chest. “You’ve been alone ever since?”
“Well…” Sundial laid her forehoof atop Compass’s. “Up until now.” What shone in her eyes seemed to defy the gloom.
Relieved, Compass smiled. She leaned over.
Then, it happened.
For the first time since they’d come to RSL-047, the glitchy equipment they’d watched by day and night—those empty screens revealing nothing but their isolation—went off.
Haywire.
A cacophony of electronic beeps rang out through the cracked screens and crackling speakers. Both mares startled and turned to the monitors. Green warnings flashed in luminescent succession. The lighthouse’s beacon flipped on of its own accord, switching from its usual golden signal to an angry red.
And the fog, the sea...
“C-Compass—”
Compass grabbed Sundial by the withers. “We have to go. Now.”
There was no time to relay the message—if there was anypony to relay it to. Compass scanned the observation deck, making a mental calculation of the stairs. Far too many. They had only seconds.
Compass yanked Sundial by the forehoof. The alarm in those eyes surpassed that of the whirring equipment firing around them. “No time. We have to jump.”
“But—!”
“No time!”
With Sundial squeezing her forehoof tight, Compass ran out onto the balcony. The fog moved with the waves as they drew back before crashing again. Seconds ticked by in a haze of haste and penultimate finality. There was only one shot at this.
Looking over, Compass conveyed to Sundial what she hoped had been evident in the dust and stars. The panic in Sundial’s eyes flickered, replaced with a steadfast resolve.
Without a word, they jumped.
Together.
The sea pushed back as far as she drew. Her black tongue rose to meet them, opening up with the maw of Equus itself. Compass’s nostrils burned as she descended into the depths. She kicked with everything she had to break the surface.
Gasping for breath, Compass heaved, spitting up salt and fire. She struggled to stay afloat. Her hooves grasped nothing but seawater. “Sundial! Sundial! SUN—”
The tide receded. Compass coughed as the salt filled her mouth. The burning bitterness stole her breath as she struggled against the undercurrent.
In a burst of strength, Compass breached the churning deep. Lungs burning, she threw her mane back to the stars. Something streaked through the darkness, a knife cutting through the black, a falling star heading straight towards the highest point on the rocks—
—Towards her home—their home—
—The lighthouse exploded.
Steel, brick, and rebar barraged the waters. Compass dove under as fast as she could into the cold and black. When she surfaced again, coughing, she saw that what hadn’t been pummeled to rubble was now in flames. Black, acrid smoke rose in a poisonous column to the vaultless sky above.
Compass shouted her name once, twice, a third time.
Waving something wet—a dot of blue hidden amongst all the gray—Sundial clung to the top of the green buoy. Its red stripe stuck out above the fog. Compass swam over, her horn straining to light her way through the swell.
When she reached the buoy, Compass barked up at the shivering mare, “Why did you let go?!”
“I—” Sundial panted. “I was just—I needed my—”
With a sweep of her magic, Compass grabbed what Sundial had been waving. She wrung it dry, then slammed it on Sundial’s head—laughing. “You—you idiot.”
Once she hoisted herself onto the bobbing buoy, Compass reached up, grabbed her fool mare, and kissed her.
Smiling as they pulled away, Sundial shimmied down to join her side on the buoy’s platform. There was more than enough room for both of them.
They sat beside each other, watching their home burn.
Sundial moved her forelock from her eye as she adjusted her cap. “We—we made it. We’re okay. I can’t—I can’t believe we made it.” She locked eyes with Compass, that stupid grin returning to her face.
At first, Compass returned it. Then, her eyes gradually widened. She paled, whiter than a ghost.
“... Sundial…”
Sundial followed her gaze.
Behind them, a shape—like an ancient leviathan—rose from the black waves, its prow cutting effortlessly through the surf. Small, red windows set into the conning tower of the beast stared down at the two mares on the buoy. The blackness above overpowered that of the sea, breaking through the fog at last.
Hungry, merciless, bloodthirsty black.
Compass looked over herself. Not everything had survived the jump, but the sheath of her blade was still there. Calling on her magic one last time, she unclasped the knife from its place on her barrel, then brought it before their eyes.
“C-Compass…”
This time, when Sundial said it, there was nothing but dread.
Compass held her close, shivering as her chest heaved. “J-just relax, Sundial.” The blade loomed closer. “Close your eyes…” Compass fought every tremble, every ounce of doubt, with her last nerve. “Just focus on my voice.”
Sundial closed her eyes, as Compass held hers open, full of starlight and fire.
“I’m here. I…”
Her aura never moved so fast.
