A Dark Echo

by NaiadSagaIotaOar

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Drama, Queen Chrysalis, Daybreaker, Princess Celestia, Human
Length: 9278

Every night since banishing her sister, Celestia's dreams have been haunted by a fiery apparition. There's only one person she can turn to, and it's someone she hates.

Every night since banishing her sister, Celestia's dreams have been haunted by a fiery apparition. There's only one person she can turn to, and it's someone she hates.

Published 2021-01-01 15:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-01-01 15:50:00 UTC

Shivering Sun

Celestia opened her eyes and found herself in a place that looked very much like her bedroom but was not. There was a blurriness to it all, a haze that made it strenuous to look at anything for too long.

And there was a something. She couldn’t tell what it was; it lurked in the corner of her vision, mirroring her every move. It seemed to flicker, and to glow, and perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her, but sometimes she thought it looked like eyes.

“I know you’re here,” Celestia said. She stood tall and proud, her voice strong and commanding. “Show yourself.”

For a moment there was nothing.

Then flames leapt up from behind her with a hideous roar. Celestia jerked around to face them; gleaming golden light sprang up in front of her, and the flames touched her not. So they darted away, twisting like serpents. Celestia followed them, her bulwark holding steady.

“You are not the first enemy I have fought,” Celestia spun in a slow circle, that something in the corner of her eye fleeing her ceaselessly. “You will not prevail.”

She looked and she thought. Light, scorching and blinding, sliced into the dark. But she looked away, and the something was still there. She struck again. Flames coiled around her feet; she rose up, clasping her hands and gathering a steely focus.

“You will not take me,” she said. “Not like you took her.”

For an instant, it was as though her precious Sun had joined her in the room. Raw force smashed wood to splinters a fraction of a second before searing heat burnt it all to floating cinders.

The instant passed. Wind howled through the chunk of the palace where there used to be a room. Celestia held still, steady in the air, her eyes vigilant and restless.

She knew it was still there, but she could not see it. It had retreated, perhaps.

Her lips twisted into a scowl. “We are not done here,” she said. “If you show yourself again, you shall see all of this and more.”

There was no answer. Celestia let herself fade.

Celestia awoke. Immediately she wished it were not so; fatigue weighed heavily upon her, as though all those hours of rest amounted to nothing. Perhaps that was no surprise. She had little of her sister’s talent for peering into dreams.

But there was a warmth tugging on her. The Sun, asking for its time to rise. There was no choice, then. Celestia pushed herself up, then rubbed at her weary eyes as she dragged herself out of bed.

She stepped out onto her balcony and instantly her heart ached.

The Moon sat high in the sky, branded with that symbol. Suddenly breathing became difficult. Celestia stumbled forwards, catching herself with a shaky arm on a railing. She squeezed her eyes shut, memories flashing through her mind with vicious clarity.

How long had it been? A week? It seemed like only minutes, and yet an eternity.

But she could not delay.

She reached out. The Sun answered her call easily enough, but the Moon felt prickly and restless, like a ball of thorns gouging her skin as it darted out of her grip. She relented, letting go with a ragged breath, hanging her head and blinking back tears. It felt so wrong, trying to take hold of the Moon. But it had to be done.

Again, then. Again and again and again, she tried, until finally she dragged the Moon towards the horizon and below it. The Sun rose easily, but by the time she was finished her limbs felt like pillars of jelly and the railing in front of her was marked by several damp blotches.

The sound of her door creaking open jolted her to attention. A voice called out. Celestia barely understood it, hurrying to dry her face before rushing towards the door. “Who’s there?” she said.

A maid, she realized, with strawberry hair and green eyes. Not one she recognized, but perhaps—no, she was most definitely out of sorts.

“Oh! I beg your pardon, Your Highness.” Wide-eyed, the maid stared at Celestia’s face for a long moment before lurching back trying to bow and make several gestures all at once. “I-I knocked, b-but there was no… no answer, and I thought—please, excuse me, Yo-Your Highness.”

Celestia breathed deeply, straightening her posture. She scolded herself; appearing as unsightly as she likely did was problematic enough without it creeping into her mannerisms. “My apologies,” she said. “I was… distracted. But I am well. Now, is something the matter?”

The maid clasped her hands together and bowed again. “Thank you, Your Highness.” She made a timid, shaky smile. “Your breakfast is ready.”

“I see.” Celestia’s heart sank. Another day of pretending to have an appetite, it seemed. She nodded, putting on a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Another bow. Then the maid stood still for a moment, eyes wide and glued to Celestia’s, but eventually flinched and scuttled away, tugging the door closed behind her.

Celestia squeezed her eyes shut, sighing. The day seemed set to be a long one.

Much of it seemed to pass in a hazy blur, though. Breakfast was a lonely affair and a crowded one—her guard had more of a presence than usual, yet she was the only one at the table. Then it was meeting after meeting after meeting. The entire palace seemed in shambles; because it was, of course. So she could turn nothing down. Her presence was requested often, and she provided it every time.

Finally came the twilight hours shortly before the night. She spent them combing through tomes both ancient and contemporary, whatever she could find. Exhaustion finally started to tug on her eyelids. No mention, so far, of this fiery wisp stalking her dreams.

But that did not mean the knowledge she needed wasn’t out there. Her will was stronger than ever. She could resist it as long as was necessary.

She felt the Sun calling to her, and hurried to the balcony.

Twenty minutes later she was on the ground sobbing, and the Moon still sulked below the horizon. “I-I’m sorry,” she mumbled in between ragged, heaving breaths. She heard a scream; perhaps hers, perhaps not, perhaps from the past, perhaps not. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” A distant, wretched part of her tried to minimize the damage an extra period of daylight would bring.

Which was a matter to which she could not afford to discover the truth.

Finally the Moon rose.

Slowly Celestia lifted her head. She reached for the railing with a trembling hand, steadying herself with a tenuous grip as she hauled herself to her feet. The first thing she saw upon rising was the Moon; she wrenched herself away, turning sharply on her heel and hurrying gracelessly back inside her room.

A restless hour followed. She laid down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. In her mind’s eye she pictured that shapeless presence stalking her dreams.

It was… oddly calming. Her thoughts found the clarity she’d been starved of all day, and gradually her consciousness slipped away.

Again Celestia found herself in a shadow of her room. She surveyed it with long sweeps of a hawkish gaze. Her hands were clenched, and already rays of searing light bled out from between her fingers. “You are still here,” she said. “Show yourself.”

A flicker caught her attention and demanded her ire. She smote it with all her fury, smashing one wall to rubble and dust.

All was still, but Celestia could tell she was not alone. She sucked in a long breath. “Who are you?”

Whispers rose up from the ground. A slithering susurrus of malformed sounds wormed its way into her ears. Thoughts, feelings, but no words, became clear to her. Anger. Despair.

Jealousy.

She rose into the air, turning her eye towards the floor, and there was silence once again.

Celestia hovered, glancing slowly to each side. “So you can hear me,” she said. Her teeth clenched, fire blazing in her blood. “Is that what you did to her?”

No answer came. Celestia scowled. “What do you want?”

A thrum came from behind her. She whirled; the room’s solitary door glowed, plumes of fire sneaking through the cracks.

“I’ve little patience for this.” Celestia checked her peripheral vision, but, if that something still lurked there, she could not see it. She turned her glare on the door, then.

Forwards she crept. Slowly, cautiously. Heat radiated from the door, but it did little to deter her. Finally she stood in front of it. With her magic, she gripped the handle and pried it open.

Flame rushed out, with a shrieking roar. Celestia tensed, summoning a barrier. Too slow. Heat lashed at her chest, leaving trails of stinging pain. She growled, finding her focus, and her light smashed aside her adversary’s attack.

When the flames cleared, she could see the space behind the door. A corridor of glossy black stone stretched out in front of her. At the end of it, a raging inferno, a pit of flame so violent and so bright it stabbed at her eyes and heated her flesh from the edge of her vision.

And that inferno, it whispered to her. It spoke in that same muddled blend of sounds as before, foul and grating to Celestia’s ears. She shut it out, clenching her jaw and tightening her fists.

“I will not be swayed,” she hissed. “Whoever you are, you have no hold over me. If you persist, I will shatter you, until there is nothing left to break.”

She received no answer but a laugh that cracked and popped and wound circles around her like a scorching ribbon.

Celestia raised her hand. Her eyes narrowed. “Begone.”

Light sucked out of every nook and cranny all around her, until she was plunged into a darkness deeper than the purest black. Then it all went roaring towards her enemy. The corridor in front of her exploded into dust; flames ran shrieking in every direction, scattering like ashes in the wind.

She breathed deeply. Before her, there was now little but an empty black expanse. Far off, though, a flame still smoldered, and the longer Celestia stared at it the more it looked like an unblinking eye, the more the plumes of smoke rising out of it seemed like fingers beckoning her closer.

“No,” she said. “Whatever you want, you will never have it.”

For an instant that last flame surged and flared, but soon it retreated and compressed. An empty show of strength.

“Leave me,” Celestia said. “There is nothing for you here.”

She felt her presence beginning to fade. Reluctantly she let it happen, and the room blurred all around her. Whispers crawled towards her ears, but she refused to listen.

From shortly after the rising of the Sun, that flame occupied Celestia’s thoughts wholly. It felt good; when she thought of that flame she moved with confidence and vigor.

“Excuse me, Your Highness?”

… Or wished to, anyway. Meetings.

Celestia cleared her throat, turning her eyes to the woman sitting across a table—which was piled high with a baffling amount of paper—from her. What was her name again? Something Sea, Celestia thought, unsure of whether it was something she’d heard or just going off of the woman’s teal-green hair and deep blue eyes. Probably the former.

“My apologies,” Celestia said, clasping her hands and resting them in her lap. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Miss Sea gave an understanding nod. She gathered up a few scattered papers and thumped them into a neat pile. “I know this in particular must be quite a trying topic.”

Celestia’s eyes dipped down to the papers on the table. Uniform designs for the palace’s staff; there was meant to be half as many, going forwards. Her stomach churned, her chest suddenly tight. But she shook her head. “It needs doing. Sooner or later.”

“True enough.” Miss Sea leaned forwards, covering up the papers with her hands. “But they’re uniforms. The kingdom isn’t going to collapse if this doesn’t get straightened out today.”

“No, but I agreed to meet you at this hour, and I am able.” Celestia lifted her eyes towards Miss Sea’s, when she paused. Something seemed off. She couldn’t articulate what; perhaps the woman sitting across just had too young a voice for her middle-aged face.

“That’s not always a good reason.” Miss Sea turned the stack of papers over and pushed it forwards. “Look, we don’t have to do this now. It’s almost evening anyway, and someone around here knows where to find me.” She tapped the stack of paper with her knuckles. “Why don’t I leave you with these and you can send for me when you’ve looked at them?”

“That won’t be—”

“Please, Your Highness. I insist.” Miss Sea stood up and bowed gracefully. “Unless you mean to stop me from leaving?”

Celestia stifled a grimace. “No,” she said at last. “I suppose I don’t.” She paused. “May I ask your name? Just to be sure I know who to ask for.”

Miss Sea deliberated for a moment, then smiled warmly. “Oh, you can just call me Chryssie,” she said.

Every muscle in Celestia’s body tensed. She whipped her head to face the woman by the door, boring into her eyes.

The woman in question opened her mouth wide, winking as a long, forked tongue rolled out.

Celestia leapt to her feet, hands balling into fists sparking with violent light. She glared; force, crushing and invisible, yanked the other woman off her feet and pinned her roughly to the wall. “What,” Celestia hissed, “are you doing here?”

The woman retracted her tongue slowly, leveling a sulky look at Celestia. “So you remember my name,” she said, her skin peeling off in flakes and immolating in green flame to reveal smooth, charcoal grey skin and vibrant emerald eyes, “but not the good terms we parted on?”

“When you used me for a coup?”

Chrysalis’ tongue flicked out over her dark lips. “That queen you burnt to a crisp for me was a dangerous idiot. My hive hasn’t been a bother since. Do you think that poorly of me?”

Celestia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who’s sneaking into my palace.”

“Would you have let me in if I asked nicely?”

“No.”

“So what choice did I have?” Chrysalis chortled. Her eyes flicked downwards. “You wanna let me go?”

Celestia’s thoughts raced. Not many threats to Equestria lingered. Discord, Sombra, Tirek… their like had been defeated already.

But if there was anyone still in action who could be to blame… She glowered at Chrysalis, but eventually relented. Why would Chrysalis show herself so brazenly, if she were somehow the aggressor?

Celestia relaxed her grip, folding her arms and letting Chrysalis drop to the ground. “What do you want?”

Chrysalis dusted herself off nonchalantly. “Surprisingly little, actually.” She licked her lips, staring thoughtfully at a distant corner of the ceiling before suddenly locking eyes with Celestia. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Find some time in the evening.” Chrysalis crooked a bony finger towards the papers on the table. “My notes mention where I’m staying. Wear something nice.”

Celestia lifted an eyebrow. “Why should I do that?”

“So I don’t make you look too plain, of course.”

To her surprise, the corners of Celestia’s mouth lifted, just slightly. “You know what I mean.”

Chrysalis made a quiet hum, cocking her head. “Tell me,” she said, slinking forward with an index finger raised. “Who are you seeing tomorrow that worries you more than I do?”

Celestia’s fingers dug into her arm. “Are you implying something?” she said, her voice lowering to a hard tone.

A chuckle was the response. “Only that I know you,” Chrysalis said. “Now then.” Green flames consumed her, and suddenly she wore a more unassuming body. “I’m sure you’ve other matters to busy yourself with.” She dropped into an exaggerated bow, then turned slowly and slipped out the door.

Perhaps it just seemed trifling by comparison, but the rest of the day was quite uneventful. Somehow it managed to still be exhausting, though. Quite too often Celestia found herself jumping at shadows—too many times, her thoughts turned to Chrysalis and she had to be roused. It made her jaw clench, her blood seethe. There wasn’t a moment of rest, not once. It was never the right time for rest.

Even when evening came. Celestia finally wrenched the Moon up into place, and soon after that attempted to sleep. It did not come easily. She tossed and turned. The steeliness she wished for her will seemed to elude her.

But… she could do it. Tonight, she would. The fire would be there and—and she’d snuff it out, finally. If there was to be no rest until that task was done, then so be it.

That was what her station demanded of her.

Finally her eyelids closed and sleep took her.

She did not waste time, once she was dreaming. The moment her surroundings became clear, she was whirling, her eyes on the prowl for the slightest hint of fire.

There. A mote of it, flickering in the corner of her vision. She lashed out at it, rending stone in her zeal. It slithered away; she followed it. When she found it again it was—bigger. So much bigger. A shape, now. An apparition, maybe as tall as she was.

No matter. It only gave her a moment’s pause. She was in control.

The apparition crackled and seethed. A pit of flame resembling a mouth opened at its face. Twisted, wretched sounds spilled out, shifting and churning. One moment, a desperate plea; the next, a piercing scream that chewed at Celestia’s heart. But they faded quickly, replaced by gaping silence. A trick.

Celestia peered into the apparition’s eyes, which flashed and flared and almost blinded her. But she held her ground. “Who are you?” she hissed with a scowl.

The apparition stared back at her.

And suddenly a word sprang into her head. It didn’t seem to come from anywhere, but there it was, right on the tip of her tongue.

Two mouths moved in unison, and each spoke a single word: “Daybreaker.”

A creeping dread seized Celestia. A lump grew in her throat; she felt taut, like a balloon moments away from bursting. She reeled, raising her hand and sheathing it in sputtering, flickering light.

The more she looked at the thing in front of her, the more it seemed like a burning mirror.

She shook her head, her hands balling into fists, her jaw clenching. “No. No, this cannot be.” She squeezed her eyes shut. When they opened again there was little but formless fire in front of her, and perhaps a vague feminine silhouette. “Liar,” she growled. The light enveloping her hands flashed and focused, reaching out with pillars like fingers.

The flame before her twisted and flowed and made many whispers Celestia spurned. A web was woven in the fire; it seemed to draw Celestia’s eye, and she saw a black corridor to an inferno. The whispers grew louder as she stared. They called to her.

With a snarl she wrenched her gaze away. “Tell me the truth!” A lash of her light sliced the flame in two; quickly the fragments streaked away and reformed. Like a comet Celestia chased after that flame, wrath and scorn distorting her light into harsh, jagged blades and explosive flares.

It struck back at her. Gouts of flame lashed at her body like striking serpents, singeing her flesh. But she felt little pain, and what she did feel she refused to bow to.

Finally she snuffed out the flame, blasted the demon with such force it vanished utterly. She hovered, trembling, chest heaving.

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. A tiny flame, no brighter than a candle.

A scream escaped her mouth. She whipped around, hurled herself at the flame. It fled, suffocated in her grasp, and was nothing.

There it was again. Celestia was not slower this time, nor was she less forceful.

Again. Again and again and again. The fire taunted her, dancing in wild loops and careless swirls as if heedless of Celestia’s fury.

Celestia’s fists clenched tight, her fingernails digging viciously into her palms. “Leave me,” she said. “Begone.” All the strength she had, she summoned. Light strong enough to crack her city apart, scar the land, blind the world.

It tore out of her in a violent geyser. She screamed. “Go away!”

All was white. Stark, sterile, uniform. Not a sound to be heard nor a scent to be smelled. It faded, in time, but the ash that surrounded her then was hardly less of a void.

She collapsed forwards, falling onto her hands and knees. Everything hurt. With desperate eyes she looked up, and when she saw not a glimpse of fire anywhere, she almost wept with joy.

Eventually she rose, lifting herself with wobbly legs and aching arms. She sucked in a painful breath, shivering. Her grasp on the dream frayed and crumbled, and the world around her began to blur.

Something flickered, darting behind her.

She spun, peering over her shoulder.

A fire roared behind her, tall enough to touch the sky and broad enough she could see little else. It shrieked, plumes of violent white shooting in all directions. And a shape formed in the center; an approximation of a woman, reaching out and beckoning Celestia towards the inferno.

Celestia fell out of the dream.

She awoke, wracked with shivers, with a gasp and a lurch. She sat up hurriedly, breathing heavily as her eyes darted all over her room. The Sun felt distant; it was a few hours, maybe, until time to raise it.

Celestia drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms.

That name… the shape she’d seen…

She shook. It was lying to her, that thing. There—there had to be an answer. Something she was missing. Some way to unravel it. But how?

Luna had known dreams far better than her. Star Swirl hadn’t, but surely he would have figured it out faster.

They weren’t here. They were gone, both of them.

She had to do it alone, then. That was… that was just how it was.

Throughout the day, there were many faces that kept her from being alone, in a technical sense. They all felt distant and hollow, though. Small, fragile and tense, like sheets of thin glass. Her role was to resolve their burdens, not add to them. What could any of them do for her?

The day dragged along at an excruciating pace. Question after question after question. She wondered often if it truly needed to be her who had to answer them. Many did not seem particularly consequential.

And all the while, whenever her thoughts drifted even a little, fire flickered at the edges of her vision. She ached, inside and out. Her throat felt parched, her limbs stiff and wooden. That evening ritual hung over her like a poised dagger.

There was the matter of Chrysalis, too.

Hours passed in a haze. The time came to raise the Moon. Celestia did so. Then, over the span of an hour, she stood in front of a mirror and willed herself back to a tenuous façade of composure.

It was Chrysalis. She had to go. There simply wasn’t room for any other course of action.

Following the directions on the note Chrysalis had given her took Celestia to a small house on the edge of Canterlot. Celestia glowered at the door before approaching it and knocking. When there wasn’t a response right away, she was more than slightly tempted to smash it down—but she was in a city street, and nobody in Canterlot needed more of a commotion. So she waited.

Eventually the door cracked open and she was greeted by a very familiar face—the door was yanked open shortly, and the strawberry-haired woman behind it dipped quickly into a low bow. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, green eyes pointed downwards.

Celestia’s lip curled. Her hands clenched by her sides. “Chrysalis?” she said, keeping her voice low.

“Come in, please.” The woman stepped aside and ushered Celestia in—then stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Celestia lifted an eyebrow, but turned to examine her surroundings. The room she was in was large, taking up most of the house’s first floor, and quite dark, all the curtains closed.

But then a candle lit, and at the other end of the room Chrysalis was there, sitting in a chair by a table, with a book in her hands and a glass of wine by her side and a face wrapped in dark shadows. She looked up at Celestia. Their eyes locked, and Chrysalis flashed a gleaming, toothy smile as she set her book down and sprang excitedly to her feet. “There you are,” she exclaimed, her voice thick and writhing. She approached, heeled shoes clacking on the floor and a sleek gown flowing and swishing with each step. “I was worried you’d forgotten about me.”

“No such luck.” Celestia articulated each syllable precisely. She glared into Chrysalis’ eyes; light burst forth from her body and suddenly the room was lit as though under a cloudless summer afternoon.

Chrysalis winced and hissed, covering her eyes and lurching back, her advance halted. She groaned through clenched teeth. “I put... a lot of thought into setting the mood, you know.” A baleful eye peered at Celestia through fingers and dangling hair.

Celestia folded her arms. “Why am I here?”

The indignancy bled out of Chrysalis’ face as soon as her hands lowered. “To be honest, I’m not certain myself,” she said, raising a finger and turning contemplative eyes skywards. “I was thinking we could just share a drink, but I was also enjoying a fascinating book on the history of this city and—”

“Get.” Celestia’s eyes narrowed, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her arm. “To the point.”

Chrysalis met her gaze, and slowly her finger lowered. She faced Celestia squarely, her posture unassuming. “Well,” she said, her voice slow and measured, “if things went… exactly my way… I was thinking maybe I’d ask you for a dance.”

A pause. Celestia frowned, searching Chrysalis’ face and body for signs of deception. As her search proved fruitless, her own face twisted into a scowl.

If only it weren’t Chrysalis. Anything else, she could walk away from, but not her.

“Chrysalis. Do you expect me to believe you came all this way… just to ask me for a dance?”

A forked tongue slid across Chrysalis’ dark lips. She brought a finger to her chin. “No, actually, I don’t. I’d hoped so. It would make things easier. But, well… you don’t trust me.”

“You’ve been spying on me.”

“Well, yes, of course. You’re… Celestia.” The name rolled sinuously off her tongue, thick and charged like that one word had the power to explain everything in the world. “Do you like me enough I should think it unnecessary?” Chrysalis cocked her head, her eyebrows bouncing smugly upwards.

“If you were really so worried about me, you wouldn’t have outed yourself so easily.”

“Perhaps. But, if I may offer a counter…” Chrysalis slunk forwards—Celestia shot her a glare that halted her advance, making her come to a stop a comfortable distance away. “There aren’t many people like me out there,” Chrysalis said. “You’re closer than most. How am I to take advantage of that if you don’t know who you’re talking to?”

“We,” Celestia said, “are not alike.”

Chrysalis made a chirpy, grating chuckle. “No,” she said. “No, I quite doubt we’re ever going to be friends. If you came all the way out to see me and said it was just for the sweet sound of my voice, I’d not believe you for a second.

“But, you see… I happen to quite like being alive, and yet there I was, sticking my neck out to stage a coup, and here I am, standing before someone who could burn me to a crisp if she wanted to. Do you think I like taking risks like that?” She made another laugh, this time a dry one that transitioned to a wry, mirthless smile. “It hasn’t been a question of what we want, though, has it? Not for a long time.”

Celestia struggled to meet Chrysalis’ eyes. They seemed to burrow into her, and there was a twisting sense of unease growing by the second.

“So.” Chrysalis clasped her hands, tilting her head. “If I may… what was the last thing you did just because you wanted to?”

There did not seem to be an answer to that. Celestia thought and combed through her memories, struggling and searching… then before she realized what had happened, Chrysalis was standing in front of her and holding out a hand.

Celestia stared at the offered limb, and then her eyes lifted upwards. She met Chrysalis’, and… had they always looked so warm? She saw compassion, or at least understanding. Her breath hitched. Fatigue and dread seemed to pounce on her from nowhere.

“You,” Chrysalis said, in a low, soft voice, “are Princess Celestia. The most powerful, most beautiful creature in this land, ruler of a city that mirrors you in every way. If you, of all things, are not enjoying yourself, then something has gone very, very wrong.

“So. Shall we dance?”

“There’s no music.” She only started to reach out; Chrysalis closed the rest of the distance herself.

“Now that,” Chrysalis said as she pulled Celestia closer, “doesn’t sound like something that can stop Princess Celestia, does it?”

To her own surprise, Celestia made a small laugh. It was… when was the last time she’d laughed? It felt so strange to her. Completely foreign, but maybe in a good way. “We’ll look foolish.”

“To who? I don’t see anyone here but us.” Chrysalis tugged gently on Celestia’s hand, pulling her along. “Come on. Do something fun.”

“Something fun…” Celestia let herself be pulled along a moment, but then she tugged away, spinning to turn her back on Chrysalis and free her hand, which she lifted along with her other. “Something fun,” she whispered, quietly to herself.

In her mind’s eyes she saw her Sun. A disk of fire and light that blotted out all its competitors. It was sleeping, now. She imagined taking a little piece of it.

And there it was. A little Sun hovered over her finger, spinning slowly and washing her hand in yellow light. She moved her finger and that little Sun followed it, and she could look nowhere else. In a stroke of curiosity she gave her finger a quick flick, and that little Sun went shooting off like a comet, streaking and twinkling around the room.

She turned to see Chrysalis watching the light too. “How’s that?” Celestia said.

Chrysalis’ eyes slowly crept back to hers. “It’s a good start.”

“Perhaps.” Celestia plucked another little Sun and wore it on her finger like a jewel. Another one, and she sent it flying to loop circles around Chrysalis’ legs, sprinkling glowing dust wherever it went. Yet another went to who knew where, because she was too busy making more. Disks, globes, blobby shapes, even one or two that were a bit more square. Yellow ones, white ones, red ones, ones that were a little bit of all those and more.

A few short moments and she’d covered the room in these glowing motes. She spun in a slow, lazy circle, taking in her creation. Lights all around tugged her eyes in a dozen different directions, and she looked and saw Chrysalis affected much the same way.

“So,” she said as she made her way over to the other woman, “I believe you said something about a dance?” She held out her hand.

Chrysalis’ dark lips spread into a grin. She reached out.

The second their fingers touched, Celestia pulled her forwards, yanking her close and slipping an arm around her waist. Chrysalis bristled, but her eyes lit up.

“There we go,” Chrysalis said. “More of that, if you will.”

A slight smile found its way onto Celestia’s face. She glanced away, giving a toss of her head. All around her all those little Suns started drifting. Some slowly, others quickly. Their light waxed and waned in gentle, steady rhythms. Celestia let her eyes fall on the first one to cross her and used it as her guide as she started to sway.

The tempo was set, then. When that first light wandered out of her focus, her eyes found another, this one a little faster, and so she moved a little faster. Chrysalis kept up with her smoothly, always close—like she was reading Celestia’s mind, and for once Celestia chose not to be frightened by that.

But as with all good things, it had to come to an end. Celestia started winding it down slowly, and Chrysalis caught on quickly and followed suit. But even when it was brought to a close, there was a jitter in Celestia’s chest, a buzz to her thoughts that maybe she didn’t mind savoring for a little while.

“Thank you,” she said.

Chrysalis stood in front of her, lips spread in a toothy smirk. “My pleasure,” she said.

Celestia gave her a nod. Was there more to say? No, she thought not. It was late, and she needed to sleep at some point. She turned and moved towards the door.

The doorknob clattered stubbornly instead of turning, and the door refused to budge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a long breath. “Chrysalis.”

“Was that too much? We both know it won’t stop you, not if you really don’t want it to, but…” Her voice painted a picture of a smirk clearly in Celestia’s mind. “Well, I thought it more articulate than I could be with words.”

Celestia’s shoulder slumped. Maybe she’d been a fool, expecting anything good to come of this. Yes, she should have known better. It was not time to rest yet. She straightened slowly, reaching deep within herself for resolve, then facing Chrysalis with a hardened stare. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

“Yes. Hmm, where to start…” Chrysalis tapped her chin thoughtfully, her tongue flicking out across her lips. “Well. You seem to be in a better mood, and I’m glad. Truly, I am. If you can believe only one thing I’ve said tonight, pick that one.”

“Should I?” Celestia folded her arms. Sparks flickered into life, angry little stars marching in tight circles around her hands. “You said it yourself. We’re not friends, and that’s not going to change. So why should you be happy for me?”

“The same reason we’re never going to be friends.” Chrysalis held up her hands. “I’m not so difficult to figure out, you know. I care about myself quite a lot. I care about my hive quite a lot, because it belongs to me. That’s about it. So.” Her eyes flicked upwards, and she pointed a bony finger in that direction too. “That happened. I don’t know why or how, but then one of my servants walks in on you, and you’re a weeping, wretched mess. Relatively speaking.”

Celestia’s stomach churned. “So you’re afraid of me.” The sparks grew into prowling motes of fire. “Is that it?”

Chrysalis backed away, her eyes darting down to Celestia’s hands. “What I am saying,” she said, in a low voice sucked dry of the smugness from a few moments ago, “is that I have reason to believe your well-being is of great importance to me. And this… thing we just did… that wasn’t a cure, was it? No, I think there’s something that you need fixed, and I don’t plan on leaving this city until it looks like that’s going to happen.”

“That’s it?” A shudder came to Celestia’s hands. “I shouldn’t have expected anything selfless from you. I thought…” She shook her head, her teeth clenching tightly.

“No, you shouldn’t have. But one more question, if I may, and I hope for both our sakes you’ll be honest.” Chrysalis breathed deeply, training her eyes on Celestia’s. “Are you—are you really… in a position where you can afford to turn down help... just because you don’t like why it’s being offered?”

Celestia scowled. Her blood boiled, fire coursing through her. Her mouth opened, ready and willing to reject this snake that had crept into her city—but thoughts from the morning returned to her in a flash. That feeling of powerlessness, when all she could do was wish to not be so alone.

The flames died down. Her head hung. “No,” she whispered, the sound of her own voice stinging her. “No, I… I don’t…” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. Just how unwound was she, to be acting such a fool?

“In that case…” Chrysalis came closer, making Celestia flinch and yank her eyes upwards, but all that came was a gentle touch on her shoulder. Their eyes met. “Sit with me. Tell me what the problem is,” Chrysalis said, “and if there is anything I can do to make it go away, I will do it.”

Celestia fought for calmness and clarity. Chrysalis was steady, strong and solid. Celestia tried to steal some that for herself. Chrysalis had no sovereignty over dreams—whatever ill will she may have possessed, she couldn’t possibly be the one haunting her dreams.

This was the correct choice.

“Alright,” Celestia said. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Good.” Chrysalis’ hand slithered down Celestia’s arm to grab her hand, where it was joined by another. “I’m glad to hear it,” Chrysalis added as she dragged Celestia towards a couch up against the wall.

It took her a moment for Celestia to collect herself, after they’d sat down. Too many things to think about, and many of them unpleasant. The puzzled silence was not tense, though it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Chrysalis peeled away to give her distance and room, but her stare lingered.

“There’s… there’s something in my dreams,” Celestia began. “A… presence… of sorts.” She wrung her hands, grasping for anything else that might be important. “At first, it…” She shook her head. “Fire. It looks like fire.”

She glanced towards Chrysalis, who remained silent and motioned for her to continue. “I’ve been seeing it ever since…” Aches crept into her heart; a shiver ripped through her. “A little while, now. It doesn’t speak. Or—I don’t… don’t think it does. But it’s there, every time I dream. I can’t seem to make it go away.”

“What does it do?”

“It shows me things. Canterlot, burning. Fire, enveloping me.” Celestia looked upwards—there was a ceiling in the way, but she could still see the Moon, just faintly. “Whatever it is, I… I think that it…” She took a shaky breath. “I think it did that to her. And it’s trying to do the same to me. I’m…” She felt quite small, all of a sudden. Like she was staring up a mountain, trying to drag herself up faster than she was falling. “I’m frightened.”

“I see. I’ve not heard of any creature like that.” Chrysalis went quiet for a moment. “That’s all it does? Show you things?”

“No, it… it whispers. But I can never understand what it’s saying.” Celestia looked down, tearing her eyes away from the Moon. “And last time, it…”

“It what?”

Celestia shook her head. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

Movement drew her eye. Chrysalis swiveled to face her, eyes narrow. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“It’s not important.”

“Neither of us can know that for certain, if we don’t know what this thing is.”

“I—” Celestia pinched her lips shut. “It looked like me. That’s all.”

A pause. Chrysalis blinked. “What if it is you?”

Celestia tensed. Dread seized her out of nowhere, a churning discomfort brewing deep in her core. “It isn’t,” she said. “It can’t be.”

“Do you know that?” Chrysalis asked. She leaned forwards. “Or do you just want it to be true?”

“That—” Celestia’s hands clenched. “That—no. No, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re very capable, you know. But what you’re doing clearly isn’t working, so you’re doing something wrong. So.” Chrysalis clasped her hands in her lap. “How do you know it’s a something, and not just you?”

“Because…” Celestia looked away. “Why would I want this? What reason would I have to… attack myself like this?”

“Celestia.” Chrysalis slid closer, reaching out to cautiously touch Celestia’s arm. “Your sister went mad—” Celestia flinched, a lump growing in her throat “—and you were forced to banish her. Nobody in the world wouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

“But—” Celestia shook her head, pulling away and rising sharply to her feet. “No.” She tried to sound confident, in hopes that would make her feel it too. “No, that can’t be it.”

“Do you know that? Or is that just what you want?”

Celestia wrenched herself around to glare at Chrysalis. “Why would I want this?”

Chrysalis held her gaze steady. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not you, as we’ve established.”

“No. You’re—”

“But if I had to guess?” Chrysalis shrugged her shoulders. “I’m no expert, but it’s not unusual to dream of things you want. And, well…” Her eyes dipped down, flitting restlessly. “It would make it simpler,” she said, “wouldn’t it? If it were a something?”

“What do you mean?”

Chrysalis leaned back, shaking her head. “This thing you’ve been seeing… if it turns out to be nothing but you, then…” Her eyes directed towards the Moon as she lifted a finger. “That… that was nothing but her, then. Wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t.” Celestia’s voice hardened and lowered, her hands balling up and sparking. “If there is only one thing I know, it’s that. I know my sister.” She stabbed a finger towards the sky. “That wasn’t her.”

Chrysalis sighed. “Celestia. You’re smart. You’re very smart. And you’re very strong. What you are saying is that some entity you’ve never heard of invaded your sister’s dreams—the place she would be at her very strongest—and overpowered her. You are saying that this is more believable… than you being very out of sorts because you had to lock up your sister on the Moon.”

“And what you are saying is that I don’t know my own sister,” Celestia snarled.

Chrysalis glared at her, slowly rising to her feet. “You,” she said, “had to be locked in a room with someone you loathe before you told anyone what was wrong. Was anyone doing that for her?”

“You—” Celestia held up a finger; it glowed white-hot, like an iron rod fresh from a forge. Gouts of flame spilled off of it, heat spreading up her arm as her hand clenched and curled. “Did not know her. Do not pretend that you did.”

“You’re very smart, Celestia. You should listen to yourself once in a while.”

Celestia’s nails dug into her palm. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. The breath she took made her whole body shudder and shiver. She glared at the defiant woman in front of her, and in the back of her head something whispered that she could scorch this problem until there wasn’t a problem anymore.

Chrysalis knew this. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes. A tiny, cautious shuffling of her limbs. Maybe she would strike first.

Celestia gathered her power. All that she could, just—just to see what it felt like. Just to remind herself what she could do.

And what she wouldn’t. All the things she’d never do, that she could do but a princess couldn’t.

She glared at Chrysalis. Turned away.

A flash of light engulfed her, and suddenly she was standing atop the peak of the mountain, wind tossing at her hair and her clothes, nipping at her skin with icy teeth.

She screamed, loud as she could, up there where the wind would swallow it all up.

The rest of the night had been far from pleasant. Eventually she’d made it back to her room. When she tried falling asleep, it didn’t work; she was jittery and restless. Anger? Fear? The lines between those things seemed blurry.

Somehow it happened eventually, though. Her eyes closed, and she dreamed of fire.

This time she couldn’t say where she was. Perhaps in her bedroom, perhaps elsewhere in Canterlot. Flames ate away at everything she could see; a red, bloodshot sky loomed overhead, barely visible through holes in the walls and ceiling and a layer of thick smoke.

Much of that didn’t seem to matter.

In front of her there was a shape. A rough, jagged silhouette, standing amidst the fire, made of fire itself. There was no face to read, but the suggestion of posture made it seem tall and serene, a beacon of peace surrounded by destruction.

Then it turned to face her. The flames composing it flared up, flashing and lashing in vicious white streaks. It loomed, casting a dreadful shadow. There was no escape. It was unending. The thing rushed towards her.

Celestia wanted to run. Run or fight or both. Whispers crawled into her head. She stood her ground—perhaps it was defiance driving her to dig in her heels, perhaps resignation turning her limbs to jelly and sapping her will. She watched. Listened.

It looked more and more like herself, this thing hurtling towards her. Sounded more like herself, too. Eyes took form in the flames, wild and haggard. A mouth, gaping in a silent scream.

Clearly what you’re doing isn’t working, so you must be doing something wrong.

The thing drew closer. Closer, closer, closer.

Celestia ran towards it. “Show me,” she said. What was left to lose, if it burned her? “Show me what you want me to see.”

They collided. Flames lashed at her, swallowing her up with a howl. She fell, she screamed.

Then suddenly, there was nothing. No fire. No pain.

Her eyes opened.

She stood below a tall, jagged peak, surrounded on all sides by an ashen waste. Dust and dirt stretched out to the horizon, bleached pale and dry by the sickly light of a stagnant Sun looming overhead. Wind blew past her, tossing her hair and tickling her cheeks with a chilly touch.

Above her was Canterlot. Desolate. Lifeless. Crumbling.

Slowly she turned around. There was no inferno behind her.

Just a woman in a tattered dress, crouched and hunched, scooping up dirt with gaunt hands to bury a faded crown. She stopped and turned, looking over her shoulder to peer upwards with dark, fiery eyes.

Celestia drew in a shuddering breath, then stepped forward. “Daybreaker?”

Daybreaker whirled around to face her, darting back. Her lip curled, baring fanged teeth. Her eyes glimmered with rippling flame.

Celestia looked at this person before her. Daybreaker’s eyes blazed, but holes in her clothing showed dry, pale flesh clinging tightly to a ribcage. Her movements were jerky and aggressive, her hands clenched into tight fists, but there were bags under her sunken eyes. And though her gaze never left Celestia’s, she did not move from where she stood.

There was nobody else. Nothing. Celestia looked in all directions, and there was nothing.

No kingdom to protect.

No Moon to lift.

No duties to endure.

She looked back to Daybreaker, and she saw someone who was lonely, and desperate, and very, very tired.

Celestia lowered herself to her knees. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, her voice quiet and small.

Daybreaker trembled. Her lips compressed as she shook her head.

“I mean it,” Celestia said. She held out her hand, which Daybreaker eyed warily.

But finally she took it, and Celestia drew her in for an embrace. Daybreaker shuddered and flinched, but eventually she leaned into it.

For a while, Celestia just held her, until she seemed calmer.

Then they talked. They talked and they laughed and they smiled, and soon everything that wasn’t Daybreaker started to blur and blend together. Then even she grew misty and transparent. Celestia relaxed, and let the dream fade.

For the first time in recent memory, Celestia awoke calmly. For a few moments she just laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the gentle sighs of her breath. When the time came to sit up, she did so slowly.

She thought for a bit. The last couple of days played through her head in a blur, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. The former won out, in the end. What a fool she’d been.

But that was in the past now, wasn’t it? She squeezed her eyes shut, taking the time to savor that thought and bask in its glow while she straightened herself into a fittingly regal posture. When she moved towards the balcony, it was with steady, purposeful strides.

It didn’t last, not entirely. Her eyes lifted to the Moon, and the sight of it—of that dark, blotchy stain that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago—still stung her, made her want to draw back and curl into a heap.

She didn’t do that, though.

The Moon was still sluggish, slippery and defiant. It wobbled in the sky as Celestia dragged it down. But it was easier now. There was a tremor in Celestia’s hands, by the time she pulled it beneath the horizon, but her eyes remained dry and she stood tall.

The kingdom would not collapse from one day of disorder. That was one half of Celestia’s rationale for taking an early leave. The other was that none of her thoughts would ever be on the things in front of her anyway. She saw to a few things in the morning, but spent most of the afternoon reading.

Everything there was about the Elements of Harmony. The last, unfinished spell Star Swirl had left behind. Other things, too. Lighter things, mostly. But those two topics were at the front of her mind.

Late in the afternoon, close to the time to raise the Moon, one of those few things came to fruition; there was a knock on her door. Celestia lifted her head, setting the book she’d been reading down. “Come in.”

The door swung open, then closed. Then there was a rush of flame.

“Good evening, Celestia,” Chrysalis said. There was a wariness in her eyes, and tightness in her cheeks, but those things seemed to be fading.

Celestia smiled. “Yes.” She stood up, circling around the table she’d been hunched over to stand in front of her visitor. “It is.”

Chrysalis watched her quietly, and slowly her lips bent into a smirk. She looked down to inspect her fingernails. “Well, if you wanted to have it ruined, you’re on the right track.”

“Am I?” Celestia leaned back against the table, supporting herself on her arms. “The last time we spoke, you said several things that were exactly right.”

Brightness came to Chrysalis’ eyes. She tossed her hair, then held up both hands as she sauntered closer. “I am awfully good at that, you know. What was I right about?”

Celestia cocked her head and gave a not-entirely-serious glare. “You already know.”

“I do, but it sounds more impressive if you say it out loud.”

“Very well.” Celestia nodded. “It was me.” She hadn’t gotten tired yet of how that realization lifted a weight off of her. “All along, that’s all it was. Just me. Or a part of me, anyway.” She hoped burning the land to a waste was quite far down her real list of priorities.

Chrysalis’ lips spread into a smile. “You know, when people say they’re their own worst enemy… I don’t think they usually mean it so literally.”

“Yes, well… like you said, we’re not exactly usual people, are we?”

“Quite true.” Chrysalis came to a stop just out of arm’s reach, resting a hand on her cocked hip. “Well, I’m glad you put a stop to it, then. What’s next for you, then?”

“Well, I do still have a kingdom to run…” Celestia looked over her shoulder, at the books she’d been reading. “For now, anyway.”

A pause. “That’s an interesting choice of words,” Chrysalis said at last. Was that a hint of sadness Celestia heard in her voice? It was small, if it wasn’t just wishful thinking.

“It is, isn’t it? I’ll be around a while longer, I’m sure. But…” Celestia shook her head slowly. “Well, if I am as volatile as the last few days have led me to believe, that seems like the wise decision.”

She peered right into Chrysalis’ eyes. “After finding a suitable successor. Of course.”

Chrysalis nodded, and then her eyebrow arched up. “That’s not going to be easy.”

“No. It won’t be.” Star Swirl had believed that spell could be finished, though. And the Elements had been wielded once before. “But I have time. If I can do it, then I will.”

“Your time to spend.” Chrysalis folded her arms, her lips compressing. She looked towards the door. “I suppose my work here is done, then, isn’t it?”

Celestia hesitated. “Depends on what you consider work.” She almost regretted saying anything, shortly after she’d spoken. Almost. “I’ve an evening to spare. If that interests you.”

Chrysalis’ eyes darted over to hers. “I don’t know what you think I’d want to do with an offer like that,” she said, fangs glinting behind her slightly-parted lips, “but work isn’t exactly what I’d call it.”

“What is it, then?”

A quiet stare spoke of some deliberation, but when Chrysalis spoke she was confident and decisive. “A lost cause. We have been over this.”

“True. But the last time I hated someone, it turned out to just be me. Forgive me for erring on the side of optimism this time.”

“Of course. We all make mistakes.” One last smile, and then Chrysalis turned and moved towards the door. Green fire engulfed her, burning her away and producing a less regal form. “Good luck, Your Highness. You’ll have a need for it sooner or later.”

The door was opened and then closed, and then Celestia was alone.

“Good luck,” she repeated. She shook her head. Luck would not last forever—not when it had a hundred years or more over which to falter.

But she’d picked herself up once, now.

She savored the warm glow that realization gave her the whole time she approached the balcony. The Sun hung low in the sky, now. She reached for it and for the Moon. It took time, and it hurt—and she expected it would continue to do so, for a long time. But that was alright. She was able.

And when she was done, when the Moon had been brought to its place, she looked up at it, at the blotch that hadn’t been there a month ago. She stared at it for a long while.

“Can you… can you hear me?” she whispered, taking hold of the Moon again. It seethed in her grasp, bristling like a cornered, starving predator even when moving it was far from on her mind. Did that count as an answer?

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Celestia shook her head, sighing. “But you’re there, aren’t you?” It was a small, sad smile that she made, but still a smile. “Luna. Don’t worry. I’ll see you again, someday. I promise.”