Long Live the Sovereign

Chapters

Behold! The Crystal Princess!
A Fear That Will Never Come to Pass
My Crystal Slaves...

Behold! The Crystal Princess!

The destruction of the Crystal Castle was as beautiful to behold as it was terrible to witness.

All around, radiating out from the spire of the castle like the threads of a spider web, the main avenues of the Crystal Empire kept its citizens tied to its royalty. Every day, the crystal ponies walked to and from work, selling, serving, and supplying. Goods, such as the crystalline berries and silver-based snow globes of the tourist trade. Feeding their fellows. Upholding the upholstery. Carving the architecture.

Against all this, the gnomon to the empire’s sundial, the Crystal Castle towered. Daylight flowed all around the spire, sparkling, but under that sunlight a slit of shadow scraped over the rooftops. Ignored.

And then it happened.

From every arched window and brilliant balcony, a beam of light. The spire became a lighthouse, but one overdone and twisted, shining multiple random beams from everywhere to everywhere. A blink, a flash, a moment of uncertainty. A cracking. A whoosh of inrushing wind.

When it came, the explosion was pure and white.

Fragments of the Crystal Castle drifted and spun, reflecting the edge of clean flame as crisply as shards of glass amid a phosphorus bonfire. Boulders of broken wall were the cosmic creation of comets, blocks of ice fused from gravitas and all that mattered… shattered. Some pieces rained down on the houses around the empire, inviting them – royal to commoner – in the great and noble art of catastrophic collapse.

Unheard screams, panicked voices, the death blasts of castle ruins impacting the ground: all overruled – trivial, and bleak – by the single strangled cry of the explosion, as of a child planet mourning its casual murder by the parent sun.

Among the crystal ponies of the streets, Carnelian’s mouth fell open. Her body froze in horror. Tears burned her cheeks, and those of her neighbours.

Gradually, the light faded. The Crystal Empire returned to a new normal. Houses surrounded a hole. The Crystal Castle was no more.

And deep in the crater left behind, a tiny voice spoke: “Goo goo, heh heh, ha ha…”

That was all years ago, of course. But simple acts lead to expanding complications.

Some explosions last a second; others last a lifetime…

“Class Photo Day! Class Photo Day! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

That was the filly Flurry Heart, popping in and out of existence over the pile of blankets that passed for her aunt’s bed these days. A final flash, and Flurry Heart was gone.

From beneath the covers, Princess Twilight Sparkle groaned. Tell anyone else to let her sleep after three days of work, and they’d cheerfully keep away. Tell Flurry Heart, and she’d cheerfully agree, then forget about it two minutes later.

The bed covers glowed, sparkled, and under her magical influence finally lifted themselves off. Twilight dared not look at herself in the mirror. Years of creating spells, casting down evil sorcerers, outwitting political enemies, and she still hadn’t solved the problem of bedheads.

Another flash, a yelp from Twilight.

“Class Photo Day! Class Photo Day!”

“Love you too, Flurry,” moaned Twilight, raising her smile from the dead. The yawn broke through the grave. “Go downstairs, there’s a good girl.”

“Love you, Auntie!” A flash: Flurry Heart was gone.

Well, the little tyke was improving: last time she’d tried teleporting into Twilight’s bed chamber, half the wall collapsed.

Twilight struggled to her hooves. She passed the display of photos: some showed her grinning with her friends from Ponyville, others showed her smiling politely alongside nobles and diplomats, world leaders in crowns and suits. Her private bookshelf stood dutifully on guard, mostly dusty. The desk opposite: piled high with scrolls and reference books used as bookmarks for other reference books.

Above it, the map of the world suffocated under all the pins and coloured threads, sticky memos, and sparkling hues of the many spells she’d cast to keep the political boundaries meaningful. This morning, she skimmed a few notes and rearranged pins, threads, and spells.

“Griffon Kingdom,” she muttered, yawning. “Dragon Lands…”

Another land dispute, another history lesson, another conference, another round of trying to keep everyone on speaking terms in the delicate balancing act of international politics –

There was a yell from downstairs.

Please no, thought Twilight.

She closed her eyes and focused on the spell. In a flash, the world around her shifted, momentarily weightless and free. Then gravity and air resistance clamped her back down. She opened her eyes again.

This was another room in her castle. Her breakfast chamber. Well, technically the map room with the seven thrones in attendance, but Twilight’s stomach rumbled its protest in no uncertain terms.

Over the map, Flurry Heart flapped her wings and levitated herself with her own unicorn magic. She never seemed happy doing just one thing. Beside her, the camera floated.

“Come on, come on! It’s photographing day!”

“All right, all right. I’m up, I’m up.”

“Now, now, now, now, now!”

“What do we say, Flurry?”

An agonizing pause, then: “Pleeeaaassseee?”

“Good girl.”

“All right!” Flurry didn’t even wait. At once, she turned two of the thrones around and sat down on the smaller, then patted the larger, while giving Twilight a keen grin.

Twilight hoped the bedhead wasn’t too bad. She sat down. Flurry immediately pecked her on the cheek, though she almost headbutted Twilight with the effort.

“OK, OK, OK, OK…” Tongue sticking out, Flurry aimed the camera at them both. With the other thrones and the map acting as a backdrop, it was going to be an impressive picture.

Twilight and Flurry. Just the two of them.

“Say Cheery Breezie!”

“Cheery Breezie!” crooned Twilight, chortling behind the yawn-of-a-voice.

FLASH!

Instantly, Flurry’s spell smashed the camera to pieces and tore the single photo out to inspect it. “There we go! Now I got a class photo too, just like everypony else.”

She showed it to Twilight, who had to push it away from her eyes first to prevent her blinking it off accidentally. Not a bad one of her, even with the bedhead and weak smile.

Glancingly, she noticed the shards of camera on the floor. Flurry was at least getting better at self-control. Last time she’d come up with a hare-brained idea, Twilight had woken up to find a family of startled grizzly bears in the entrance hall and Flurry waving around a basket, shrieking, “PICNIC DAY! PICNIC DAY!”

“That’s lovely, Flurry,” said Twilight, lazily serving herself a pancake from the tray. Good old Spike: he’d been busy this morning, as ever.

“I know. So what are we doing today? Hospital visit? Market day shopping spree? Ooh, ooh, can we watch the Wonderbolt Derby this year? I know who’s going to win already!”

Twilight paused, pancake chunk halfway to her mouth. “Er… you do?”

“Yeah, I’ve been practising my prophecy spell. Watch!” Instantly, Flurry’s horn glowed white. Her eyes likewise. “She will rise from the land of ice: one pegasus, one unicorn, one earth, one flesh. Her destiny: the crystal spire. Her subjects: the world. She shall unite all under her glorious reign…”

Then the light abruptly cut out.

“Woo, that was new!” Flurry jumped about excitedly, phasing through the table as casually as if it was a hologram. “Ooh, ooh, I’ve been reading your friendship journal too! I made improvements! Look!”

“Improvem–?” Out of nowhere, the book hit Twilight in the face and bounced off. Pages flicked by at papercut speed.

A hoof patted the page in question. “See? I added a rainbow!”

“That’s very… creative.”

“Uh huh. Rarity says you’re supposed to add flair and style to everything you do. That makes it ten times better. And Rainbow’s got all sorts of flair and style, and Fluttershy agreed with me, and Pinkie gave me the cake frosting, so I thought, well, rainbows!”

Gingerly, Twilight sniffed the illustration. Yep, definitely Pinkie’s contribution.

“Very creative indeed,” she said with a giggle.

Poof! The book was gone. Flurry hovered overhead, upside down.

“So I was thinking… could we have a day for Best Auntie Ever Time again? Please, please, pretty pleeeaaassseee…?”

All too easily, Twilight’s giggle collapsed into a sigh. Every day, Flurry Heart asked the question, and every day, Twilight had to disappoint her Best Niece Ever. She distracted herself by adding more blueberries and cream to the pancake pile already in front of her.

“Well…”

Flurry immediately froze mid-flight.

“I’m sure I could fit in an hour and a half this evening – two if the Griffon-Dragon Summit ends early.”

“Oh,” said Flurry Heart.

“OK,” said Flurry Heart.

“Right,” said Flurry Heart.

And there. Those were the three worst words she could say to Twilight.

It was like that every time. Twilight swore they used to have more time together, but these days, that time seemed to hide in the always-running tomorrow. She swore she’d get there someday.

“Maybe you could spend time with Applejack this week? I’m sure she’d love to show you how to make cider. Without magic, I mean.” Gently, Twilight reached over and patted her on the cheek. “Aw, don’t worry about the quantity of time, remember? It’s about the quality. Haha, I’ll bet Granny Smith says that when you visit!”

Moodily, Flurry Heart said nothing, which was the worst thing of all. The life sparked out of her. She simply sat down on the little throne and chewed at a corner of pancake.

To cover her own confusion, Twilight picked up the pieces of the camera. At least that was routine: two weeks ago, on a Pinkie Pie Babysitting Bonanza, Flurry had left the royal kitchen in a state of nuclear cookie dough.

She tried, bless her. She leaped on anything and everything new. Twilight had never met such a voracious student, and in some ways such a gifted one. Once she learned the art of cleaning up after herself, she’d be unstoppable…

Only when the last piece of plastic snapped into place did Twilight notice the label.

She showed it to Flurry.

“What,” she said calmly, “is this?”

Flurry glanced up, then nibbled at her pancake some more. “Name label.”

“I can see that. Why is this name on it?”

Still, Flurry busied herself with the pancake, surfacing only to say, “I borrowed it.”

Twilight sagged. Oh no, she thought, please, please no…

“Flurry Heart, did you steal this camera?”

“No!” Flurry shot up a bit too quickly. She flapped her wings hard. Twilight knew what that meant.

“Then did you ask before you ‘borrowed’ it? Remember the friendship journal. Be honest.”

“I wanted it for the photo shoot! Anyway, Sweetie Belle said Featherweight had all the best cameras in Ponyville, because of his hobby! And you said I shouldn’t use magic to take pictures! It’s safer!”

In theory, it had been safer. Twilight hated doing this. She had to pinch her own muzzle and take a slow breath before proceeding. The true depths of Flurry’s actions were never straightforward.

“And what did Featherweight say about this?” she asked as politely as possible.

Flurry shrugged, looking nervous. “He didn’t say anything about it.”

“And he did that because…?”

“Because… I…”

“Yes?”

Flurry squirmed; she was already breathing faster and faster. “Because I sorta maybe kinda a little bit gagged him and tied him up so he wouldn’t shout at me in his room, maybe?”

“Flurry Heart!”

Even as she spoke, Twilight knew she’d stomped too hard. With a squeal, Flurry curled up under her wings, gasping for struggling breaths, and a golden bubble shielded her on sheer magical instinct.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, don’t hate me, don’t hate me…”

And that was another thing Twilight had to handle. All too often.

As well as she could, she wrapped a comforting wing and a strong forelimb around the smooth golden bubble. Flurry wouldn’t feel it, but if she peeped out, she’d recognize the signs.

“You’re not a bad pony,” Twilight said, remembering Fluttershy’s words, “you just made a bad decision. That’s all. We’ve all been there, Flurry Heart. Believe me.”

It took some soothing and softening before the curled-up wings unfurled. Flurry’s eye shone among the feathers.

She uncurled. Twilight’s forelimb touched and then merged gently with her niece’s shoulders. Wings blundered and tangled with wings, until something like a stiff hug squeezed some life back into the little alicorn. Then Flurry gasped away her fears.

Twilight watched her every second. Nerves jangled inside her. One of the days, her niece wouldn’t uncurl at all.

“Good girl.” To be sure, she planted a gentle kiss on Flurry’s forehead, just next to her horn. “Now, why don’t I take the camera back later and we’ll say no more about it, OK?”

“OK,” whispered a nervous voice from the bottom of Flurry Heart’s hooves.

And that was it. For the morning. Always a lesson to learn, Twilight thought bravely. Every single day.

Flurry Heart learned her lesson all right. Next time, she kept the camera hidden in her room.

When she came back the next evening to find bedside things rearranged – Spike had cleaned her room again – she hastily took the camera out of its hiding box and vanished it into another dimension. No one would ever stumble across it there. No one would get mad. No one would think she was a “bad girl”.

Summer, autumn, winter, spring… they meant little to the Crystal Empire.

Every year, the spokes of power radiated outward like the constant rays of the sun, whether eclipsed or free. The web wove without its spider as queen. Little lives shuttled back and forth, regardless of the missing shadow.

Yet in the heart of the Crystal Empire, the crystal ponies concentrated.

Over dozens of months, chunk by chunk, the spire grew back over the old scar. Liquidized crystal filled in the crater like a campaign of denial. Slowly but surely, the pride of the empire rose again.

Workers climbed on steps wheeled into position. Faceted saddles hauled chunks of ice – or something like it – up to the jagged edges. Sparkling hooves smoothed and patted the pieces into place, until no hairline cracks could be seen. Old imperfections, consigned to history by the will to forget.

Overlooking all from the nearby hill of snow, Princess Twilight Sparkle – bags accumulating under her eyes – saw all. Beside her, Chancellor Carnelian said nothing. Showed nothing on her face. Was basically nothing, for all the notice anyone gave her.

Only Twilight spoke: “We can supply more stallions from the Royal Guard.”

Carnelian grunted.

“The security of the Crystal Empire is paramount,” continued Twilight. “There are still too many enemies abroad. We’ve been lucky so far, but maybe the crystal ponies will sleep better with more guards around?”

Carnelian grunted. Twilight gave her a sidelong look.

“And Captain Flash Sentry has personally offered to come and supervise the empire himself. His offer still stands.”

Carnelian’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth just grunted.

“Look, I know things won’t be the same again,” added Twilight desperately, “but this is the best I can do. If I can help in any way, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Carnelian grunted. Words seemed loathe to leave her lips. For the first time, Twilight wondered if she was accidentally rubbing salt in the wound. Crystal ponies had got on as well as they could without skipping an economic beat, but…

All she could do was bow. “Equestria will be in touch.”

Carnelian grunted.

Twilight strode downhill, away from the empire, and closer to the plains of snow. Down below, the teenaged hulk of purple scales stirred. A massive head rose to meet hers.

“Another year, I think, Spike,” she said. “Then the empire will be ready for her.”

A rumble: Spike the Dragon was guffawing. “Sure, sure. Now all we need is for her to be ready for it.”

Twilight winced. “Don’t, Spike.”

“Sorry. You know it’s true, though.”

“Time to go, Spike.”

Secretly, she thanked him over and over. Ponies struggled to disagree to her face; non-ponies were ready to pick fights over nothing. But there was Spike, her Number One Assistant, neither a sycophant nor a bully.

She climbed onto his back, too tired to argue. Gentle as a blimp, Spike rose from the ground and eased his way into the wind, wings cracking against the struggle for height…

That evening, his wings flapped calmly and then settled down. In his corner of the teaching chamber – another repurposed room of the castle – Spike slept on. Or appeared to: Twilight saw his ear twitch once too often to be fooled.

She pressed on anyway: her pointer rapped against the wall. “Despite its name, the Crystal Empire has actually spent most of its history as a kingdom. The unicorn kings took over from the crystal pony emperors as a way to help the crystal ponies align with the values and structures of Equestria. However, crystal ponies are a proud species and have always kept their most sacred traditions and rituals to themselves. Even Princess Celestia never learned all their secrets…”

A thud. Twilight sighed.

“DOUBLE-WHAMMY!” shrieked Flurry Heart. She raised her toy cockatrice and slammed it on the playing board. Some of the pieces scattered, fell over.

Twilight’s spell vanished the whole lot, leaving pure desk.

“Flurry Heart, please,” she said, ignoring Flurry’s tired groan. “You’re officially a princess now.”

“I’ve always been a princess!”

“The Crystal Princess. And as Crystal Princess –”

“Ooh, ooh!” Flurry’s hoof waved in the air. “Can we see that new Pinkie Pie Art Gallery in Sugar Cube Corner!? I heard she baked the ‘Moaning Leader’ painting into a quintuple-layer cake.”

“As Crystal Princess, you need to understand the political and international history of the empire you’ll be taking responsibility f–”

“Ruling over,” corrected Flurry smugly.

“Taking responsibility for.”

Spike mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like: “She’s not wrong.”

“Thank you, Spike, but if she’s going to properly represent the Crystal Empire…”

“Can we pleeeaaassseee go?” Flurry’s eyes glimmered with tears. “Pleeeaaassseee? Pinkie eats them if you don’t get there in time.”

Never again, Twilight thought. And she thought that every time. And she broke her own heart doing so.

“Maybe after the lesson,” she suggested weakly. In his corner, Spike chuckled: the crystal around him hummed briefly in harmonic sympathy.

“It’s not my fault,” whined Flurry, ears drooping. “I’m trying my best, honest. It’s just… history’s so hard!”

“Well, if you don’t like lectures, maybe we could try the flashcard method?”

“Noooooo…”

Twilight rummaged through her own brain for options. “How about a deal? If we get through this lesson, I’ll make your favourite dinner? Peas and mashed potato. Sound good?”

Slumped over her desk, Flurry poked an eye out from under her crumpled wings. “And Pinkie Art?”

“And Pinkie Art. OK?”

“Oh yeah, that’ll work,” grumbled Spike, rolling his bulk over and scratching his scaly stomach. “Just cave in, why don’t you?”

“Spike! Please! Flexibility is essential for good teaching methods teaching methods teaching methods teaching methods –”

Twilight stopped sparkling when Spike’s tail lazily eased up and over, to stop Flurry’s horn with a flick of the tip. Flurry’s giggling and magic died away at once.

“FLURRY!” snapped Twilight. “What have I told you about using that ‘repeat repeat repeat’ spell?”

Flurry rubbed her horn and hunkered down, wings poised to curl up. “S-sorry, Auntie. Joke?”

“Huh.” In his corner, Spike snorted and then yawned, revealing rows of fangs. He didn’t speak for the rest of the lesson.

When Flurry flashed out of the room, however, Twilight sidled over to him, rubbing her face as if to dislodge the bags under her eyes. “I don’t understand it, Spike. She used to love learning from her Best Auntie Ever.”

“Mm.”

“What’s gotten into her?”

“She’s growing up.”

“Yeah, but still…”

Careful as a crane closing in on a shack, Spike raised his head and nudged Twilight’s muzzle with his own. “Relax, Twilight. It’s not your fault. You know what they say: you can take a horse to water, but you can’t make her drink.”

“I know, I know. But she’s no ordinary horse – I mean, pony. If she’d just drink once in a while…”

“You can’t make her drink,” repeated Spike warningly.

And Twilight said nothing. Fuss and plan and drive herself crazy though she would, and had, she couldn’t make a horse drink water. She couldn’t do it. She shouldn’t. And that was all there was to it.

Years passed. Seasons rose and fell like empires through the ages before the final piece of the crystal spire – the tip – was planted. A victor’s flag at the peak of the Crystal Castle. The new Crystal Castle.

The empire cheered, for its rightful heir was now due.

Once more, the empire cheered, fell silent, watched the sun descend to the horizon. The grand doors slammed shut. At sundown, became the Crystal Kingdom.

In the Crystal Castle, in the throne room, Chancellor Carnelian nodded for the grand doors to open. Around her, the fanfare began. The royal procession came down the red carpet. Dignitaries and world leaders looked up expectantly.

“Announcing!” called Carnelian dutifully. “Her Highness! Behold! The Crystal Princess of the Crystal Kingdom! She is our –”

“HELLO, CRYSTAL PONIES, I LOVE YOU ALL!” Princess Flurry Heart swept into the room, her finest Rarity-made dress pouring out over the floor, and the spluttering Carnelian vanished beneath cheers and chants of praise. Confetti rained down from pegasi. Earth ponies stamped. Unicorns lit their horns in tribute.

The dress glittered with a hundred gemstones. The mane had been piled high with enough stylish plaits and twines for a roomful of glamour models. The rouge on her cheeks and the darkness around her eyes caught the shadows and shone ripe in the light. Princess Flurry Heart had bloomed under Rarity’s keen eye.

Outside, the sun vanished into the void. The Crystal Coronation had begun.

Beaming, her heart a-flutter, surrounded by joyous voices, Princess Flurry Heart’s elegant legs strode to the throne. She turned, levitating her train effortlessly, and winked.

By the throne, Princess Twilight Sparkle winked back. She peered over the assembly, who held their breaths. A hush rippled out from her expectant face and wiped the air clean of impure sounds.

She took a deep breath. She glanced at Flurry Heart, whose breathing was short and sharp.

Princess Twilight Sparkle began her speech:

“We are gathered here today in celebration of a momentous occasion! The daughter of loving Princess Cadence, of brave Prince Shining Armor, and my exceptional niece –”

Flurry Heart wiped a tear from her eye.

“– was born an extraordinary soul with an extraordinary destiny. Her talent is undeniable, the strength of her passion clear. But today, she has truly fulfilled that destiny, for she is no longer my ward and student. Today, she proves beyond all doubt that she is to be the light of the Crystal Kingdom, and ready to shine across all of Equestria, to usher in a new age of hope and love. Fillies and gentlecolts – noble creatures of all nations – may I present, for the very first time… Princess Flurry Heart!”

Behind the throne, Spike reared up and roared. A jet of emerald flames cast stretched shadows from Flurry’s flared wings and raised horn. Against the glittering fire, the descending crown clicked into place.

Flurry couldn’t stand it. Even as the applause broke out, she turned away to hide her face.

Ready as ever, Twilight surreptitiously offered her handkerchief.

Fireworks exploded, at war with the night. Stars vanished behind streaks of burning colours. The equal Princesses Twilight and Flurry strode out onto the balcony, over the sea of waving crystal bodies and the storm of cries and whoops.

Far below, at the foot of the Crystal Castle, a statue of a dragon stood to one side of the avenue. On the other, a massive cloth was pulled aside. Crystal sparkled. Tall and proud, the second statue beamed down forever upon her new subjects.

Flurry’s hoof leaped to her mouth, and she tugged at Twilight’s shoulder. “That’s me! That’s me! Look, look, that’s a statue of meeee!”

Overhead, Spike’s fangs grinned. “Not as cool as mine,” he rumbled.

“THIS IS THE BEST CORONATION EVER!”

“No…” began Twilight smugly.

For a moment, the air soared, ripped, and screamed. Then a streak rushed past, a pegasus burst the sound barrier, and then…

BOOM!

A circle of rainbow shockwaves swept aside all stars and fireworks in professional contempt. Far to the south, the contrail of Captain Rainbow Dash – leader of the Wonderbolts – stuttered and sparked with lightning along all seven hues.

Twilight finished, “…now it’s the best coronation ever.”

Flurry dissolved into wails and sobs, jumping up and down on the spot. Behind Twilight, a few familiar figures gathered, giggling. Twilight turned to them, in case the sight of Flurry being overwhelmed… overwhelmed her too.

“Heh,” said Applejack, stepping forwards. “Got some liquid pride in your eye?”

“It’s nothing…” Twilight wiped her cheeks hurriedly. “Thank you so much. Thank you for all your help. I never would’ve done this without –”

Applejack’s hooves patted her shoulders down. “Business as usual, Twi? You know the drill by now.”

“Speech! Speech!” chanted Pinkie Pie behind her, dress bouncing along.

Nodding, Twilight hurried back to Flurry. A quick but calming spell stopped the overflow.

“Speech,” she whispered.

Flurry hiccupped. “Wh-what? Oh, sorry.”

“Just like we rehearsed.”

“Oh, right.”

Another quick spell, this time by Flurry. Her throat glowed briefly. Her “Ahem!”, when it came, rattled the crystal walls, echoed around the streets of the Crystal Kingdom, stunned the riot of subjects to silence.

“Ahem,” Flurry boomed again out of sheer nerves. “It feels like only yesterday when I left to… to train with my auntie – I mean, my teacher – at her castle. To learn how to be a good princess. I didn’t know, back then, what my destiny was going to be, and I wasn’t ready for it at all. But she believed in me, every day, in every way. And now, on the most wonderful day, when I get to see all of you here with me, I can honestly say I’m proud that this is my true destiny. Finally, I know, looking out at you all, that I am the luckiest pony in the world. Thank you all! Thank you all, my friends!”

Even over the cry of the crowd, Pinkie’s whining waterfall of tears was hard to ignore. Her friends crowded around her at once, cooing and murmuring in sympathy, Twilight included. Flurry turned to beam at them, and leaped on top. Yelps and laughter greeted her.

Somewhere behind, deep in the shadows, Carnelian’s ears fell. Her head hung heavy. She gave a sigh and turned away as if she could stand no more.

Twilight and Flurry were together from the balcony to the feasting hall, from the throne room to the pony plaza, and from the walk among the delegates to the winding down of the crystal curtains. Moonlight glowed around the edges, punctuated by orange flashes from outside.

“Aw,” cooed Flurry from her four-poster bed. “I wanted to watch Fluttershy’s dancing phoenixes.”

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day,” said Twilight, neatly pulling the quilt up to her favourite niece’s hooves and chin. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

“Oh, better than better! Thank you so much for everything! You really are the Best Auntie Ever!”

Chuckling, Twilight seated herself on the edge of the bed. She held the smile for as long as she could, but the weight of her burdens sapped her dry. Her gaze fell to her knees, only slightly poking through the layers of Rarity’s silk and ribbon.

Then: “RRRRAAAARGH!”

Twilight jumped. Then froze.

Flurry lowered her wings and the blanket, rolling back with laughter. “Gotcha back, Auntie! Who’s the scary bear now, huh?”

“None scarier,” said Twilight weakly.

She looked away again.

It took her a while to speak. Flurry fidgeted trying to lie comfortably on her wings.

Suddenly, Twilight looked up, met her eye. “Flurry Heart. You’ve grown up so much in such a short time. It feels like only yesterday when I… I wanted to… Flurry Heart, please remember: you’re a princess now, but you’re not alone. I just want you to know that I’m –”

“I wish Mom and Dad were here,” said Flurry.

Their eyes met. Eventually, Twilight’s spell reached across and levitated her handkerchief, the better to wipe Flurry’s eyes.

Twilight put it down at once, as though embarrassed. “They’d be proud of you.”

Flurry made as if to hide her face under the quilt, but apparently thought better of it. Pain twisted around her relentless pooling eyes.

Smiling with her lips only, Twilight opened the curtains without getting up. Orange lights danced across the bed chamber floor in swooping wipes and flexing tissues of passion. Both princesses admired the whirl and spiral of the phoenixes.

“You’re a wonderful mare, Flurry Heart,” whispered Twilight. “Have no fear. I believe you are destined to do great things.”

“You really mean that?” Flurry yawned, jaw straining, and sank deeper into the bedding.

For the last time in her life, Twilight kissed her little niece on the forehead. She also took off the crown: Flurry hadn’t realized she didn’t need to wear it all the time.

Patiently, Twilight watched as Flurry’s safely settling eyes surrendered to dreams.

“Yes. You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”

A Fear That Will Never Come to Pass

The sun set on the Crystal Empire, and entered the first night of the Crystal Kingdom.

For a while, the world at large slept through the coming months: peaceful, dreaming, and relaxed. Not yet to be rudely awakened, not till the sunrise of a particular day, half a year later.

What the sun saw, on each morning and on this morning, was Chancellor Carnelian stepping onto the balcony, overlooking the kingdom, summoning the crowds with the flugelhorn, and announcing the latest royal edicts. Under her echoes, the Crystal Kingdom cheered. Its citizens grew shiny and prosperous. The crystal ponies happily got on with their lives, and were even known to bask content in the radiance, abroad, enjoying the reign of Princess Flurry Heart.

Oh, what the sun didn’t see…

“Wheee heee heeeeee!” cried Princess Flurry Heart. “I’m winning!”

The castle servants stood stock still.

“OK, now… DOUBLE-WHAMMY!”

At Flurry’s insistent hoof signals, one of the servants crossed the hall, counting the squares that had been embedded into the crystalline floor. Across the giant chessboard, he moved to meet one of his fellows, who pantomimed falling over and then got up to join a lost-looking gaggle on the side.

Flurry giggled and flapped her wings in excitement. “Hee hee hee! I love double-whammy! Now you, go over there!”

From the grand arching entrance, Chancellor Carnelian watched, wide-eyed yet slump-shouldered. By now, she should have been used to such sights, but every new game Flurry Heart invented always seemed to come out of nowhere and hit Carnelian’s brain top to bottom. She had to wait for the aftershock every time.

When she judged that the princess had finished her game – “I WIN! I WIN! FRENCH FOR THAT IS FINNY FIN!” – she coughed genteelly. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

Princess Flurry Heart beamed up at her, but there was a slight wobble at the edge of her lips that Carnelian had grown to recognize. “Carney, what a pleasant surprise. Oh, I feel so much better today. Look, I won the game.”

Calmly, Carnelian surveyed the harassed-looking servants around or on the giant board. “Skilfully played, Your Highness. Shall I ask the royal historian to chronicle it for the ages?”

“Ha!” Flurry Heart nodded to one of the side servants, who was already biting his quill and lifting a scroll to his face. “Beat you to it!”

“Very good, Your Highness.” Carnelian straightened up. “And how are we feeling about addressing the kingdom today?”

“Er…”

“Or opening the Crystal Parliament?”

“Um…”

Or doing any “boring political stuff”? Carnelian almost said this one. Career and survival instincts cut her voice off.

Throwing hoof to horn, Flurry burst open her wings in melodramatic fashion. “Not today! I need more time. Oh, Carney! I had the most awful nightmares last night. I kept seeing this beautiful tower vanish in a flash of light.”

“I see,” said Carnelian, who if she had less self-control would have said this through clenched teeth.

“No!” wailed Flurry. “I can’t face the crowds! Not like this!” She pouted, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Not since… Not since…”

Carnelian almost sighed. Not since her parents died. Yes, the Chancellor had heard that one before. Daily.

A few of the less experienced servants looked worried, or suppressed small sobs.

“I understand, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Carney!” At once, Flurry leaped over and hugged the desperately-not-struggling figure. “You’re the best chancellor a princess could ask for! Now!” As if nothing had happened, Flurry reared up and clapped like a kindergarten teacher. “What shall we play next? Ooh, ooh, how about sliding down the crystal corridors? I haven’t tried that yet.”

Rare impulse prodded Carnelian. A few weeks ago, she would have ignored it. Weeks and weeks later, though, weeks and weeks of going through this same appalling pantomime over and over again, finally had nudged her close enough to the edge for gravity to take hold.

She said, “Ahem.”

In shock, Flurry looked round.

“I appreciate, Your Highness, that you are the Crystal Princess, and as such are capable of making decisions for yourself…”

“That’s right.” Flurry nodded, uncomprehending.

Carnelian took a deep breath. “But –”

“But what!?”

The words cracked like a weakened column under the castle. Servants flinched and trembled. Carnelian herself reeled from the shockwaves, despite professional detachment’s safe distance.

She tried again. “Your Highness –”

“There is no ‘but’!” Wings, horn, and ice-pick eyes towered, threatened Carnelian like an impatient glacier. “I am the Crystal Princess! I was born to be the Crystal Princess! Were you born to be the Crystal Princess?” Flurry scoffed, as though it was patently ridiculous.

Carnelian was aware of a faint crackling around Flurry’s horn. She’d never seen it actually used, but perhaps she just wasn’t around when it went off… Then she peered into Princess Flurry Heart’s spreading, icy glare.

“No, Your Highness. My apologies, Your Highness. It will not happen again.”

Slowly, Flurry folded her wings and dimmed her horn, but the eyes remained cold and spreading. “And don’t you dare forget it!”

They broke off. Carnelian stayed stock still. She was too professional to let out a sigh of relief, so left that to her fellow servants.

Soon, Flurry was all smiles again. “And as your Crystal Princess, I declare we shall now sojourn in the Crystal Castle corridors! Ooh, let’s try downstairs! Bet the floors down there are extra slippery!”

They all went along with it. After all, so long as she was happy, she was A Good Princess.

Carnelian watched the other servants follow in single file: them shaking and whispering nervously, her calm and collected. Serving Princess Flurry Heart wasn’t proving much different from doing all the ruling by herself, really. It just meant occasionally breaking off from international conferences and parliamentary debates to check Her Highness was enjoying a game of hide and go seek.

Over time, though, Carnelian had heard reports from beyond the kingdom, admiring and praising the “Crystal Princess’s” good work.

A vein throbbed in Carnelian’s temple.

It was nothing to what happened next.

“Ugh,” said Flurry as though stumbling across a stain on the floor. “This isn’t any good at all.”

Carnelian woke up from her ruminations to find the royal procession standing at the end of a corridor. Presumably, it had been a candidate for sliding down, except…

“All these dusty statues!” And indeed, on either side, giant crystal ponies stood in considered poses, each different from the others, each tall enough to shade the ponies without yet touching the vaunted ceiling. “Who would wreck such a perfect slidey corridor by putting a bunch of statues in it?”

Sensing the gasps and frozen horror in the other crystal ponies, Carnelian hurried forwards. “This is the Hall of Heroes, Your Highness. For generations, crystal ponies have honoured the brave, the inventive, and the charitable by erecting statues in their –”

To her shock, she saw Flurry yawn at the lecture.

“Bor-ing.”

A flash. A groan of fresh horror. The statues vanished in sparkles.

“There!” Flurry capered as though showing off a terrific trick. “I improved it! Who wants to slide first? Betcha none of you can slide as fast as me!”

But this time, Carnelian saw the servants give up any pretence. Gapes and shaking heads met these words. Some frowns broke their bonds.

One servant, to Carnelian’s admiration, actually stepped forward: she recognized the young and feisty junior maid, who’d only started a month ago. “How dare you!”

“What!?” cried out Flurry, whose shock and outrage showed no restraint at all.

“You heard me! That’s enough! I don’t mind the childish games and so on, that’s your right, but you can’t just wipe out our culture and heritage like that! How dare you!? You, whose mother always respected the –”

Too late, Carnelian made frantic hoof signals behind a suddenly straight-backed Flurry Heart.

“– traditions of the Empire! You, who are not fit to kiss her horseshoes…”

Flurry Heart created silence through sheer coldness. It was like shouting at an ice block.

With intelligence.

The maid stared defiantly, but with an increasingly fidgety nervousness the longer the ice held. Carnelian hurried between them, or rather beside them: she knew better than to get caught in the crossfire.

In Flurry Heart’s eyes, she could see the affronted pride sink, twist, turn into something darker. Too many lines had been crossed. Too much said.

They waited for the tantrum. It wouldn’t be the first.

Then Carnelian noticed Flurry’s gaze flicker. Followed it. Met one of the other servants, the elderly stallion, the Royal Cook.

The maid was the Royal Cook’s daughter. Carnelian realized at once: if Flurry fired the maid, the cook – well-paid, respected – could support her with his earnings. That wouldn’t hurt as much as it should.

For a moment, Carnelian swore Flurry’s lips twitched into a smirk. Then petty rage took over.

“You!” Flurry’s hoof lashed whiplike at the cook. “You’re fired!”

“Wh–?”

“I will not have my orders questioned by traitors! You’ve been slipping lately. Breakfast was a shambles. It’s time to let you go. And you can kiss your pension goodbye!”

Through suppressed anger, Carnelian almost admired the cruelty. Flurry had barely had seconds to figure out the sharpest way to retaliate, and by proxy too.

Screaming, the maid fell to her knees. “Your Highness, please! Not my father! He’s too old to get another job!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

The horn crackled. The maid flinched.

Flurry Heart settled down, sadly. “Why does everypony insist on picking on me? Do you enjoy hurting me?”

Injustice, fear, and misery fought on the maid’s screwed-up face. At a casual “You’re dismissed,” she threw herself into a gallop and fled, weeping. The Royal Chef shuffled after her, head hanging low.

“And I suppose,” added the venom-spitting Flurry Heart to the suddenly stoic servants, “anypony else would like to pick on an orphan? Commit high treason? Anyone?”

Shaking heads.

Flurry sighed with a weary burden no one but she understood. “Good. Then we’re all friends again. We are all friends –” her horn crackled “– aren’t we?”

Nodding heads.

Instant happiness: Flurry rubbed her hooves together with glee. “All right! I’m going first! Anyone who gets past the tenth doorway on the left gets a free snowcone! One, two, wheeeeee!”

Carnelian closed her eyes.

Carnelian opened her eyes.

“…so you see,” she finished with a sigh, “it’s imperative you come to the Crystal Kingdom right away.” She gave a start at the look on Twilight’s face and bowed. “Your Highness.”

It wasn’t just the look on Twilight’s face. It was Twilight’s face, period.

Behind Twilight’s face wasn’t much better…

Twilight swayed.

First, there had been the delegation from Yakyakistan. Then there had been the cleaning up after the delegation from Yakyakistan. Then there had been the listening-to-Spike-and-giving-up-and-hiring-construction-teams after the delegation from Yakyakistan. Now there were the delegations from the Dragon Lands and the Griffon Kingdom. Since this involved trying to listen to Dragon Lord Ember’s fire-breathing irritation and Gilda the Griffon’s fed-up sarcasm, Twilight had the construction teams on standby.

And just as Twilight was trying to remember her griffon-dragon history books, budget her snacks for gem-eaters, and reframe the “sharing is caring” moral for two creatures who preferred the “finders, keepers” approach to territorial rights, up popped Chancellor Carnelian outside her throne room, insisting they speak. Instead of – say – booking it for next month, which was the next chance Twilight had to book her in.

Princess Twilight felt like Pauper Twilight During A Recession. Her normally regal face was one big rag. Gamely, she tried to see the other pony’s point-of-view. Both the headache and the pressing urge to sleep fought back.

“I appreciate your concerns, Your Chancellorship,” she said with barely a warble, “but are you sure you’re not…?” Twilight’s bruised brain crashed in an attempt to open the “tactful” file. “…mistaken?”

“Mistaken? Mistaken!?” Crystalline teeth ground together, spitting sparks. “After what she’s done to the Hall of Heroes, you think I am mistaken!?”

From inside the throne room, sullen muttering prodded Twilight in the back of her conscience. Beside her, Spike hummed doubtfully.

Carnelian backed off. “Ah… I appreciate…” she began, less furiously, “that this may be hard for you to believe, Your Highness. I find it hard to believe myself. But I assure you I would not have come here if it was not urgent.”

Even so, Twilight felt her own heart sinking. Exaggeration or not, it wasn’t entirely impossible for Flurry to have run into difficulties. Sooner or later, with or without Flurry’s… inexperience…

“Morale is at an all-time low,” insisted Carnelian, glancing nervously at Spike. “The only reason the staff refuse to quit is fear of what’ll happen if they try.”

Twilight winced an aunt’s wince. “I’m still not sure this isn’t a misunderstanding, but…”

“A-hem.” Spike gave her a warning nudge.

Ironically, this made Twilight more determined to ignore it. “…but I’m sure I can spare some time next week. To come and check on Flurry.”

“You can’t come any sooner?” pleaded Carnelian.

“Next week. The schedule will need some work. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Remember, you didn’t hear anything from me!”

Carnelian made to leave, stayed, made to leave again, stopped to inspect Twilight’s face, then left, repeatedly glancing back all the way down the corridor. The muttering in the throne room spilled over to mutually cynical laughs, too light to be really hurtful, but heavy enough to make Twilight’s wings and withers wilt.

She knew Spike would hum, louder and more doubtfully, seconds before he did so.

“I can handle Flurry Heart,” she said at once without looking up at him, almost pleading. “Better than I can handle anyone else. I know her. She’ll listen to her Best Aunt Ever.”

“If you can stay awake long enough to finish a sentence.” Spike chortled behind his claws.

“She’s just… having some difficulties.”

As gently as the curved points could, Spike’s claws patted her on the shoulder, making her bones jangle. “You need a break. And don’t say you can handle it.”

Twilight rapidly closed her mouth. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The noise Spike made may have been a snort. It may have been a suppressed laugh. Twilight turned and met him gaze for gaze. Dragon eyes – even Spike’s, which had been rounded and softened by years of pony-watching – cut deep. They had Jurassic strength.

Then the lightbulb in her head, which never dimmed for long, blazed back.

“Tell you what, Spike,” she said slyly, “how about we solve both problems with one spell?”

“Twilight –”

“Figure of speech, Spike! Listen: how about I ask Flurry to deal with the next Yakyakistan delegation? It’d lighten my workload and give her some much-needed experience. A wake-up call.”

From the throne room, Gilda murmured something. The word “Twilight” was unmistakeable. Ember laughed.

Twilight’s ears drooped.

“Well,” said Spike, stretching a smile across his muzzle, “at least we’re making progress. Sort of.”

“What do you think?” Twilight forced a smile of her own. It would have worked if she didn’t have to suppress a yawn partway.

Spike looked her up and down. They’d been together a long time. That meant seeing things in each other they wished had never been witnessed.

He shrugged. “Got to be worth a try, hasn’t it?”

Twilight closed her eyes in thanks.

Twilight opened her eyes in regret.

“…so you see,” she finished with a heavy sigh, “as much as I appreciate how… difficult it can be, I must insist you take on more responsibility. You’re a princess now. A Crystal Princess.”

For one thing, Princess Flurry Heart’s throne chamber was much less pristine than hers had been. Apart from row upon row of toys – some of which waved at Twilight as her eye passed by – the coronation banners and drapes were still up. Servants hadn’t even swept up the confetti. They probably hadn’t dared.

On the throne, Flurry’s face resented the confusion forcing its way through. “Somepony’s snitched on me! Haven’t they!?”

Despite herself, Twilight growled. She hated standing here before Flurry’s throne, avoiding the merest thrown accusation, speaking gently, going as roundabout as she could go. The effort was wasted: whether through suspicion or intimate knowledge of Twilight’s psyche, Flurry bristled anyway.

“I have received reports, yes,” said Twilight stiffly, “but that’s not important. Flurry Heart, you can’t just play around all day, like we did when we were together.”

She’d thrown that last bit in, hoping her niece would take the hint. To her dismay, Flurry looked no less aggrieved.

“But I am a Crystal Princess!”

“And that means you have duties to your Crystal Kingdom.”

“Ha! What would you know about duties? You had to work your way up to princessing. I was born a princess. You don’t get to lecture me!”

Silence.

Twilight wished she could believe she hadn’t just heard that.

The sharpness dulled in Flurry’s face. She seemed to pause and think, and then creased up her face and looked askance. “Sorry. Anyway, all my duties are being met, right?”

Seizing the point, Twilight leaped out of… whatever horror that was, and back into what she told herself was a normal niece-auntie argument. “That’s not the point! This is about accepting responsibility for the power entrusted to y–”

“Anyway, I don’t want to meet the yaks! They’re a bunch of meanies!”

Twilight rubbed one leg against another. “They are a bit… ebullient… but they’re getting better –”

“It’s all right for you! Your parents are close to you! I’ve got no one to help me here! Can you imagine what that’d be like, sitting with those yaks, listening to them go on and on? I couldn’t stand it! YAK SMASH! YAK STUPID! YAK TALK LIKE WIDDLE BABIES!” A brief chuckle, then Flurry scowled. “They’ll ruin my castle, too! No, Auntie, I’m not doing it!”

Yaks, homework, cleaning up… Twilight thought drearily. “Yes. You are.”

Sobbing, Flurry Heart pouted and flopped over the arm of her throne. “Wwwhhhyyy!? Why are you picking on meeeee!?”

No! Too much Bad Auntie! Twilight nearly panicked. No.

She couldn’t bully her niece. She wouldn’t. Even through her own stress, if there was one thing she never wanted to be caught doing, it was being a stressor to somepony else. Especially somepony as close and as young – as hurt – as Flurry Heart.

More soothingly, Twilight explained, “Meeting personally with other creatures shows how much you care about them. Imagine if someone didn’t turn up to meet you. Wouldn’t that feel bad?”

To her relief, she saw Flurry wince. “I guess…”

“Exactly.”

“But I can send Carnelian to meet them. That shows how much I care. They should be grateful! She’s so good at putting up with them for me. Then all their problems just disappear, the kingdom’s happy, I’m happy, everyone’s happy.”

To Twilight’s disappointment, she saw Flurry beam proudly. She also saw, standing statue-like beside the throne, Carnelian’s eye twitch. But Carnelian bowed all the same when Flurry turned to check on her.

“Her Highness is correct,” declared Carnelian. If Twilight hadn’t been listening for it, she never would have heard the bite in those words.

The worst part? Twilight knew why. Deep down, she could sense the strange… coldness from Flurry Heart. There was something about her, something horribly like an act. This wasn’t just a little kid struggling against Auntie. Something adult was growing, watching Twilight, testing her. Something which apparently thought the definition of “good” was “being nice to me”. And that the opposite was…

Right. Time for a different tack.

“Please,” Twilight murmured, smiling as sweetly as she could, “do this for me?”

To Twilight’s shock, she thought she saw – for a second – the sparks crackle along Flurry’s horn. Just for a moment.

It must have been her imagination. Flurry was stressed. She knew it. Although Twilight was sure she could match or even counter Flurry’s magical outbursts at her worst, the best thing of all was not to get to that point.

So it was a wonderful relief when Flurry slumped and sighed. “Oh, all right. Only for you, Best Auntie Ever.”

“Good girl.”

Thereafter, Twilight’s heart was lifted. She no longer weighed herself down with thoughts and concerns. She was too busy savouring the sight of a slightly easier week stretching ahead like rolling fields and hills of green…

…and empty whiteness. Endless. Dead.

There were several clues across the snowfield. The snow was not noticeably deeper than usual. Neither were the mountains lighter of load. This was not the time of year for avalanches, in any case, and even if there had been a freak event, the yaks had long since learned new clearing techniques. Nor were there the usual bellows, guffaws, hearty cries, or proud announcements echoing among the peaks. They certainly didn’t greet the surprise arrival of an honoured guest, which they almost certainly would have done.

In short, there was no evidence of a freak avalanche. There was also no evidence that Yakyakistan had ever existed. There was no Yakyakistan at all.

Twilight focused on the little clues, because she was gasping for breath, reeling from the blow to her heart, and fighting her traitor brain as it came to the inevitable conclusion…

“It was a freak avalanche –” began Flurry calmly.

“For the last time, I know it was not a freak avalanche!”

The words echoed around the dining hall of the Crystal Castle. Servants pressed themselves against the walls or fled outright. Even Carnelian backed away from the long table laden with crystallized delicacies.

Only Flurry didn’t move. At the head of the table, in her own throne-sized chair, she seemed unperturbed by Twilight’s having burst through the double doors opposite. Instead, she’d stopped to listen to Twilight’s deductions, then selected a crystal berry pie and started ferrying bite-sized pieces to her mouth.

At one point, she stopped to regard a few other dishes on her table. It was no secret the new cook hadn’t been satisfying her lately.

She simply vanished the dishes she didn’t like.

Flurry shrugged. “You got me,” she said, still fussing over her pie.

The room held its breath.

Twilight was feverishly forcing her fury to stay down, but the blatant unconcern rattled her too much to keep her grip. “Flurry Heart, do you have any idea what you’ve done!? Yakyakistan has vanished! How did it happen!?”

Sullen scowls clenched and unclenched on Flurry’s otherwise-unconcerned face. Only then did she look up, like a teenager torn between avoiding her parents and giving them a shouting match.

“Spell,” she said, gloomily.

The effort of hiding her horror broke Twilight’s teeth against each other. Too much tiredness: she wasn’t thinking straight. Well, what the hay was Flurry Heart thinking!? Twilight tried to make herself see what she was doing wrong – was she not connecting properly with Flurry Heart, somehow? – but all she could think of was the stupid insistence on doing things the right way. It was that stupid insistence that had worn Twilight’s brain down to schedule-squished sludge, that stupid insistence that had mysteriously given way just once to let Flurry take the reins, that stupid insistence that had prodded Twilight’s doubts and made her come up to check anyway, and never mind Spike’s protests.

It hurt not to get any eye contact, even now.

Twilight swayed where she stood, forced herself not to, and paradoxically swayed even more. She felt seconds away from total collapse.

Meanwhile, Flurry sat there, calm and unfussed, openly defying her.

Then Flurry Heart looked up. That was the shock of it. There’d been sullen teenager around her face, but her eyes… her eyes were ripe with laughter. No innocent baby making teddy bears dance. No gurgling and giggling of tiny joy anymore. And that new laughter was aimed at Twilight, struggling and swaying.

The look flickered towards Twilight’s horn.

That was when it hit her. This wasn’t just amusement. The look was cold, unhurried. Twilight realized with horror that Flurry Heart was calculating.

Unable to stop herself, Twilight’s horn lit up, bright and zapping with magical sparks of electricity. Flurry straightened up at once.

“All right,” she said in a tone of unconcern that fooled no one, “I got mad with the meanies. But you should have seen them! Big, noisy, smelly, stupid jerks. And their hovels! Urgh. I couldn’t stay another minute.”

“And that’s your excuse for vanishing them!?”

Flurry’s face started to crease up as though forming one big teardrop. “Well… sort of?”

“Bring them back! Now!”

“I don’t know how!” Flurry’s wings fanned out as though the feathers wanted to escape. “The magic just came to me! I don’t know what I did!”

“Then tell me what spell you used! Let ME fix it!”

“Stop YELLING at me!” Bursting into tears, Flurry curled up, enveloped herself with wings, and shrouded the lot behind a golden bubble as a shield.

Eventually, her sobs trickled through Twilight’s mind, touched something old and near-forgotten. Memories of tiny tears and child cries stung her. Twilight relaxed. The sparks died in her horn.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she found herself saying on automatic.

“Why are you always making me do things!? I thought we were friends!”

“We are, Flurry. We still are,” whispered Twilight. At this, she frantically ignored a more sarcastic part of her mind. She compromised by adding, “But you need to realize how serious this is. I am very disappointed with how you’ve behaved. This isn’t something where I can just tell you off and call it forgiven. You need to take responsibility. Please.”

The golden shield hummed. The wings uncurled slightly.

Muffled, the voice said, “I’m very sorry I upset you, Auntie.”

Twilight cut off the anger just in time. “This isn’t about me getting mad. Your actions affected the yaks, and they’ll affect the surrounding nations too. Whether or not you get on with them, the yaks still deserve to be treated right. You have to understand that.”

The shield faded out. The wings unfolded. Flurry Heart looked confused.

“But they’re meanies…” she began.

“That doesn’t mean you should be a meanie right back –”

“All I did was vanish them.”

“Flurry Heart!” As soon as the wings and shield rose up, Twilight backed off. “All right, just please, please, please bring them back, and say you’re sorry. Do this for me?”

Wings and shield retreated. Flurry Heart regarded her with another careful, calculating face.

“Fine,” she said, and there was a catch in her voice. She set on her pie again. “Consider it done.”

On her way out, past the unwinding servants, Twilight glanced back. Briefly, she saw the stare Flurry was giving her food. It was the stare of a pony facing a future of fear…

Down below, the crystal pony protest stood awkwardly but determinedly in the plaza at the foot of the Crystal Castle. Several held placards. As a sign of how new the crystal ponies were to the concept of rebellion, most of the placards were in tiny writing, and they listed their grievances as politely as possible. Shouting over all the heads, the junior maid screamed defiance. Her voice could be heard even up here.

A few wingbeats: Spike took off from the waiting balcony. Twilight didn’t even sit up on his back.

“Wowsa,” said Spike, “I knew the Royal Cook was popular, but I had no idea so many ponies loved his food.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Used to give me excellent emeralds whenever I dropped by.”

“I’m worried, Spike,” said Twilight, voice weak and almost-frozen: they hadn’t even left the warmth of the kingdom yet.

“Ha! Nothing new there, then.”

“Do you think I should have told Flurry Heart I was disappointed with her? It seemed a bit… strong.”

They flashed over the faceted rooftops of the kingdom, and soon found themselves over the nearest ridge, entering the white expanses beyond. Already, the sky darkened.

“She needs to learn,” said Spike bluntly. “If you keep coddling her, you’ll only make things worse.”

“But it’s not like telling you when I’m disappointed with you.”

“What do you mean ‘when’?” said Spike in mock outrage.

“‘If’, sorry. You’d understand what I meant. I’m not sure Flurry Heart really grasps what responsibility means.”

The first flakes of frost bit at their skins. Spike’s scales didn’t notice. Twilight shivered. Carefully, Spike arced his neck up and round, aimed, and blew a slight jet of warming air over her. Not enough to keep her warm for long, but enough to keep out the worst of the cold.

“And vanishing Yakyakistan… that really has me worried…”

“Hey,” said Spike reflectively, “isn’t that like what King Sombra did to the Crystal Empire a thousand years ago? Some kind of curse, wasn’t it?”

The blizzard grew pushy, demanding they take notice, hitting them with more flakes. Spike squinted through the barrage of white and blew another warming breath over Twilight’s coat, already caked with iced tips of hair.

“Relax, Twilight. She won’t go that bad. You wouldn’t let her. Heheh, I bet Sombra would’ve gone straight after a lecture from his auntie.”

“This is serious, Spike.”

“So am I. You need to have more faith that she can fulfil her destiny, Twilight. Give her another chance. That’s what good friends do. That’s what you do.”

Twilight’s sigh was barely audible over the howling winds and her own encroaching weakness, but it was there. “You’re right, Spike. I’m sorry. I’ll try.”

Yet the cold seeped in, no matter how much he tried to warm her.

My Crystal Slaves...

Far behind and down below in the plaza, Chancellor Carnelian waved placatingly and looked as contrite as possible, for the protesting crystal ponies swarmed her the moment she stepped outside. Placards and angry faces blocked her view on all sides.

“I assure you,” she shouted over the crowd while trying to sound dignified, “your complaints have been heard! I will convey them to Her Highness the Crystal Princess Flurry Heart forthwith to work out a diplomatic solution!”

“Her Highness!?” shrieked someone from the crowd. “What a load! ‘Diplomatic solution’: I don’t think she can spell it!”

“Tell ‘Her Highness’ she can’t treat us this way!”

“Carnelian for life!”

“Make her abdicate!”

“Yeah! Everypony knows it was you making the edicts anyway!”

“Bring back Cadence and Shining Armor!”

“She’s the Crystal Princess! Tell her to do her job!”

“For a change!”

“Don’t be a pushover, Carnelian!”

The junior maid fought her way to the front. “She must pay for what she did to my father! Work was his life! How dare she!? How dare she ruin his life! My own father!”

Deep down, Carnelian seethed like acid in a copper cauldron. Nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to say “What the hay,” jump in, and shout out every unspoken word of anger at Flurry Heart. The thinnest threads of professional pride were all that separated her from waving placards, though it was more tempting to hit Flurry over the head with one.

Instead, Carnelian closed her eyes and inclined her head in solemn acknowledgement. “Your case has been heard. I will convey it to Her Highness the Crystal Princess forthwith.”

Quite a few crystal ponies quietened down at this. Some at the front quickly hid among the crowd behind. Only the junior maid stayed rigid and defiant.

Carnelian rolled her eyes. “Tactfully, of course.”

They were still shouting their complaints – the junior maid loudest of all – when Carnelian ducked back inside, leaned against the door, put her head in her hooves, and screamed a muffled scream.

Only once she’d run out of scream… and shaken herself down… and taken deep, steadying breaths… did she compose her face and go seek Her Highness.

Princess Flurry Heart was found in her throne room, surrounded by stuffed toys and merry bunting, pacing up and down. Her body never let up, clutching at the rhythmic clop-clop-clop as though it were a ritual against demons. Her wings refused to fold. Her tail flicked in agitation at the invisible horseflies of biting thought.

Every breath seemed to give her pain. She whimpered and gasped and squeaked with the effort of getting enough life into her dying form. Occasionally, strained phrases leaked out of her broken mind via her mouth: “…don’t understand…” “…Auntie Twily…” “…it wasn’t my fault…”

While her mouth worked, her eyes darted about. Her mane unwound from its usual graceful curls as if in sympathy. Her cheeks twitched, her nostrils flared as though starving, her brow reached down in an attempt to hide anything unpleasant from view.

And her mind…

Unbidden, echoing, yet stronger with age: two faces. One surrounded by curls – much like her own – pink and graceful and speaking in loving tones. One white as snow, rumbling with pride, occasionally squeaking trying to talk down to her level. Faces high up. Faces she knew. Faces she saw shrink away. Faces that suddenly shouted in panic. Faces that vanished in a flash of light.

“…it wasn’t my fault…”

Her flash of light.

Flurry Heart gasped under the familiar shock. It would never relent. It would never go away. When the light from her horn had faded. No mother. No father. No castle.

“…it wasn’t my fault…”

Auntie Twilight’s tears and wide eyes and flinching, twitchy mask of terror –

“NO!” Flurry Heart’s cry.

NO! No! No! No. no. no… Flurry Heart’s echo in the Crystal Castle.

“It’s not my fault…” Flurry Heart’s sob. “It’s not my fault…”

Hoofsteps. She stopped pacing, looked up, and hastily wiped her eyes. Carnelian stood there, the double doors swinging shut behind her.

“Your Highness.” Carnelian bowed.

“That’s right!” cried Flurry Heart desperately. “I’m the Crystal Princess! It’s my destiny! I’m the greatest, I…”

As if a faucet had run out, she was left listening to the hollow echo of her own words. Part of her mind glanced at Carnelian. Part of her knew only one of them had done any actual ruling. Glowering, she shushed that part. A good princess knew when to delegate. Twilight herself had said so.

A good princess earned her respect. If her subjects didn’t –

“Carnelian?” she said, nervous as a toddler to her tutor.

“Your Highness?” Carnelian was a statue of efficiency.

“What do the other crystal ponies think of me?” Twilight’s anger knocked her thoughts a certain direction. “Do they hate me?”

It seemed to her that Carnelian took too long to answer. “The crystal ponies are happy under Her Highness’ royal edicts, and the kingdom has prospered under your reign.”

“Don’t patronize me! Do they hate me or not!?”

Again, too long a pause. “Some are not 100% satisfied, true, but by and large your subjects live happy lives, thanks to your administration.”

Flurry looked as though she’d been slapped. Then she ambled over and peered out the window. Far below, the shouts of protest became the murmurs of discontent. She swore she heard her mother’s name. Her father’s too.

They knew.

They must know…

The vision: of Auntie Twilight’s pain, her grief, her unnatural tears… her rage, her hatred, her horrible Bad Auntie shouting through Flurry’s shield and wings…

Flurry shook the memory – or was it a dream? – away, and then reached up. Her cheeks were wet to the touch.

“My subjects hate me, don’t they?” she moaned.

“I wouldn’t say that. Every ruler has their problems. What matters is how she handles them.”

The speaker could have been Carnelian, there and then. It could have been Twilight, so long ago. Flurry couldn’t tell.

Distance. That was the thing. If she kept her distance from all the bad stuff, it would stop troubling her anymore. Or if she pushed it away.

Nothing would stop her from fulfilling her destiny. Her good destiny. It had to be a good destiny! It just had to be! What else could her birth possibly mean!? Why else would Twilight and the others keep mentioning it!?

Very well.

Princess Flurry Heart no longer paced and fidgeted and moaned. She stood proud and beautiful. The perfect fusion of her parents.

She rounded on Carnelian, who was the picture of duty itself, not far behind her. “I will solve my problems, Carney. You’ll see.” A thought stung her. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“Of course not.” Carnelian bowed again. “I am your loyal servant. I will follow you wherever you go.”

Flurry Heart’s jaw hardened. “Good… good. Then… let’s go… let’s go all the way…”

One week passed.

Imprisoned in her own castle by the chains of duty, Princess Twilight Sparkle briefly stepped out onto the balcony to share in the sunrise. Possibilities flushed above the breeze. The emptiness asked nothing of her. For a moment, she was left alone with the peaceful world.

The Dragon-Griffon situation had improved. Ember and Gilda had sojourned in the castle, and Ember had even promised not to eat the crystal walls, despite the presence of suspicious bite marks here and there. Unification – Twilight’s go-to strategy – hadn’t pleased them. Dragons and griffons were too independent, too proud, too unsentimental to fall for that one. But the more time they spent in each other’s company under one roof, the more Ember and Gilda bonded over the time-honoured pastime of making fun of puny ponies. Namely Twilight.

Wings spreading, warming up, Twilight daydreamed of her missing friends. They had duties of their own, of course, and she would see them again someday. If only the love would let her believe that. If only she could hear their voices now…

She could hear the first hurried hoofsteps of Captain Flash Sentry reaching her balcony. Curious, Twilight turned to meet him.

“News from Northern Equestria!”

Five minutes later, the castle was just a distant feature, already forgotten. The air was cold. The sun meant nothing. Pressure and force surrounded, swarmed, suffocated Twilight as she called for Spike, leaped onto his passing back, and flew onward, leaving her heart behind to shatter and fall.

First, there were the northern towns of Equestria. Ponies clogged the roads and trains departing in haste. Ponies poured out of cottages and bungalows. Panic fled south.

Far above, their cries and determined bustle didn’t reach Twilight, numb and already dying on Spike’s back, while above her like a naked sword, the shock and betrayal and fear bashed against her shields, stabbing their way in. Her mind wouldn’t last long under the siege.

Second, there was the frontline. As towns gave way to the edge of the icescapes, she saw ponies fighting. Unicorns sparked and flared with magical strikes. Earth ponies lobbed boulders or grappled with the foe themselves. Pegasi zipped and divebombed and – where the fighting was most intense – fell out of the sky or fled, giving up. Spike flew over them all.

“Spike, stop –”

“No, Twilight! Focus! We’ve got to stop it at the source!”

Twilight spoke no more. Words were straining her body already.

Third, there was the enemy. The sudden enemy that had struck out of nowhere.

At first glance, they looked like stockier ponies, but the uniform soon became easier to decipher. Helmets with thin green eyes that glowed ominously, visible even from up here. Gemstones glistening on their armour – some gems sparked and flared in kind, meeting the unicorns’ magic. A few magical beasts dotted their ranks: to Twilight’s astonishment, a gigantic snail ploughed its way through the line, leaving hissing green slime, roaring with fangs, and waggling dozens of stalked eyes.

Fourth, there was the Crystal Kingdom. The snow gave way to a gigantic snowflake of a citadel: the roads spiking out from its central tower, the lines converging and spreading in geometric perfection. The site was a hive. Cartloads of crystals radiated outwards, heading south. Gaping holes surrounded the citadel: mines carting new gems. Ponies in chains were prodded by helmeted crystal ponies – captured slaves. The war machine, already in full throttle.

And the Crystal Castle, at the centre of it all.

From banners and flags, Princess Flurry Heart’s beaming face encouraged the helmeted citizens. In the plaza, Spike’s statue had vanished, as had Flurry Heart’s coronation equivalent. A larger one – a colossus of the Crystal Princess – now stood, dominating all.

“Hey, that’s going too far!” Spike growled, dived –

He yelped. A blast knocked him clean backwards, throwing Twilight off. He spiralled down, smoking. Twilight flapped to steady herself, but could only manage a stiff glide.

A crash. Spike disappeared into the plaza, obscured by a spray of white dust.

“SPIKE!”

“KEEP GOING! I’M FINE!”

But Twilight had instantly taxed her wings. With a cry, she found the only way was down, down through the gaping hole in the castle, down. Into the lair of the Crystal Princess.

The throne room. Twilight avoided a low coronation banner, landed hard on the crystal floor, grunted, and struggled to her hooves.

“Auntie! Thank goodness you came! Oh, it’s such a relief to see you!”

She forced herself to look up.

Princess Flurry Heart had looked away from what she was doing. Several hovering, head-sized things glowed and glared beside her, though they were as yet too bright to make out. They cast strange, spidery shadows on the wall where Flurry’s slender body blocked them.

Nearby, Chancellor Carnelian stood.

Twilight stared.

From the neck down, Carnelian was ever the dutiful servant. From the neck up, she was a mare dangling over the fires of Tartarus.

Twilight lost the will to meet her stare for stare. Things crept into her mind through those eyes. There was so much horror, it had warped and shifted into something deadly…

Yet Flurry Heart strutted about, surrounded by the darkening skies of the Frozen North beyond the toy-strewn, bunting-bedecked throne room itself. She grinned smugly.

“Don’t worry, Auntie,” she said, and the calm in her voice would have sharpened ice. “It’s all under control.”

Despite her own pain, Twilight found her gaze drifting over to Carnelian’s thousand-mile stare.

“I solved my problems! All by myself!” continued Flurry, busy again with her glowing spell. “Like a princess should! Turns out everypony in the kingdom didn’t love me like they ought to, and I knew you’d tell me to do something about that. So I did! I thought and I thought, and I realized if the crystal ponies weren’t going to be happy on their own, then I had to make them happy. That’s when I hit upon the mind-changing helmets. Clever, huh!?”

Even saying her niece’s name needed Twilight to take desperate breaths, readying herself for reality. Still Flurry Heart continued, eager and proud.

“Then I thought, ‘Why stop there?’ I was a good ruler, just like Mom and Dad were. But maybe because I was born into it, like they weren’t, so obviously I could do better than them. And since I’d made the Crystal Kingdom happy, maybe I could make everypony else happy too. So I made my kingdom cuddle all the others.”

Outside, the blasts struck on. Spike’s roar drowned out the explosions. Ponies shrieked and cried out. Chains jangled. The rushing winds of an encroaching blizzard howled in haunting hunger.

Flurry whined as though struck by a spear. “You know what they did!? You know what they did!? They attacked me! Me! The Crystal Princess!”

Twilight had to spread her gait wider, steady herself, stay her swaying. The room began to heave about her as though disgusted by her presence. She breathed every breath as though it was her last, whilst the whining little voice of her niece came from another lifetime.

“I was just trying to help, and they lashed out for no reason at all! Meanies! They’re no better than the yaks! No one is! That isn’t my fault! If they’d just left me alone to get on with princessing, this wouldn’t have happened.”

From across the glittering ice of despair, Twilight found the remnants of her voice: “Flurry…”

“But don’t worry! I can fix this! See, I’m not a helpless baby anymore!” Flurry beamed proudly at Twilight.

No response. The proudness dimmed slightly.

Coughing awkwardly, Flurry stepped aside, the better to show her Best Auntie Ever her new trick. Her shadow on the wall grew.

One by one, the glowing objects began to rotate, spiral, and dim, until the suggestion of curves and points resolved into familiar sharp-edged shapes. Merely seeing one shape brought back memories from a time long before Flurry, from a time before Twilight had felt wings on her back and the crown weighing heavily on her head.

“Look! I remembered how Mom and Dad used the old Crystal Heart to protect the Crystal Empire. When they used the old Crystal Heart, the hope and love shone out of it like a beacon. Equestria and everywhere else were all safe and snug. Well, now I’m going to do the same, but better.”

The six shapes focused, came into view, revealed themselves as carved from quartz.

“I made my own Crystal Hearts! Six, exactly. I remembered what you told me, about your friends and their adventures with the Elements of Harmony. Six is a magically powerful number, after all.”

Twilight’s blood chilled, draining away the last of her energy. The Crystal Heart had been the ultimate in magical artefacts. It had swept aside invading monsters, dark sorcerers, and the permanent blizzards of the Frozen North as easily as a child swatted away flies. Even she couldn’t have made one…

Her niece had made six.

The sky darkened. Thunder and raging white surrounded all, hemming them in. Flurry hoisted her wings, her horn aimed at the heart of the ceiling, and her childish smile melted under the years of seething-hot rage at too much lost innocence. When she spoke, the castle’s very foundations trembled.

“And now I’m gonna wipe away all the bad, once and for all.”

She paused, grinning, waiting happily for Twilight’s reaction.

Twilight’s voice nearly failed. “Flurry… no…”

The pause deepened. No reaction.

“Please… this has to stop…”

In the silence, Flurry’s face was horribly familiar. The calculation made no attempt to hide.

Then it vanished, replaced by a nervous edge. “But I’m only doing –” she began.

“You have to put those down…”

“NO!” The Crystal Hearts stayed.

“…call off the crystal ponies…”

“NO!”

“…take responsibility.”

“NOOOO!” Crystal shattered. Walls snapped into chunks. Outside, the sounds of fighting briefly fell silent in dread.

“Please.” Twilight’s tears – of shame or fear, she couldn’t tell – bled from her eyes. “Stop this madness, Flurry. Princess. Best Niece Ever. Please –”

The lightning blow struck her in the chest. Sent her tumbling backwards. Left her sliding. Fired her headfirst into the rail of the balcony. Splitting confusion hit Twilight’s mind, shook her, almost snuffed out her consciousness there and then.

When she quickly came to, she saw Flurry Heart advancing. Heard the furious desperation in her niece’s broken voice.

“Why, why, wwwhhhyyy does everyone keep picking on me!? Why do yyyooouuu!? Why don’t they just DO what I tell them to DO!?”

Fighting every impulse to fall into the calm of darkness, Twilight made her voice rise above her failing body. “That’s… not true… I cared for you… I taught you… I love you –”

“You!?” Flurry Heart’s fury threw flames, became a sneer. “Taught me!? What do you know about princessing!? You had to work and struggle for your power! I was born to it!”

She didn’t hope it’d achieve a thing, but Twilight shuddered, rose, reached out to Flurry with a vague, remembered desire to hug and comfort –

Got knocked back.

“Fool! I’m never going to fail to you! Never again!”

Flurry’s eyes glowed pure white. The air charged up.

Twilight reacted. On pure instinct, the spell fuelled her muscles, lifted her to her hooves, aimed at Flurry Heart, shone with all the colours of the rainbow…

…met an invisible shield, which flared golden around Flurry Heart. Twilight hadn’t even noticed it. The shield, and the spell it had absorbed, vanished again.

When it cleared, Twilight collapsed into a heap. Flurry Heart hadn’t even flinched, but her face collapsed too. Neither the whining child nor the calculating adult. What was left wasn’t an age. It wasn’t even a pony.

All emotion was gone. Princess Flurry Heart was as clean and pure as a dagger of ice.

“Is that so?” she whispered.

Twilight breathed hard. Weeks and weeks of work hadn’t broken her. Seconds of this had killed all but her soul.

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded, weakly.

“I don’t think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it.”

Behind Princess Flurry Heart, the five Crystal Hearts blackened, intensified, poisoned themselves with all the hatred, all the fear, all the darkest emotions too great to survive on her hostile snowscape of a face.

The air charged again.

“I’m going to rid the world of all the bad stuff…” whispered Princess Flurry Heart.

The Crystal Hearts spun faster and faster, the air grew colder and colder, the darkness curved into a ring that cut out all light, distorted the crystal throne beyond. Sparks crackled between the Hearts, buzzed, hummed, spread, and swarmed along the ring like gathering wasps. The Hearts moved forwards: under the strange light, Princess Flurry Heart’s shadow grew like a corruption over the throne itself, the wall beyond, the entire room.

“…starting with my. Bad. Auntie.”

Helpless, Twilight waited for the final blast.

Then the ground cracked.

Not around Twilight.

On the wall, Flurry’s shadow suddenly sprouted spikes.

Flurry’s face contorted. Her body froze. Then the loudest, rawest, most resonating scream Twilight had ever heard: the scream of a child who has never, ever felt true physical pain, and who instantly has too much.

Under Flurry’s hooves, at the base of the black crystals, a lake of darkness. It had run from a river of blackness like spilt ink behind it, leading from the hooves of the crystal pony: Chancellor Carnelian.

Who held aloft the sixth Crystal Heart. Pulsing. Dark. And poisonous.

Carnelian hissed. “Traitors first.”

Then she flung the Heart around as though to swat a horsefly out of the air. The line of darkness responded like a whip: Flurry was thrown aside. The black crystals snapped, crumpled, and evaporated.

The other five Hearts went out. Hit the ground. Shattered into pieces, taking the shadows with them.

Twilight’s mind went blank. Twilight’s body fought to stand up.

Carnelian’s face was wild. An escapee from Tartarus would had fled before it. The glare shot at Flurry’s crumpled body where she had fallen.

“You’re not fit to lick your parents’ horseshoes,” growled Carnelian. “To think I dedicated my life to a spoiled, selfish brat like you.”

Then she aimed at Twilight, rooted to the spot.

“How could you let this happen? She was under your care! You saw the signs! You could have…”

Twilight couldn’t speak. Only stare back.

But Carnelian didn’t seem able to express anything more. Her glower tried to crush itself, her teeth trembled like temple columns about to collapse from the pressure.

Then she struck.

The last Crystal Heart shot forwards, glowed darkly. Inky blackness pooled at her hooves in an instant, zigzagged forward like flat lightning along the ground, coiled in a blink towards Twilight –

– who had finally summoned enough strength.

Twilight flapped, teleported. Only a yard aside, but it was enough to dodge the suddenly sprouting spikes of black crystal.

Then her horn blazed and fired. Carnelian was blown off her hooves. The last Crystal Heart went flying, struck the wall, became shards and the memory of shadows, which melted as though under harsh light. Pieces tinkled, rained down over the remnants of stuffed toys.

Carnelian barely had time to groan before white crystals rose from the ground, grasping and trapping her hooves. She yelped with the shock.

Twilight’s horn went out. Then sparked and flared harder.

Before Carnelian could blink, Twilight loomed before her and forced her head up. Eye to eye.

“Why!?” was all Twilight could manage.

Hatred met hatred back. “I was tasked with protecting my kingdom. No matter what.”

Outside, there were cries and yells from crystal ponies waking up. The distant clang of dropped helmets. The winding down of the mine carts, the chains, the entire war machine. The spell had been broken.

More whiteness enveloped Carnelian’s body, leaving only her head free before Twilight shut off her crystallizing spell. She never looked away the whole time.

“Aren’t you going to destroy me?” snapped Carnelian.

“No. But you will face trial for the crime of high treason. You will face responsibility for your actions.”

Carnelian spat defiance at her hooves. “That’s all I ever did.”

With a final spell, Twilight left her sleeping in warm ice. The strain was enough to leave Twilight staggering. The magic had been a last-ditch effort.

Only then did she hurry over to Flurry Heart. Or try to. She could only stagger.

At once, Twilight forced her horn to splutter and spark, but even if she’d had the strength, she knew from a glance and from the contorted, silently screaming face that the damage was too great. Darkness still clung here and there, poisonous: Flurry Heart’s own poison, turned against her.

Spitting and hissing attempts at speech. On automatic, Twilight’s hoof gently cradled Flurry Heart’s struggling head. Both their tears pooled between them.

Flurry Heart seemed to see Twilight for the first time. Her suffering spasms became more frantic.

“I don’t… understand…” she breathed, lip trembling. “Auntie… I don’t…”

Then Flurry Heart’s eyes slid shut, and for the briefest of moments through the pain, Twilight saw it as though it was just another bedtime. The trembling stopped. The air became still.

After a while, Twilight gently cradled her niece, touching horn to horn. Just like the old days.

The war was over.

The blizzard raged on.

In the Crystal Kingdom – or the Crystal Empire again, as no one seemed clear what it was now – its citizens got on with their lives once more. Tents went up, stalls were erected, food and balloons filled the streets. The Crystal Faire, an ancient tradition, was nigh.

Some crystal ponies set off on a train headed south, carrying crystalline gifts and chests of treasure. True, the extent of the war had been limited and short-lived, but it stung at their national pride, and the crystal ponies wanted to make clear their good intentions. All mind-control helmets had been destroyed, all mines plugged, all chains broken, and all prisoners personally escorted home with sorrow and compensation.

A few crystal ponies travelled north, accompanied by the Royal Guard. None returned with good news. Despite the curses lifting at the end of the war, the yaks – and the entire state of Yakyakistan – still hadn’t returned. They made a tradition of checking once a week: the Yearning for the Yaks.

At the foot of the Crystal Castle, Flurry Heart’s colossus had almost immediately been toppled and taken to pieces. Spike’s statue was returned to its rightful place. On his other side, however, there now stood a statue of Chancellor Carnelian.

When it had been unveiled, the entire Crystal Kingdom had cheered.

Hope and love shone out from the kingdom again. Out of the reign of the Crystal Princess, the crystal ponies prospered…

Twilight’s friends were coming home.

They had heard the news by now. Some – like Rainbow Dash – had been abroad on adventures. Some – like Pinkie Pie – had been in Ponyville, but so tied-up with commitments that their long journey was more mental than physical. And some – like Fluttershy – hadn’t been seen in a long time, only just now emerging from the more mysterious parts of the world.

Yet they had all heard the call, as clearly as if the Crystal Map had summoned them. Twilight needed them now, more than ever.

At the entrance – or in this case, exit – of Twilight’s castle, Spike held the door open for Ember and Gilda.

“Well, that was… interesting,” was all Gilda would commit to.

“I’ll say,” said Ember. “Never seen a griffon try to eat walls before.”

Gilda shrugged. “I’m down for a ‘first time for everything’… thing. Don’t know how you eat that crystal garbage.”

“Eh, you gotta have the stomach for it.”

Spike coughed for attention. “Anything more I can do for you ladies?”

“Yeah,” said Gilda. “Stop calling us ‘ladies’. Just because I can tolerate uncoolness, doesn’t mean I don’t have limits.”

“What she said,” said Ember, somewhat awkwardly. More assertively, she added, “Thanks for having us. The last few months in the Dragon Lands have been…”

“Stressful? Troubling? Frantic?” said Spike.

“I was going to say ‘annoying’, but whatever.”

“Yeah,” said Gilda, more cheerfully. “Tell Twilight she’s done a sweet job. I haven’t felt that at home even at home. It’s nice to not feel like you have to walk on eggshells all the time.”

Spike grunted noncommittally.

And because even the likes of Gilda and Ember had some sensitivity in their neglected social radars, Gilda nudged Ember, who hesitantly added, “And tell her we… appreciate… her sacrifices, and uh, hope she gets better, and… and stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Will do,” said Spike, waving them off as they flew away. In the distance, he swore he heard them bickering over how much more tactfully they could have put it.

You and me both, he thought. Grimacing, he slammed the door.

Spike found Twilight in the bed chamber. Not her own: it still had a cot in the corner.

That was what worried him. She just sat there, in the centre of the room, as though slowly dying from too much past. He even swore he heard faint echoes of childish laughter drift out of the walls.

Tactfully, he waited for her to finish. He knew she knew he had come in; the click of his claws alone meant stealth was out of the question. This was a silence he was welcome to share but not to disturb. Not that he wanted to disturb Twilight when she was like this.

Funny, really: he remembered running around after Flurry, trying to rein her spells in, and running after Twilight, trying to guide her back on course and not get swept up playing with Whammy the Stuffed Snail, or doing “arts and crafts with crystals” once Flurry Heart’s magic started to tame itself a bit. Yet all the daily grinding annoyances melted into something nobler and more sickly-sweet now. He told himself he was too old for tears.

Twilight stirred.

“How could I let this happen?” she croaked.

Such a Twilight response. Spike sighed; at his size, it sounded like the light breath of a furnace.

“You didn’t let it happen,” he said gently.

“But I did, I –”

“You’d never let this happen, if you’d known. You didn’t destroy Cadence and Shining Armor. You didn’t tell Flurry to bully her servants, or vanish a whole country, or start a war. The Twilight I know would never do that.”

“The Flurry I knew wouldn’t either.”

Spike knew then what he was dealing with. Gently as he could, he guided his bulk over to her and wrapped a protective wing around her shoulders. She was shaking.

“I wish I’d done more,” he rumbled, watching her.

You!? He almost heard that word form in the air. He swore he heard her lips unstick to say them. But at the last second, Twilight relented, and he was thankful for that.

“I wasn’t meant to be special,” he continued. “I was just one random dragon egg among many. It could have been another dragon’s egg you got. You could have had Ember instead of me, or anyone else. They might have been raised by kind ponies and taught to help out and… and frankly, they could have been treated a bit better here and there –”

An apologetic cringe from Twilight: Spike felt it through his blanketing wing.

“– but what they grew up into would be their choice. No one else’s. Put as much pony on a dragon as you want, they’re still a dragon underneath. It’s just… they’re their own dragon. It doesn’t even have to be dragons and ponies: there are lots of ways destiny plays out. You were just a regular old unicorn.”

“Spike…” whispered Twilight.

Carefully, his tail wrapped around her and turned her slightly to face him. “Just tell me you did your best. You know you did. That’s all anypony can ask from you.”

As soon as he said it, he realized he’d said the wrong thing. Twilight’s eyes, hitherto sparkling, shut down. Against his loosening tail, she turned away.

“I don’t know if I did,” she said.

In the silence, the echoes. The laughter of the happiest niece in the world. The laughter of the happiest aunt in the world. All hollow. All died away.