The Architect's Wings

Chapters

Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One

Chapter Two

Rarity was awoken in the dark and early hours of the morning by a dreadful buzzing sound on her side table.

This was notably not her usual morning alarm (a gentle, lilting chorus of strings and piano), and certainly not her usual morning time (when the sun was up, preferably). As much as Rarity had enjoyed beating the morning rush back on Equus, there was no morning rush here on Aurora. There was also no early-morning birdsong, no crickets chirping, no rustling of the leaves in the dew-laden breeze… only an endless stillness.

In short, it creeped her out, and she preferred to sleep through it.

Rarity moaned softly into her pillow and burrowed deeper, searching for a pocket of quiet away from the noise. Sadly, her televox kept on buzzing, rhythmic and punctuated in the endless quiet of night on an empty planet.

A long pause.

Rarity sighed happily. Whoever it was had given up.

No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than the buzzing began again.

Now more angry than anything, Rarity used her magic to snatch her vox and tug it under the covers with her.

She made a small sound of disgust as took the call and murmured “hello?”

“Still sleeping?”

Rarity recognized the voice in just those two words, and shot into an upright position. “Spitfire! Sorry, I was—”

Spitfire chuckled. “It’s fine! You’re not a cadet, you’re an academic, for cryin’ out loud,” she said. “I was just calling to let you know that I’ve set up a meeting for you with a pony who’s very interested in your proposal.”

Very interested.

In her proposal.

Rarity did her best to remain nonchalant. “Oh?”

“I put it in your calendar, okay?” Spitfire continued. “I just wanted to let you know that she’s a little… esoteric might be a nice word for it.”

Rarity blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You don’t know what esoteric means?”

“No, I know what—”

“She’s an odd duck, okay?” Spitfire said. “Not an unkind or unintelligent one, but an odd one for sure. I just want you to hear, from me, that she’s extremely well-respected in this field, and that her little weirdnesses are the only price you pay for her being so brilliant.”

“Um…” Rarity ran a hoof over her mane. “A-alright. If you say so.”

“You’re meeting her on Meadowbrook,” Spitfire continued. “I hailed you an autocarriage—my treat. You’ve got another few hours of beauty sleep, then it’s up and at ‘em. Good luck!”

“But I—”

Spitfire hung up in her ear.

Rarity grimaced, allowing herself to sink blissfully back into her pillows for just a moment, before scrolling to her calendar and peering at the meeting invite:

T.S. and R. - Asteroid Proposal

“Succinct as always, Spits,” Rarity muttered.

Any hope of going back to sleep lost, Rarity dug herself out of her mountain of blankets and stretched. Her gaze drifted from the stark blankness of her temporary dorm to the wide window on her right. This window looked out not on the city, but on the similar stark blankness of a temporarily empty planet.

There was a special sort of loneliness to be had in a place like this. Though she knew Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were only a few doors down, it was hard not to look out at the endless barren rocks, all the way to the horizon, and feel the least bit alone. It was hard not to feel isolated by the automated drink carts, the empty storefronts, the quiet streets—even at rush hour. The whole of the planet’s inhabitants could fit in a single lecture hall, and yet they spread themselves out, as if relishing the space they had.

To be fair, Rarity did relish the space. But she missed the random encounters. She missed strangers.

It was only then that Rarity realized she would, for the first time in years, be meeting a complete stranger. Someone who didn’t know the first thing about her outside of her work, someone who was a little odd, someone who was totally and absolutely new.

Her heart fluttered.

The suns began to rise, and golden shafts of light exploded from the horizon.

She relaxed, falling halfway back into her pillows and settling in to watch a beautiful twilight.

The ride in the autocarriage was long and predictably quiet. Rarity was not a fan of these little driverless buggies—they always botched the landing, and she had more than once ended up with a coffee-stained chest due to the suddenness of their impact.

Still, there was a tiny window through which she could watch the universe go by. That was rather nice.

Rarity did her best to remain calm. She spent the hours-long ride repeatedly reminding herself that this scholar liked her work, and wasn’t meeting with her merely to pick it apart and criticize it. Academia had a way of making one defensive.

When being nebulously stressed lost its charm, Rarity pivoted to reading a book she’d downloaded to her televox, daring to read for pleasure for the first time since she had begun her final proposal. The reading, however, quickly put her to sleep.

Rarity awoke when the autocarriage made its predictably tumultuous landing on the lunar surface, nearly throwing her from her seat. She briefly wondered if the acute shock and terror was better or worse than hot coffee splashed into the white fur on her chest.

The autocarriage chimed its successful arrival, and its doors peeled back to reveal Meadowbrook port.

To say that Meadowbrook port was popular would be a bit like saying hay was popular. Or water. Or air. It was only a common rest stop out of sheer necessity—a moon located a convenient distance between Equus and everything else. It had a few basic necessities, including a fuel station, a hotel, and a few places to eat, but it wasn’t going to be anyone’s first choice for a vacation any time soon.

Rarity stepped out onto the barren soil and took a moment to judge the gravity. It had been a good few years since she stopped by on a moon like this, and the low gravity always threw her for a loop. After a few less-than-ladylike steps, she found her balance, and set off towards her destination.

The Down-Home Diner was a kitschy place. It was meant to simulate the old-fashioned dining car diners one might find in Equestria—long, low, mostly chrome and vinyl. Even from here, Rarity could see that it was empty. She must have beat her potential mentor here.

That was good! It was rather like having the home-field advantage.

Rarity broke into a sloppy trot, doing her best to utilize the low gravity to her advantage and miserably failing. Somehow, though, she made it to the front steps of the diner.

A few things happened as she entered.

First, the bell over the door tinkled softly.

Second, someone, somewhere in the diner, made a small sound of surprise.

Third, a pony suddenly sat bolt upright from a reclined position in a seat two booths down.

Her mane was mussed and frizzy, floaty down slowly—slower even than the low gravity could truly account for. Not only that, but half of it seemed stuck in its form where it had clearly been pressed against the cracked vinyl seat. The redness of her cheek, the dark circles ringing her eyes and tugging at her cheeks, and the thin line of dried drool all but confirmed it—the mare had been woken from a deep sleep.

As she rubbed her glassy eyes with a clumsy hoof and looked lazily around the place, a pair of large and colorful wings pulled in towards her sides. Every color of an Equestrian sunrise was reflected in those feathers, doubly so in the long and gently curving horn on her head—not only the natural lavender of her coat, but fierce pink-orange and a yellow so vibrant it practically gave off its own light.

And then she locked eyes with Rarity.

And everything clicked.

“Twilight?” Rarity breathed in utter disbelief.

Twilight blinked. She didn’t say a word, only stared back at Rarity with those wide and glassy eyes, her jaw clenched, her brow taut. Her hooves came to rest on the edge of the scuffed table in front of her, poised just so, tucked one right beside the other.

Back in the kitchen, something beeped softly to alert its attendant that it was finished.

“Y-you’re an Architect?” Rarity asked.

After a long pause, Twilight unfurled one wing and looked down at it, puzzled, as if she had only just noticed it there. “I… yes.” She paused, made a face, then snapped her wings back into her sides. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to meet—” The words caught in Rarity’s throat.

T.S.

An odd duck.

“You,” Rarity finished. “I’m here to meet you.”

Twilight furrowed her brows. She thought for a moment, then forced a small chuckle. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think so.” She reached up and tried to pat down the flyaways from her mane. “I’m here to meet with an Architect candidate.”

Rarity took a few more uncertain steps towards her old friend. She didn’t say anything, only let a wry smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

“You…” Twilight’s own smile faded. “Wait. I thought you were in fashion design.”

“I was,” Rarity said, sliding into the booth across from Twilight. “And then ponykind spread to the stars. It’s the sort of thing that makes you rethink your career choices.”

Twilight stared at her.

Rarity stared back.

A small fan somewhere whirred softly, filling the room with a low droning sound that made the absence of tinny easy-listening music all the more obvious.

The mares were quiet.

The memories were fuzzy, of course, but the feelings were not. Like peering into the past through a blurry lens smeared with petroleum jelly, Rarity could make out very few details, could recall no precise memory of a day spent with Twilight. But that halo of yellow-green light that surrounded them on lazy August afternoons was clear. The conspiratorial giggles of a shared joke. The evenings huddled near the radio, listening for news on the latest mission to another world. All those wonderful pauses and yearnings of a youth spent waiting for history to happen.

It had been a long time since their schooling together in Canterlot. But as the now-mature mares looked into one another’s eyes, it was as if no time had passed at all. As if even here, planets away from home, they were just two bright-eyed and idealistic fillies waiting for the moment they would be called to action.

“You look…” Twilight looked her old friend up and down. “Different. You look different than when I last saw you.”

“Well. That makes two of us, darling,” Rarity said.

Twilight chuckled lightly, a nervous and awkward sound tinged with a sort of sadness Rarity couldn’t quite pin down. “Fair enough.”

Rarity smiled.

There was a soft shuffling sound as the doors to the kitchen swung open, their soft rubber stoppers gliding against one another in slow motion. A waitress appeared, her low-gravity gait a practiced and graceful thing, and she trotted up to the booth with ease.

“Morning, fillies,” she said. “What can I getcha?”

Rarity looked up at her and gave her a warm smile. “A hot tea, please,” she requested. “And some wheat toast.”

The waitress nodded, then looked at Twilight.

“The same,” she agreed, somewhat meekly.

“Alrighty, then,” the waitress said. “Thanks for goin’ easy on me. I’ll be out in a few—I’ll put the radio on, too.”

“Thank you,” Rarity said with a small nod.

Twilight made a tiny sound of affirmation.

The waitress departed, gliding through the room with ease as her voluminous curls bounced freely about her face.

“It’s been…” Twilight bit her lip as she tried to count the years.

“A long time,” Rarity finished for her. “It’s been a long time. But it’s wonderful to see you again, dear.”

Twilight fought a smile. “You, too.”

Rarity beamed and rocked back in her seat. “So, then, tell me!” she insisted. “When did you become an Architect?”

Twilight’s smile vanished. “Oh, I…” she mumbled, looking down at the table. She thought for a long moment, then forced an awkward little giggle. “You know me. Always the teacher's pet. Celestia kinda took me under her wing and, when I showed an interest, she… fast-tracked me a bit.”

“A bit?” Rarity repeated. “As far as I’m aware, you’re only the second Architect to gain wings at all. And Cadance was—”

“A special case,” Twilight finished for her. “And… yep. I'm the second one."

Rarity was struck speechless for a moment. "I didn't even—" She stopped herself, took a breath, and tried again. "I know Cadance had a bit of alicorn blood in her, so does that mean—"

"Let's not talk about me, okay?" Twilight cut in, tugging her mane back into place. "Did you… did you really write that asteroid proposal?"

"Tsk." Rarity put her nose in the air. "Are you implying a lady isn't any good at writing research proposals?"

"No!" Twilight argued, genuine panic in her voice. "No, of course not!"

Rarity arched a brow in Twilight's direction and allowed a smirk to fight through her frustrated facade.

"Oh." Twilight frowned. "You're teasing me."

“Sharp as ever,” Rarity snarked. “The asteroid was, indeed, my proposal. I heard you liked it.”

Twilight scoffed, a thoroughly unladylike sound as she was known to make. “Liked it?” she repeated. “It’s amazing! It’s exactly what I’ve been dying to do since I got these stupid wings—some real magical research!”

She flared her wings for dramatic effect, though she was more than a little clumsy. A few primaries caught the edge of the napkin holder and sent plastic tubs of raspberry jam careening across the table.

“Oops.” Twilight snapped her wings in once again. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to them, if I’m honest.”

Rarity only giggled in response. She lit her horn and quickly and neatly stacked the jams back in their container.

“So… you’re trying to become an Architect?” Twilight said softly. “A full one?”

“You mean with the wings to match?” Rarity said with a wink. “I do hope so. If you ask me, I think I’ve got a fair shot at them in the next few years. With the right teacher, of course.”

Twilight’s face flushed. “I-I’m not a teacher.”

“But you are!” Rarity insisted. “You always helped me back at Celestia’s school, much as I may have hated it. I’m sure I owe most, if not all, of my success on Aurora to your tireless tutoring efforts.”

Twilight was quiet for a long moment, only staring back at Rarity with wide and youthful eyes. “You really think so?”

Rarity smiled. “I know so.”

A sudden cough of static filled the diner, and the once-perfect vacuum of silence was filled with the light and jaunty tunes of classic music from the radio. Rarity couldn’t place the exact piece, though the cadence felt very familiar to her, every note short and lifting into nothingness, the true music in the space left behind.

“Well…” Twilight cleared her throat. “Wow. We have a lot of planning to do. I mean, first we’ve got to find an asteroid candidate, and who knows how long it will take to track down one we can make work. We’ll need a staff, of course… at least one earth pony and one pegasus to make sure we have our bases covered, both of them trained in terraforming… what am I forgetting?”

“A moment to breathe?” Rarity suggested.

“Right! Equipment!” Twilight whipped out her televox and practically threw it onto the table. “An asteroid won’t have any atmosphere to speak of. We’ll need a ship and enough gear for our crew, plus some cloud-seeding chemicals to kickstart atmospheric development. We should plan to get a little bit of greenery in, too—might as well let nature do some of the work for us, right?”

Rarity, freed from her sudden freeze, took out her own televox. “I think I can knock a few items off our to-do list,” she said. “As long as you’re alright working with a few more students, that is.”

"Order up!" the waitress called from the window.

Rarity straightened up in anticipation of the coming food.

Twilight, on the other hoof, remained still. She only looked at Rarity, and Rarity could have sworn she saw the far-off twinkle of golden memory in her eyes as a smile crept over her lips.

"Thank you," Rarity murmured to the waitress.

She smiled in return. "I'll be back in a few to check on you," she said, before gliding away once again.

The mares found themselves staring at one another once again.

"What is it?" Rarity asked.

Twilight laughed. "I trust you," she said. "That's all."

Rarity blushed and looked down at her toast.

"So… who will we have on our crew?"

Chapter Three

“Ooh, this is so exciting!” Pinkie squealed. She kicked her rear hooves wildly even as she gripped the seat’s straps in her forehooves. “I thought I’d just be kicking rocks around on lame old Aurora, but I actually get to be one of the first ponies on a whole new planet! That’s totally crazy!”

“Ugh, can we loosen these straps at all?” Rainbow whined. “I feel like I’m in a straitjacket.”

“Girls, please,” Rarity scolded. “There’s a lot of work that needs to be done before either of you can start kicking rocks about and flying circles ‘round the asteroid. Until then, we’d very much appreciate it if you stayed still and patient.”

Pinkie beamed, eyes squeezed shut, hooves still swinging at an unnatural speed.

Rainbow went limp in her straps. She looked rather like a tangled-up marionette.

Satisfied with the state of the backseat, Rarity’s focus returned to her mentor.

Twilight was quiet.

She stared out the front window with an empty sort of bliss; not exactly happy, and not sad in a way that Rarity could identify. On the bright side, she seemed unbothered by the squabbling behind them.

"I feel like now is a good time to remind you that I, erm…” Rarity paused to clear her throat. “I’ve never moved a planet before," she whispered, tense and with an edge of nervous terror.

“You won’t need to,” Twilight said, eyes still focused ahead. “In fact, you probably can’t—it takes a lot of magical strength.”

“And you’re saying a lady can’t be strong?”

Twilight arched a brow in her student’s direction. “Are you going to deflect everything I say with that?”

Rarity squirmed in her seat. “No. Of course not. A lady would never.”

Twilight rolled her eyes, despite the clear twinkle of suppressed laughter glimmering in them. “I’m going to move the planets," she said firmly. "You’re just going to follow along with me. Okay?”

“What do you mean?” Rarity asked, tugging at her own straps.

“Well… think of it like tracing, I guess,” Twilight explained. “I’ll be doing the heavy lifting by actually drawing the lines, and you’ll just let your magic follow along with them. I’ll talk you through it, too. Don’t worry.”

Rarity took a long and steadying breath, then nodded.

The ship wasn’t the finest piece of machinery Rarity had ever ridden in, though it was far from the worst. It didn’t rattle, exactly, but the engine seemed to produce a low and constant whimper that could be heard when all else in the cabin ceased. The sound of immense effort, of machinery working as hard as it could, of energy being pushed to its limit.

It also smelled a bit in here. Like what, Rarity could not identify. It put her in mind of an empty convenience store, though none of the scents were the least bit similar. The whole ship was warm, all the metal and polymer and epoxy outgassing little wisps of industrial smell, though it was also unmistakably organic. Not just a machine, but an old machine. A used machine.

"Can I ask a question?" Pinkie said.

"You just did," Rainbow teased, poking her in the ribs.

"Can I ask another?"

"You just—"

"Rainbow," Rarity warned.

Rainbow snickered. "Sorry."

"I was just wondering… well, why can't you just grab the asteroid?" Pinkie asked. "Why do we need to do all the other stuff?"

Rarity looked to Twilight, as if she might have the answer.

Twilight shook her head. "You're the mastermind, Rarity."

The mastermind.

"It's about momentum," Rarity explained, fighting a smile. "The planets are still. Heavy, but still. This asteroid is traveling something like ten miles every second."

Pinkie's eyes grew wide.

Twilight spared her a quick glance, then laughed wryly.

Rarity did her best to quell her enthusiasm. "It's like the difference between kicking a bottle cap and catching a bullet," she said. "But the asteroid is moving about twenty times faster than that."

Pinkie winced. "Ohhh."

"So," Rarity said, pulling her mane from her eyes, "we're going to let the planets lend us a helping hoof. It's only fair. Twilight may be an Architect, but she's bound by the laws of physics just like the rest of us."

Twilight cast Rarity a sideways glance. "Thanks for that."

Rarity only smirked in return.

And then the ship came out from the shadow of the gas giant before it, and its passengers saw the sun in all its glory.

“Whoa…” Rainbow breathed.

Twilight sucked in a small breath. “Well. I suppose now’s a good time to welcome everyone to the Solaris system,” she said. “We’ll be here a while, after all.”

Rarity was utterly speechless.

The star which blazed before them, thankfully dulled by the ship’s treated glass, was nothing short of magnificent. An enormous glowing ball of pure light and energy, warming its planets with care, even as they hung still and lifeless in space.

As the ship made its slow and puttering way around the planet before them, Rarity felt the sudden hugeness of the universe around her.

The journey to Aurora had been different. That had been bells and whistles, enormous ships, an arrival on a planet that had already been partially colonized. It had been a show of the power ponies held over the universe. Their ability to set it all in motion, their duty to spread to the stars and make these empty places theirs.

This was… this wasn’t theirs.

This didn’t belong to anyone. Not even to the star.

This was limitless stillness. This was untouched by mare. This was the future.

Rarity’s breath hitched.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked softly. “I know it’s… it can be overwhelming.”

Rarity let out a strained breath. “I don’t think ‘overwhelming’ even begins to describe it,” she replied. “And you’re… you’re going to move them?”

Twilight smirked. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

How could it not?

“Alright, everypony,” Twilight called into the back. “We’re on our final approach. It’s gonna get a little warmer in here once we really close in on the sun. Then we’re gonna need to really get moving, so please, please be ready to take the controls when we say so. Until then, keep those seatbelts on.”

Pinkie saluted. “Aye-aye, captain!”

Rainbow, looking pale, cinched her straps in a little tighter.

Twilight focused ahead once more, the light of the approaching sun glittering in her dark eyes. A bright tendril of magic oozed from the top of her horn, heavy under the weight of its own power, and hung in the air before Rarity’s face.

“Just hold on to me,” Twilight said. “And I’ll show you how it works. Okay?”

Rarity swallowed hard. “A-alright.”

She shivered as she pushed a small tendril of her own magic from her horn.

Much in the way the sun dwarfed their tiny ship, Rarity felt limitlessly out of her depth compared to the sheer weight and power of Twilight's magic.

She could feel it.

"Don't be scared," Twilight murmured. "You can do this."

Rarity clenched her jaw and nodded.

She reached her magic out to join with Twilight's.

In dreams sometimes there is a feeling of being two places at once. One can be in their own bedroom, yet at the same time in a department store from their childhood, and even still in their college science lab. It is all one place, only one setting, and yet it is all of these things at once.

This is what it felt like to join another's magic. It was to be in two places at once, and yet only one.

Rarity silently thanked her lucky stars that she and Twilight were sitting right beside one another. Had the distance been any greater, she had absolutely no idea how disconcerting and disorienting the experience may have been.

"That's perfect," Twilight said, but it was Rarity's mouth, but it was both their mouths, but it was neither. "Hold on tightly."

"I'll try," Rarity replied.

The magic passed through the front window, like a pin through a soap bubble, and pierced the endless dark stillness beyond.

Space was cold.

Rarity knew that somewhere, but she had never felt it like this. Every hair on her body stood at a shivering attention as Twilight danced effortlessly through the vacuum which yawned before them.

The magical limb reached out through the darkness, lighting the way with a dim and otherworldly glow that was swiftly overtaken by the sheer power of the sun. Nonetheless, Twilight wrapped her magic around the planet closest to the star in a great swirl, a bit like the spiraling whorls of an ice cream cone.

She pulled it.

It was not without effort—Rarity could feel the way Twilight strained against the weight and size of the planet, her jaw clenching, her eyes shuddering as she held them shut in sheer concentration. But she did it anyway.

Twilight pulled the planet and then, like it was nothing, she threw it into orbit like a pitcher throwing out a curveball.

Rarity felt a gasp escape her. Escape both of them.

The planet moved slowly, but big things that move slowly are still horrors to behold. A behemoth moving at all is enough to make one want to turn tail and run away, and this massive hunk of rock, boiling at its core, was careening through empty space with nothing to stop it.

Despite it all, the planet fell quickly into a tight elliptical orbit around the sun, Solaris, and seemed content to stay that way.

"See?" Twilight said, admiring her work. "It's nothing, really."

"Nothing?!" Rainbow Dash cried. "Nothing?!"

"It's so much bigger than I thought!" Pinkie added. "Like… like so much bigger!"

Twilight chuckled.

Rarity chuckled, too. She wasn't sure if it was her own, but she decided she would have it anyway.

"Alright, crew," Twilight said, looking over her shoulder at the ponies in the back. "We've got to get this finished quickly. Rainbow, I'd like you on controls. Pinkie, you're navigating."

"Sure," Rainbow said as she unclasped her belt. "I think legally I have to tell you that I'm not at all licensed to fly this thing."

Twilight chuckled again. "I'm sure you'll do fine. It's just like a video game."

Rainbow scoffed. "What makes you think I play video games?" she asked. "I don't."

"You do, too!" Pinkie added helpfully. "Just last week she beat the high score on the Crosswind cabinet in our student lounge!"

"Pinkie!"

The conversation barely reached Rarity as she reeled from the sudden meshing of two entirely different perspectives. She was looking at her friends, she was looking at the start of a new solar system, she was looking at both, she was looking at neither—she just closed her eyes and waited for it to stop.

"Quickly, girls!" Twilight instructed.

And without another word, the mares sprang into action.

"Take us to the next planet out," Twilight said. She stepped away from the controls, one strong hoof wrapped around the back of Rarity's neck and pulling her close. "It's smaller and rockier, known as Solaris II. Pinkie, the nav system is on the right side of the dashboard."

Rarity stumbled a bit, eyes still squeezed shut.

"Are you okay?" Twilight asked

Rarity set her jaw and nodded. "I could do with a little less seasickness, though," she admitted. "I know 'eyes on the horizon' isn't much use around here, but…"

"Of course," Twilight said. "Let's do the next one. There's only three in the system. If it gets to be too much, just let go, okay?"

"Okay," was what Rarity said.

"Not a chance," was what she thought.

Twilight's magic lassoed the next planet as Pinkie and Rainbow took them in close. The ship eased off to one side, taking in a magnificent turn similar to the planet's final orbit.

"On my count, peel off!" Twilight instructed.

"You got it," Rainbow confirmed.

Twilight dug in her hooves (as much as is possible on metal grate) and solidified her magic.

The ship felt this one; a sudden towing weight of a few thousand tons caused the craft to lurch and the insistent moaning of the engine to grow that much more demanding.

"One!" Twilight said. "Speed it up!"

Rainbow threw the craft up to full speed, ,just barely countering the oversized paperweight being tugged along behind them.

"Two!" Twilight called.

Her magic clamped down even harder as she prepared for the final move. Only when she began to hurl the planet forward did Twilight shout "Three!" and send the passengers careening to one side as the ship veered away from the sun.

Twilight released the planet. It, too, fell in orbit, and was even staggered beautifully from the one leading it. A perfect gravity net to catch the incoming asteroid and pull it into its new home.

The craft went sailing back into the stillness as Rainbow Dash yanked them all out of the way of the rapidly-approaching planet. Twilight, foreseeing this disruption, expertly held her ground.

It was beginning to feel different.

Rarity noticed that. A sort of humming that was not coming from the spaceship, and not even from Twilight’s magic. It was a warm feeling, revving up, filling the emptiness with an indescribable and certain something—gifting energy into the cold, still universe.

It was coming to life.

“Last one,” Twilight said. “Take us out to Solaris III. It’s a ways away from the sun, but we need to be quick.”

“Got it: step on it!” Rainbow interpreted, throwing the ship forward into its highest speed.

Twilight turned to Rarity, ducking her head to look her more closely in the eye. “How does it feel?” she asked.

Rarity laughed incredulously. “As if I could ever explain!”

“But you’re starting to understand now, right? How gravity feels?” she continued. “In the grand scheme of things, I mean.”

“I-I… suppose so,” Rarity said.

“Good.” Twilight gave her old friend a proud and encouraging smile. “Because I want you to guide me for Solaris III.”

Rarity’s heart stopped.

She stared, silent and terrified to her core, as Twilight waited patiently for an answer.

“Uh… we’re getting close!” Pinkie warned from the co-pilot’s seat.

“Isn’t it far too soon?” Rarity hissed.

And she was looking at herself when she said it. Looking at the fear in her own eyes, like arguing with a mirror.

“Maybe,” Twilight said. “But if you don’t take this chance, it’ll be too late to try.”

Rarity swallowed hard.

She looked at Twilight. At herself. At both and neither. At the persistent orange glow of the sun reflecting off Solaris III and brightening their eyes.

“If I make a mistake—”

“I’ll be right there to catch it, okay?” Twilight reminded her.

She put a hoof on Rarity’s shoulder.

A hoof on her own shoulder.

On both and neither.

Rarity drew in a deep breath, doing her best to ignore the rattle she felt in her core, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“You can do this,” Twilight said. “Trust your instincts. Remember the way it feels to enter a planet’s gravity—that sudden heaviness, the way it pulls your chest down and grounds you. You know how that feels.”

“R-right…” Rarity stuttered.

She closed her eyes, deciding to rely on Twilight’s unshaking gaze to guide her magic, and anchored herself between the seats in the front of the ship.

“You got this, Rares,” Rainbow encouraged.

“It’s just like playing buckball!” Pinkie said. “Or… at least, I think it is!”

Rarity pressed forward into the depths of space.

Her magic curled through the cosmos, Twilight’s in tow, and approached the last planet in the system. It was only then that she realized Twilight had saved the best for last—an absolutely massive planet that more than dwarfed the two before it, coated in a thick layer of mist which even Rarity could sense would not be safe to breathe.

She cowered before it. Only slightly. A hiccup, really.

“You can do this,” Twilight said. “Stay focused.”

Focus.

Rarity sucked in a small breath and plunged forward, swirling the cocktail of magic around the massive planet before them with as much grace as she could muster. Though she trembled slightly with the effort, she wound her way over and through the gasses which enclosed the behemoth, wrapping it in a net of magical threads.

Focus.

With her hooves planted firmly between the chairs at the front, Rarity gave the planet an experimental tug. Twilight may have been doing the heavy lifting, but she could still feel it. The weight of it. The similar pull of gravity dragging it in towards the sun.

Focus.

She could sense what she needed to do. Not quite innately, but insistently. The same way one knows how hard to press down on a pencil, or the feel of an apple splitting under one's teeth.

She just knew.

She knew the weight of it. The way it moved and flowed.

Like fabric

Like fine silk.

Focus!

Rarity held Solaris III in her own hooves, in Twilight's hooves, in both and neither. She slowly but surely accelerated it, faster and faster, more and more momentum, until it caught. It locked. It held with the strength of the sun and the other planets in a beautiful and perpetual dance.

"That's it!" Twilight encouraged, genuine excitement blooming in her voice. "Now let it go! It's home!"

For some reason, letting go was the hardest part.

But Rarity's magic pulled away.

Twilight pulled away from her.

And, just like that, Rarity was back in her body, back on the ship, back to being small and scared and powerless.

Her hooves buckled, no longer keeping her steadily in place, and she floated up from the floor of the ship. Weightless and loose in the universe. Exposed. Able to drift up and up and up and away.

"You did it!" Twilight cried.

Rarity, with what little energy she had left, scoffed. "You did it."

"Rarity, I gave you power," Twilight said. "You gave me precision! Technique!"

Rarity blushed.

Twilight reached over to grab Rarity's hoof. Her smile softened from one of sudden joy and elation to something warmer, something kinder and gentler.

"You're an artist," she said. "I can feel it."

Before Rarity could push past her fluster to reply, Rainbow Dash cleared her throat.

"Hey, I hate to break up a nice moment, but we've got some more work to do," she said. "When exactly does the asteroid get here?"

Twilight released Rarity's hoof, and the emptiness swept over her again.

"Soon," Twilight said, swimming forward through the ship and gazing out the front window. "It should be on the nav."

Pinkie looked surprised at that, then quickly zoomed out on her navigation display. "Hey, would you look at that! Asteroid!"

Twilight pushed herself forward through the vessel and hung weightless between Rainbow and Pinkie, staring out into the only darkness beyond the ship. She did so without speaking, and soon the ship was entirely silent but for the insistent hum of the engine and the rhythmic ping of the nav system.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

In the distance, a flash of light.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Twilight craned her neck further. She squinted, eyes focused steadfastly ahead, watching for the asteroid.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Rarity was surprised that she felt the asteroid before she saw it. Even Twilight's wings reflexively puffed away from her sides as a much larger, much stronger force of energy drifted into the system.

Then they saw it.

It was oblong. Like a pill. It was made up of craggy little outcroppings of rock, black and brown and a revolting combination of the two.

And yet it was the most beautiful thing Rarity had ever seen.

"There it is," Twilight said, as if the rest of the ship weren't staring slack-jawed at it already.

Rarity could only nod.

Twilight looked back at her and, in as gentle a voice as she could muster, she said, "I'll handle this part, okay?"

Rarity nodded again

"Rainbow?"

Rainbow startled in her seat. "Mm?"

"Take us in towards the asteroid," Twilight instructed. "We'll need to be traveling alongside it as it goes by."

"Can do," Rainbow replied.

The ship lurched forward, suddenly driven again by more than just the memory of its thrusters. Rainbow piloted the thing in a perfect curve, closing the distance between the ship and the asteroid in moments.

It felt stronger up close.

Rarity tried to focus on what happened next, but truthfully she couldn't take her eyes off the massive rock which hurtled through space before her.

There was a long, strong, magical tentacle reaching out at it. Grabbing hold of it. Guiding it the way one might guide a sailboat by turning the rudder. Just as much at the mercy of the wind as you were before, but with that secret taste of control.

And then it was flying! Out of Twilight's grasp and deep into the sun's orbit, buried there where it could not escape, carried by gravities much stronger than it could ever hope to have.

It was there.

It had made it.

Rarity felt a weight lift from her chest, strange as that felt to say as she drifted through the cockpit of a zero-gravity spaceship.

It had worked.

Not just theoretically, not just in perfect conditions, in real conditions. In real life. Here. Now.

A sound escaped Rarity. A happy sob of pure relief and elation as the Solaris system truly took form before her. That energy spun up and up and up, whirring, bleeding out into the universe, watching over the ship.

Pinkie threw her hooves in the air and cheered. "You did it!" she cried. "Yay, asteroid!"

"Heck yeah!" Rainbow agreed, punching the roof of the ship.

Twilight, however, was quiet.

She looked out of the window, smiling softly and… well, Rarity thought she sensed sadness. Or perhaps a distance—a wistfulness which went beyond the planets, beyond what Twilight’s eyes could see. A realization that had nothing at all to do with the magnificent view before her.

“Twilight?” Rarity whispered. “Did we make a mistake?”

She blinked. A few times, and very quickly. Then she looked down at Rarity and smiled again. The same sad and distant smile.

“Not even one,” she said.

Rarity laughed, light and airy, if only because there was nothing else she could do. “Good.”

“Should we take her in, Captain?” Pinkie asked, her mouth wide in an overexaggerated grin as she looked back over the seat.

Twilight hesitated for a long moment. Then, with a single snort, she broke out of her plaintive silence. “I’m not a Captain, Pinkie.”

“Then who—”

“Me!” Rainbow decided.

She once again shifted the tiny craft into a much higher speed and sent it barrelling towards the asteroid, even as it rattled and shook itself to pieces beneath them. That humming sound built and built, wound up and up and up with the energy of the system, with the power of their combined magic, and with the possibilities which lay ahead of them on the planet.

On their planet.

“It needs a name,” Rarity realized. “Goodness. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Ooh!” Pinkie twisted around in her seat and peered over the headrest. “Naming things is so fun!”

“Well, Solaris Naught is the obvious voice,” Twilight said. “If we follow the naming convention of the rest of the—”

Rainbow blew a raspberry. “No way. That’s super lame.”

Twilight’s mouth drew into a small, taut line, but she did not rebut her new crew member.

“You should totally name it after yourself!” Pinkie suggested. “Rare… Raria? Is that it?”

“Sounds like a disease,” Rainbow commented.

“Raribellia?” Pinkie amended.

“Deadlier disease.”

“Belarus?”

Rainbow made a face. “That’s… no.”

“What about Eventide?” Rarity suggested.

Twilight gave her an odd look.

“Uh… what’s that mean?” Rainbow asked.

“Eventide,” Rarity repeated. “It’s another name for the time between night and day. A synonym for Twilight.”

“Oh, pft.” Twilight waved her hoof dismissively. “No, no. You can’t name it after me.”

“Who says I’m naming it after you?” Rarity said, a bit of her confidence returning. “Eventide is a lovely way to describe this place. It’s between science and art, between planet and space debris… it’s also about to be the furthest settled planet from Equus.”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Between civilization and the great unknown.”

Rarity allowed herself a small smile. “Precisely.”

Twilight nodded again, looking not at her student but at the brand-new planet growing nearer in the front window. She tugged on a bit of her mane with one hoof. The starlight sparked and popped in her eyes.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Rainbow?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I’m not—” Twilight bit her tongue and shook away the imminent scolding. “Nevermind. Take us down to Eventide. We have work to do.”

Chapter Four

Rarity only truly realized how much she disliked her spacesuit when faced with the length of time she might need to be wearing it.

“It might be several…” She trailed off, feeling the warm stickiness of her breath as it filled the helmet. “Erm. It might be several days before the atmosphere is breathable. Just because it’s beginning to look right doesn’t make it safe. Understood?”

Rainbow gave a sloppy faux salute, and Pinkie double-checked the seal between her helmet and the rest of her suit.

“Alright.” Rarity took another deep breath. Her voice echoed back in a way that was so utterly oppressive she could scream. “That said, we’re all going to team up to get the atmosphere in place as quickly and efficiently as possible. Anything for one minute less in this suit.”

Rainbow made a face at that.

As a pegasus (or, perhaps more importantly, as a pegasus needing use of her wings), Rainbow was strapped into a ridiculous contraption that turned her natural, agile wings into awkward things more closely resembling sails on a boat. This meant that, unfortunately, she could not fold her wings the way she was used to—she had to leave them unfurled, hanging down at her sides like the wings of a soggy paper airplane.

This was considerably worse than merely having an itch one could not scratch. Even a unicorn knew that.

Before Rarity could amend her faux pas, though, there came a small bloom of radio static in her ear.

“I like the sound of that,” Twilight said. Her voice crackled in Rarity’s ear, a sudden but not unwelcome sound that sent a chill down her spine.

Twilight was the last off the ship, striding down the platform with a sense of balance and poise that made the rest of them look like amateurs. The gravity on this little bit of rock was next to nothing, and yet Twilight seemed to swim, to glide gracefully towards them with perfectly executed strokes of her lengthy legs. Even with her wings stuck out at odd angles on her sides, she seemed elegant. Regal.

Rarity cleared her throat with a small squeak. “Right,” she said with a firm nod. “Rainbow and Twilight will be doing the actual atmospheric condensing, and Pinkie and myself will be dispensing chemicals from our pressurized stores. Everypony absolutely must remain in communication at all times. You all know how to use your comms?”

Another bright and sudden crackle as all three ponies answered the affirmative, and all four winced at the volume.

Pinkie tapped on the side of her helmet as one might ap on a fishbowl.

“Perhaps not all at once,” Rarity advised softly.

The three mares nodded in understanding.

“Good,” Rarity said. “Good. Any questions?”

Rainbow raised one hoof.

“Yes?”

“Uh, yeah.” Rainbow tried to scratch at her head, but was blocked by her helmet. “I thought this asteroid was supposed to be magical? Why does it look like a blown-out wasteland?”

Perhaps that was a fair question.

It was true—the planet wasn’t anything much to look at. It was mostly barren, pocked by the occasional rock formation which rose above the flat brown rock below. It didn’t help that the lack of atmosphere eliminated the one barrier between themselves and the rest of the universe. It was hard not to feel exposed in a place like this.

“It is,” was all Rarity could think to say. “Despite its appearance, this asteroid is magical. It carries a stronger signature that I promise I will tell you more about once we’ve done a bit of study.”

Pinkie leaned closer to Rainbow and, in history’s greatest stage whisper, hissed directly into the mic: “don’t worry. It’ll look way better with some trees.”

Rarity coughed, and Pinkie snapped back at attention. “Any other questions?”

Rainbow and Pinkie shook their heads in practically perfect unison.

Twilight, however, did not respond.

“Twilight?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Rarity asked.

She blinked. “Yes. Of course,” she said. “Um. I’ll help Rainbow get started, but I’m afraid I’m not the strongest flier.”

“No problem,” Rainbow said, giving her a hearty smack on the shoulder. “I totally got this.”

Rarity sucked in a small breath. “Yes. Yes, of course. But let’s stick with the plan, alright?”

Rainbow sighed lightly. “Okay. Sure.”

“Excellent.” Rarity puffed out her chest, and the motion only served to remind her of the constricting fabric of the suit. “Let’s begin, then.”

Rainbow, without hesitation, leapt off the ground. While flight on another planet looked almost nothing like it did on Equus, Rainbow was a champion of the technique, and managed to get airborne without much trouble.

“Give a shout when you release the kernels, ‘kay?” she asked, an adrenaline edge already creeping over her words.

“You got it, Dashie!” Pinkie agreed, bounding off to manage the air tanks.

Rainbow just flew. Back and forth and upside down, perhaps getting a feel for what flight was like in a place like this.

Though Rarity knew very little about the details of the mechanics, it was still a sight to behold; Rainbow swam through the air like the sleekest and most agile of dolphins, a slight flare of a rainbow in her wake everywhere she went.

She must have gone completely slack-jawed. Not a good look for a lady. Even a worse look when Twilight noticed it.

“She’s really good,” Twilight commented softly.

Rarity prickled at the sudden sound in her ear.

“Sorry,” Twilight apologized, a chuckle hidden in her voice. “I just—well, there’s no air resistance at all. She must only be using magic to stay in the air like that.”

Rarity cocked her head slightly. “Is that how it works? I admit, all they tell us in classes is that the pegasi can do it. They tend to gloss over the how.”

“Really?” Twilight shook her head. “I guess this is why they wanted to set you up with a mentor so bad, huh?”

Rarity snickered at that. “Perhaps.”

Twilight nodded sagely, then turned her gaze to the soon-to-be skies to watch Rainbow cross them in that strange, slow dance. “Even on Equus, pegasi flight is physically impossible. Their wings are too small to get enough lift—it’s mostly directional, both for magic and for steering. There’s a little power boost to be had, but not much.”

That certainly seemed to be true. Rainbow could hardly move her wings up and down in that ridiculous suit, let alone truly flap them the way she would if she were in the nude. Rather, she seemed to lean into her turns slightly, angling the sails at her sides just so, allowing other things to power her flight.

“But flight works based upon principles of air resistance,” Twilight continued. “Imagine trying to swim through air. You wouldn’t have any way to propel yourself, right?”

Rarity nodded. “I see. So, when there isn’t any air resistance, she loses even that?”

“Exactly.” Twilight looked down at Rarity and smiled. “It takes a lot of skill to fly without air. A lot of raw magical power. It’s the sort of thing you’ll be able to do when you get your wings.”

Rarity scoffed, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “The sort of thing I might be able to do,” she corrected. “If I get my wings.”

Twilight shrugged. “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

The pair was silent for a long moment, watching as Rainbow’s bright form passed across the darkness of space over and over. The light of the sun was strong enough that it reflected off the surface of the asteroid and illuminated the fine hairs on her stomach, turning them nearly white.

There then came a sudden burst of static in Rarity’s ear.

“Uh.” Pinkie’s voice. “You know I’ve never done this part before, right?”

Twilight and Rarity shared a look.

“I’d better get up there,” Twilight said.

“I’d better go prevent a disaster,” Rarity agreed.

They parted ways, Twilight leaping into the vacuum of space and Rarity taking long, graceless strides over the surface of the asteroid.

Of Eventide, she reminded herself.

“It’s nothing, really,” Rarity assured Pinkie over the comms. “Just like rock farming.”

She pushed off from the ground again, making good progress over the dusty terrain towards the ship. Pinkie quickly became visible past a small rock formation, and waved excitedly (or perhaps in distress—it could sometimes be difficult to tell).

“Uh… no offense, Rares, but this doesn’t look even a little bit like rock farming,” she said.

“It is!” Rarity insisted, a little bit of a giggle creeping into her voice. “Rock farming is all about teaching the soil how to make gems, correct? A little kernel of the target, a little earth pony magic to coax it in the right direction…?”

Pinkie scoffed. “I mean, there’s a lot more—”

“I promise you’ll have plenty of time to tell me the details,” Rarity cut in. “But we need to do this quickly. Atmospheric compression is exactly the same process: we release a kernel of air from home, and the pegasi use their magic to grow it into a whole new atmosphere.”

“That’s what’s in these tanks?” Pinkie asked. “Just… air?”

“Well, this one is air,” Rarity said, patting a tank labeled ‘kernel’. “We also bring along pure nitrogen and pure oxygen, in case there are defects and the balance needs to be corrected.”

“Ohhh.” Pinkie nodded. “Just like lime deposits!”

Rarity blinked. “Erm. Yes,” she said, though she hardly knew if they were similar in the least. “Sure.”

“Got it!” Pinkie agreed.

“Wonderful,” Rarity said, giving her a polite pat on the shoulder. “If you’d like to release the kernel, I’ll keep an eye on our chemical gauges to make sure our ratios are stable. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds great!” Pinkie came skidding to a halt before the tanks strapped to the side of the ship. “Just say ‘when’!”

Rarity quickly sat down, lifting one hoof to her face as she navigated to the chemical gauge readout on her televox. As expected, it currently registered next to nothing in the air itself, with the exception of some dust particles floating around.

“When!” Rarity instructed.

Pinkie twisted the dial on the side of the tank.

Despite the still silence which followed, Rarity saw the numbers on her chemical gauge begin to slowly climb.

Confused by the lack of… well, anything, Pinkie leaned forward and tapped the dial on the tank. After a moment of thought and a look of frustrated confusion, she laughed. “Oh, right!” she said. “No sound in space!”

Rarity only smiled and shook her head. “Rainbow, we’ve released the kernel,” she informed her friend over the comm.

“Right!” Triumphant, if already slightly out of breath. “This is the lowest gravity I’ve ever flown in!”

“You’re doing brilliantly!” Rarity encouraged.

“I mean, I know, but—”

“Rainbow, where do you need me?” Twilight cut in, panic rising in her voice.

Rarity nickered softly and switched the pair of them from broadcast to private. They likely didn’t even notice.

It was quiet out here.

Again, the all-consuming silence wrapped Rarity up. Silence and an unobstructed view all the way to the horizon and beyond—the Solaris system falling into a rhythm in the reaches of space. The cloud of barely-there Equus air pouring silently from its pressurized home.

Nothing but her own labored breath to keep her company, struggling against the heat and humidity of the helmet.

Nothing, that is, except for Pinkie.

She stood there, her head turned upward, watching as Rainbow and Twilight zipped overhead. Though they weren’t near supersonic, the air condensed before them, giving them that ghostly dome of white where their hooves met in front of them. Pinkie watched, jaw slack, enchanted by the sight of it.

Rarity sighed. “We got stuck with the boring bit, didn’t we?”

Pinkie just shrugged. “I dunno. I could watch them all day, I think.”

Perhaps Rarity could, too.

“Say,” Pinkie said, still watching the mares overhead. “How’d you meet Twilight, anyway?”

Rarity frowned. “Um. In school. In Canterlot,” she said. “We both went to Celestia’s school for Magical Sciences.”

“Hm,” Pinkie remarked. “That’s cool.”

“How did you know that—” Rarity paused and shook her head. “I never told you that Twilight and I knew one another before. How did you know?”

Pinkie cast Rarity a sideways glance and broke into a grin. “The way you guys talk and stuff,” she said. “You knew each other. It’s super obvious. And, even if it wasn’t, Pinkie always knows!”

Rarity chuckled. “Of course, of course.”

The light of the sun flickered and flared behind the shadow of the ship. Rarity sidestepped close to it, shielding herself even for another moment from its unrelenting orange glow.

“She’s pretty awesome,” Pinkie said. “Even for an Architect.”

Rarity scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Pinkie frowned, then shrugged. “Y’know.”

“I don’t.”

“She’s just, like…” Pinkie tapped one hoof on the ground thoughtfully. “Well. Y’know when somepony crazy famous goes on the radio and they just sound really super fake? Like somepony else wrote all their lines and they’re just all… empty?”

Rarity laughed. “I certainly do.”

“Twilight’s not like that,” Pinkie said. “She’s just… here. Y’know?”

Just here.

Flying overhead. The atmosphere at the tips of her hooves, the universe in her wake.

Just here.

“Hm.” Rarity looked upwards, watching the mares flying in great arcs over her head, condensing the gasses into denser and denser clouds, through which the sunlight shone a brilliant orange. “I think I do.”

There was a sloppy, loud burst of static in Rarity’s ear. She winced.

“I’m coming down,” Twilight said to her. “One second.”

“Oh,” Rarity remarked, unsure how else to respond. “Well—of course, yes. You can come check the—”

Rarity lost her voice as Twilight’s form passed over her, making a rocky landing after just barely missing her ear with one low-hanging hoof. She stumbled a bit. If the heaving of her chest was any indication, she was more than a little out of breath, though Rarity couldn’t hear the panting for herself.

She turned, one hoof pawing uselessly at her helmet. She looked pale.

“Twilight?”

Rarity didn’t wait for a response, just leapt over to her old friend and put a leg around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” Twilight wheezed.

“Are you alright?” Rarity asked, trying desperately to touch with any sort of comfort as Twilight sat locked away like an animal at the zoo. “You don’t look so good, darling.”

“I’m okay!” Twilight insisted, batting away Rarity’s hooves. “L-like I said. I’m not that strong a flier. Still learning the ropes, so to speak.”

“But—”

“I’m fine,” Twilight said, pulling away from Rarity’s grasp. “Why don’t you… sh-show me the chemical readout?”

With that, she collapsed into a sitting position on the rock, her wings still jutting out from her sides and hanging limply in the low gravity. She was panting heavily, of that Rarity was sure, but taking great care not to do so into the comms.

Rarity looked to Pinkie for help.

Pinkie made a face that communicated not only her lack of advice for this situation, but for any situation even remotely similar.

“Um. Sure,” was all Rarity said.

She came to stand beside Twilight and held out her foreleg. Her televox projected the percentages of a few key elements for Twilight to read.

Twilight skimmed them quickly, then nodded. “Everything looks good for now. We may need to add some more nitrogen tomorrow, though.”

Rarity nodded. “Right,” she said. “Should we, erm… should we call Rainbow down, as well?”

“What do you think?”

What did she think?

Rarity opened her mouth to answer, then quickly checked the numbers on her chemical gauge. Not much atmosphere to speak of just yet—her systems estimated less than five percent of what was needed to walk around without space suits on. She looked to the sky, and saw that Rainbow was still zipping happily back and forth across it in great arcs.

“Rainbow?” Rarity said into the comm.

“What’s up?” Rainbow replied.

“We’re going to have you keep flying a while longer. You let me know if you need to rest, and we’ll make it happen,” Rarity instructed. “Let’s aim for fifteen percent of total atmosphere in place today.”

Rainbow scoffed. “I can do way better than that!”

“You don’t need to!”

“But I can!”

“But—”

“I’ll be back when I’m back!”

Rarity sighed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she might have brought someone along who was a little less… spirited? Competitive? Whatever it was that made Rainbow want to prove herself right here, right now.

But that was silly, of course.

She looked at Twilight, head hanging, chest heaving.

Rarity cleared her throat. “Let’s go inside for a while, shall we?”

With her suit off, Twilight somehow looked even more like a drowned rat.

Perhaps it was the sweat. It does get awfully sweaty and smelly in those horrible things. Even so, Twilight seemed deflated. She sunk into one of the metal chairs by the dashboard, all but putty in the warmth of the sun, melting into a puddle before Rarity’s eyes.

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Rarity pressed.

In all honesty, her mind was everywhere at once. While she wanted to be focused on Twilight, she was watching the chemical gauge from the corner of her eye, ready to react to the smallest blip or defect.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Twilight grumbled. “I’m just tired. It’s tiring work, believe it or not.”

Rarity scoffed. “Oh, darling, I believe it,” she said. “I’m making you tea. It isn’t going to be good, since I only have recycled water and powdered tea concentrate, but it’s going to make you feel better.”

Twilight sighed deeply in complete resignation and sunk even lower into the chair.

That was good enough for Rarity.

She swept off into the back of the ship near the rations and started setting up the kettle.

“I don’t want you helping Rainbow anymore,” Rarity said.

Twilight growled softly. “I can do it!” she argued. “I just—”

“You don’t need to,” Rarity cut in. “That pony is a one-mare army. She can handle the atmosphere just fine on her own.”

Twilight grumbled something else, but its details were lost on Rarity. She decided not to pursue it any further.

The electric kettle could, at the very least, sit on the countertop now. Even imagining having to boil water in zero gravity was enough to make Rarity wince. She lit her horn and reached out to grab the kettle from its spot on the shelf.

She heard a crunch.

That was odd.

Rarity’s horn popped and fizzled out in surprise, and she looked to her right to see what she may have accidentally crushed.

There, in the spot where the kettle had once been, sat a crumpled hunk of metal.

Rarity’s brows furrowed.

She stepped forward, gazing curiously at the little tin ball.

For a moment, she thought she had been the victim of one of Pinkie’s practical jokes. A tea kettle replaced with foil, maybe? Some sort of trick polymer that crumpled with a single touch?

She bit her lip.

“Rarity, I-I really don’t want any tea,” Twilight called.

Thank goodness.

Rarity feigned a frustrated sigh. “Fine, then.”

“I’m really okay,” she repeated.

Rarity pushed off from the floor and went sailing back across the room towards Twilight. “You know, I just don’t find myself believing that.”

Twilight folded her hooves over her chest (with some effort) and sunk ever lower in her chair. “The head of a mission really shouldn’t be spending this much time doting on one crew member,” Twilight pointed out. “I can take care of myself. I push myself too far, I deal with the consequences. Rainbow and Pinkie need your help.”

“No,” Rarity said, shaking her head. “It’s not that sort of mission. Not that sort of team.”

Though she looked like she wanted to, Twilight did not respond. She just went back to staring, listless, out the window.

Rarity hovered a moment, waiting patiently for Twilight to have the last word.

But Twilight said nothing.

Instead, Rarity pulled herself forward and into the chair beside her now-begrudging mentor.

The view out the window was lit by the sun at their backs. In a way, Rarity supposed it was like a shadow—evidence that something is there, looming behind you, all through a trick of the light.

That was interesting.

The sun had no shadow.

The sun’s shadow was light.

Twilight squirmed in her seat, evidently trying to get comfortable in the metal chair.

And, as Rarity looked at her, she noticed something else that she hadn’t noticed before.

There had been an undeniable feeling of power as the crew entered the system. That feeling grew and grew the longer they were there, the more planets they set into motion, the more they breathed life into their surroundings. And, of course, the surface of the asteroid felt more powerful and alive than any place Rarity had ever been before.

But Twilight…

She had been powerful. She had given off that power in the diner, and in the ship as they moved the heavens.

Now, though, that life was gone. It had been replaced by a nothingness just like the cold reaches of untouched space.

Pinkie had been wrong.

Twilight was empty, after all.

Chapter Five

It is very difficult to track the time on an entirely new planet.

It was the one thing Rarity had not prepared for—while she had a plan for how everything would work scientifically, she had absolutely no way of meaningfully measuring time. Her televox didn’t get any sort of outsider data at this range. She had brought no clocks. She had absolutely no idea how long a trip around the sun was for this little rock.

After some time, the not-knowing was becoming like an itch to Rarity, and she decided to time it. Though this was more difficult than she had anticipated, she eventually found that one Eventide day was about half as long as one Equus day.

So, for her to be as tired as she was each Eventide night, she had to be doing at least twice the work.

Perhaps the mathematics didn’t quite work out, but Rarity found some kernel of truth in that concept, and it was often how she thought of herself and her work.

Much of it was monotonous.

Little of it was adventurous.

But all of it was necessary.

And today, Rarity would think back on each of those moments deemed unworthy to take her first breath on her new planet.

“Don’t be nervous,” Twilight said. “We did all the calculations, checked and double-checked your measurements. The worst that can happen is it might, um… it might not smell very good.”

Rarity scoffed. “I do believe I can manage.”

She couldn’t.

If her new planet, her first planet, her own planet, had even a whiff of foul odor, Rarity was going to be completely devastated.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like.

The new sky burned bright orange, a perpetual sunset on the planet named for dusk. A perfect match. Rarity imagined the way a sunset in the fall smelled on Equus—the heavy scent of the leaves, that bit of chill in the air, an unexpected warm breeze carrying smoke from a nearby bonfire. A full, hearty, deep smell. Even the memory of it wrapped her up in a comforting embrace.

She opened her helmet.

It hissed. Things hissed here now because there was air. Things made sound. How she had missed it.

The smell rolled in quickly and quietly.

It wasn’t an autumn sunset, but it wasn’t a garbage dump either.

It was dust. A dusty road in the desert, perhaps. Or in the woods. That hard-packed, dry soil and sand that kicks up around your hooves as you trot down the marked trail. There was no scent of leaves, because there were no trees.

Not yet.

Pinkie was the next to bound out of the ship and pop her helmet off, followed closely by Rainbow Dash. The pair of them took deep breaths, admiring the freshness of air unbothered by other ponies.

“Wow,” Rainbow said. “Y’know, you do the drills, but they don’t come close to how it feels to do it for real.”

“You should all be very proud of your work so far,” Twilight said, stepping forward from the ship. “This is going to be a beautiful little planet.”

“Once we plant some trees, it sure will!” Pinkie said.

Rainbow scoffed. “Do you not see the color of the sky right now?” she asked, gesturing boldly to the horizon.

Pinkie shrugged. “It’s pretty. But trees are gonna be beautiful.”

“Girls, please,” Rarity scolded. “I won’t have the two of you duking it out. We’re a team.”

Rainbow grumbled something under her breath.

“We are planting trees today, aren’t we?” Pinkie asked. “I’ve been meaning to bust out some super-cool hole-digging techniques I learned.”

Rarity wasn’t quite sure she wanted to unleash that on her shiny new planet, but she laughed and nodded. “Absolutely. Rainbow and I will be laying in the seeds, and you and Twilight will be using your earth pony magic to get them growing a little faster.”

“Yay!” Pinkie squealed, clapping her hooves together. “And we get to do it in the fresh air! Double yay!”

Rainbow sighed. "Fine. Just keep the rock talk to a minimum, okay?"

Pinkie giggled. "No deal! It's my turn to geek out!"

Rainbow looked to Rarity for help.

"It seems more than fair to me," Rarity said simply.

Pinkie let loose a bounce that sent her higher than the roof of the ship—an impressive feat, even with the reduced gravity. "Woo-hoo! Everything's comin' up Pinkie!"

Meanwhile, Twilight continued to struggle out of her suit, the awkward flaps around her wings catching in a number of difficult and uncomfortable angles.

"Let me help you with that," Rarity said, rushing forward. "Twilight, are you feeling alright today? Ever since the atmosphere, I've been nervous about—"

"I'm fine!" Twilight chirped back. "No worries at all."

That felt like a lie, but Rarity found that she couldn't exactly press it. What was she meant to say, anyway? That she had noticed Twilight's pale skin and general dizziness? That Twilight's condition should be cared for at a hospital conveniently located a hundred lightyears away?

That she knew she was getting weaker?

It was all in the energy. As the system's energy spun up and up and up, Twilight appeared to be winding down. A pony hemorrhaging energy out into the universe. Leaking power. Bleeding out.

But how could she say it?

Rarity only cleared her throat gently and politely.

She didn't push.

"Alright," she said, as she always did, gathering the attention of her crew. "The seeds are on the ship. Twilight and Pinkie will likely need to work ahead of us, as well, to part the stone. Why don't you two get started while I help Rainbow fetch the seeds?"

"Yes, sir, Rarity, sir!" Pinkie said.

Before Rarity could get another word out, Pinkie launched herself into the air, another incredible leap with ridiculous height. As she came down, she pointed her forehooves ahead of her, and drove into the stony crust of the asteroid.

A loud cracking sound rang out, something like the sound of splitting logs, and Pinkie withdrew her hooves from a divot the size of a bowling ball.

"Ta-da!" she sang.

Twilight's face went white. "Uh. I think I'm going to stick to some more… surface methods," she murmured.

Pinkie shrugged. "Suit yourself!"

With that, she went leaping away, forehooves plunging into the surface of the stone over and over again, leaving miniature craters in her wake.

"You should come with, Rarity," Twilight said. "I know the focus with Architects is the wings and the horn, but earth pony magic is just as important."

Rarity's ears perked. "Oh! That would be wonderful! Rainbow, do you think you can—"

"I'm on it," Rainbow said, zipping off to fetch seeds. She left a puff of dust with the subtle scent of ozone in her wake.

Twilight coughed lightly and waved the rising cloud away from her face. The dust motes, glowing orange in the sunlight and floating delicately around Twilight's snout, only served to make her all the more ethereally beautiful.

She looked at Rarity. "Ready?"

It took Rarity a long moment to ground herself again in the present moment. "Mhm."

Twilight smiled, nodded, then strode over to Pinkie's first crater in great arcing steps. Rarity scurried after her, her own grace hampered by the lower gravity.

"I'll be honest: Pinkie's definitely doing the hard work, and I'm not the best at earth pony magic," Twilight said with a little awkward chuckle. "But! In order to… y'know, actually bury the seeds, we'll need to loosen up this stone into something resembling topsoil."

“You can do that?” Rarity asked.

Twilight shrugged. “Sure. Just watch.”

She looked down at the crater between her hooves, then began to slowly rub them over the surface. As far as Rarity could tell, it wasn’t with much force—the sort of strength one might use if they were smoothing the page of a very old manuscript. The stone did not part ways beneath Twilight’s hooves they way it did under Pinkie’s (who could still be heard drilling into it with her bare hooves), but it did seem to… almost ripple.

Rarity furrowed her brow and leaned in closer, watching at the stone seemed to push and pull with Twilight’s hooves.

Twilight giggled. “Y’know when you take a stick of butter out of the fridge, but it’s too hard to spread on your toast?” she asked.

“Erm… I suppose.”

“Have you ever rubbed it between your hooves to try to heat it up?” Twilight asked, casting a glance Rarity’s way. Her hooves still worked the ground, larger and larger ripples following her motions.

Rarity tried not to laugh at that. “I’m sorry, are you saying that’s… that’s what you’re doing?”

“It’s about that technical,” Twilight said with a scoff. “You just want to keep working it until—ah-ha!”

Twilight’s vigor was renewed as the stone started to crumble beneath her hooves. It came away, a fine, rich powder, and began to fill the crater Pinkie had left behind. It wasn’t quite dirt, but it wasn’t quite stone, either.

“With Pinkie’s nurturing, this is as good as the best fertilizer on Equus,” Twilight explained. She was leaning harder into her strokes, now, sloughing off more and more of the artificial topsoil with each pass. “Neat, huh?”

Rarity reached out to touch it.

It was so fine. Not like sand or dirt at all—softer than either. Compressible and light and airy. Unlike anything that could be found at home.

“Goodness…” Rarity murmured.

Twilight only chuckled in response. “I promise, it’s not the magical feat it looks like.”

“It’s incredible,” Rarity breathed, her hoof still poking at the substance curiously. “Could you… could you show me again?”

Twilight seemed somehow surprised by that request. She pulled away from the dirt to look at Rarity, long and hard, and chuckled lightly. A little snort snuck out with it, but she didn’t try to hide it in the least.

“Tsk, what?” Rarity whined. “Is it wrong to find this interesting? I thought that was the point!”

“No!” Twilight shook her head, though her smile did not fade. “No, no. Not at all. I’m just wondering where this Rarity was the entire time we went to school together.”

Before Rarity could reply, there was a heavy thud behind her.

Rarity and Twilight whirled about to see Rainbow Dash standing above a large burlap sack.

“Rares,” she said, already out of breath, “we’re living in the future, here. Why did you pack the seeds in a bag from the dark ages?”

Rarity rolled her eyes.

Twilight giggled. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Rarity tried not to make a snide comment about that, though a small giggle of her own snuck out.

“Adorable,” Rainbow commented dryly.

Rarity whipped around and glared at her friend. “Oh, please. Spare me your tomcolt-ish disdain for affection.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You gonna help me with this giant sack?”

“Of course, of course.”

With that, Rainbow released the top of the sack, allowing it to tip forward onto the rock and spill a bit of its modest contents. Tiny seeds ran in every direction with a rushing sound that reminded Rarity of the ocean.

Rarity expertly ignored the disruption, using her magic to sweep the mess right back into the sack. “Honestly, these are nothing special. Just some seeds for hearty trees with high oxygen production,” Rarity explained, running her hoof over them. “We can drop a few seeds into each hole, as long as they’re the same kind.”

“Cool, you’re sorting ‘em,” Rainbow announced, sidling up to the first hole and holding out one hoof.

Rarity furrowed her brows. “Rainbow, I—”

“You think I can pick through those tiny things with just hooves?” Rainbow tossed back before Rarity could even finish her argument. She held her hooves up to prove her point, demonstrating their poor motor control by clapping them together a few times.

Rarity couldn't exactly argue with that. "Fine, then," she said.

She grabbed the top of the sack and dragged it over the stone towards the crater. Then, with a paddle of her magic, she shifted through the seeds and withdrew about a dozen or so birch scales, which she then poured into the hole.

It was rather mesmerizing. The tiny, woody seeds tumbled through the air so slowly, like cherry blossom petals or feathers. Low gravity and new air resistance. A fascinating combination.

Rainbow wasted no time in pushing the soil over the hole and patting it down. She did so rather erratically, with a doglike energy that made Rarity cringe away from her.

"What the heck is this stuff?" Rainbow asked, rocking back on her haunches and shaking the powder from her hoof. "It's like… it's like an already-chewed brownie."

"It's space dirt," Rarity explained dismissively, tossing some more seeds into the next hole.

"Eugh…"

Rainbow pounded her hooves against the stone a little more. Whether or not this worked to clear away the soil was unclear.

Rarity chuckled. "It's how earth ponies make soil on rocky planets. Twilight just showed me."

Rainbow gave Rarity a curious look. "No way this can actually grow stuff," she said. Then, after a moment, she added, "not that I know about growing stuff."

Rarity only shook her head and returned to her seed-sorting.

This was the sort of slow work that was missing from her years in school. Thoughtless, allowing the mind to wander—and where better to let the mind wander than another world? A new one?

Rarity poured more seeds from her magical grasp and watched their slow dance through the new air. Few would ever get to experience such a thing.

She peered down into the hole as the seeds piled up, and thought that a few more might do the trick. Without looking, she reached behind her with her magic and gave the sack a small tug up to her side.

Nothing more. So gentle.

To her surprise, the sack came flying forward, tipped over, and spilled a variety of seeds into the hole before her.

Rarity made a small sound of surprise.

That was the second time her magic had betrayed her here.

Perhaps a side effect of—

"Hey, uh…" Rainbow zipped up beside Rarity. "How's the apprenticeship thing going, anyway?"

Rarity quickly scooped the seeds out of the hole and tossed them over her shoulder, earning an odd look from her friend. "Hm?"

"Y'know, how's the whole Twilight thing?" Rainbow asked. "I dunno, I feel like you guys haven't exactly been… I dunno."

Rarity knit her brows. "Rainbow, darling, I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say."

Rainbow made a face.

"What's that?"

"What's… what?"

"The face."

"What face?"

"The—" Rarity stopped herself and took as calming a breath as she could muster. "You've been in an odd mood today. Might that have something to do with this?"

Rainbow shrugged. "You don't think she's being kinda… cagey?"

"About what?"

"About most stuff," Rainbow said. "I dunno, I guess it's easy to be blinded by all the… everything. But she won't talk about her alicornhood and Architect stuff at all."

Rarity blinked. "Well, of course she does," she said. "She was just talking with me about the soil."

Rainbow sighed. "Not, like, science stuff," she whined. "Like—I mean, it's been just the four of us on this planet for days, and all I know about her personally is that she went to school with you and she doesn't like green tea."

Rarity rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Surely you're exaggerating."

"I'm not!" Rainbow argued, stomping her hoof on the stone. "Has she told you anything about what happened between when you knew her as a foal and now?"

Rarity opened her mouth to reply, to spit back something clever and perhaps slightly vitriolic, but nothing came to her.

She faltered. Stuttered a bit.

"See?" Rainbow pointed at her accusingly. "That's weird, right?"

Rarity shook her head. "I'm not sure what's gotten into you, Rainbow," she muttered. She looked down into the sack and once again began to sift through the seeds. "It's perfectly alright for Twilight to want some privacy. She's never been much of a sharer, anyway."

Rainbow made another face. A grimace of frustration with a dash of sympathy.

Perhaps she just didn't have the words for what she was trying to say. Perhaps she couldn't call forth the right way to say 'you know that's not what it is. You know this is weird. You're smarter than this.'

Or perhaps she knew her face said it all for her.

"It doesn't matter," Rarity said simply.

"But do you feel like you're, like… learning?" Rainbow asked. "Isn't that the point? How can you learn if she only talks to you about stuff from classes anyway?"

That was an interesting point.

Rarity hesitated again.

"Just think about it, okay?" Rainbow said.

"Mm," Rarity grunted. "I mean—nothing to think about."

"Whatever," Rainbow muttered. "Shouldn't've brought it up I guess."

Rarity didn't say a word. She quietly poured seeds into the stone below, watched them tumble through the new air and into the new earth.

"I'll go… fill in holes, I guess," Rainbow said.

She turned and trotted back in the other direction.

Rarity had learned plenty.

Twilight had taught her all sorts of things. She had guided her through moving the heavens, the skies, and the earth. She had been by her side every step of the way. She had offered wisdom and support every day, always in kind and humble words, with gentle embraces and warm smiles to celebrate the successes and work through the failures alike.

So why was Rarity having so much trouble recalling anything of substance at all?

As she poured in hoofful after hoofful of seeds into Pinkie’s craters, Rarity did her best to recall anything Twilight had taught her that couldn’t be found in a textbook. All those details about atmospheric composition, the cute analogies to help her understand things outside of her discipline—those were facts. They weren’t lived experiences.

Certainly not the lived experiences of one of the only alicorns in existence.

But, surely. Surely there must be something.

Surely this was only a result of Twilight’s own nervousness and humility, not a deliberate attempt to obfuscate.

Wasn’t it?

Before Rarity could align her thoughts properly, she heard a light coughing off in the distance. Instinctually, she looked up, and spotted Twilight’s silhouette on the horizon.

“Twilight?” Rarity called into the empty distance. “Are you alright, dear?”

And she saw it again: the limpness of Twilight’s form, the paleness of her face, the trudge in her step. She felt it, too. Felt that vacuum inside of her. That empty space where the magic should have been, where the kindness and the humility and the love and the warmth should have been.

Twilight, of course, did not respond. She only kept trudging along.

Rarity looked back over her shoulder at Rainbow, who only shrugged and continued her task.

Considering this permission to run off, Rarity released her grip on the sack of seeds and set off at a gallop to meet her mentor.

“Twilight!” Rarity called again. “You look dreadful! What happened?”

Twilight scoffed. “Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, I only meant—” Rarity stopped herself, one hoof on twilight’s shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. “Actually, Twilight, that’s precisely what I meant. Do you feel alright?”

“I’m fine,” Twilight wheezed, waving away Rarity’s touch.

“Do you need to go lie down on the ship?” Rarity asked. “I-I could help you set up the new quarters! I know we said we’d do it yesterday, but—”

“I’m fine!” Twilight repeated, this time forcing a chuckle to mask how out-of-breath she sounded. “Honest. I just tired myself out! I don’t have Pinkie’s energy. Or Rainbow’s, for that matter.”

That’s what she said, anyway. The way she leaned into Rarity told something of a different story.

“Let’s just get you inside,” Rarity said hurriedly.

It was easy enough to steer her weak friend towards the ship. Twilight didn’t have much strength to be fighting against anyone’s hospitality, let alone Rarity’s. The pair crossed the stone, enjoying the fresh air yet shivering in the unexpected depth of the silence which surrounded them.

“I’m really okay,” Twilight said again, as if Rarity might finally believe her this time. “There’s things to do. Terraforming doesn’t stop just because I’m a little tired.”

“Tsk.” Rarity shook her head as she lowered Twilight into a cushioned seat. “Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash are more than capable. And you’re more than a little tired.”

Twilight grumbled something in reply, but didn’t seem keen to truly argue. Instead, she hung her head, and allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she tried to regain her energy.

Rarity hopped up into a chair across from Twilight’s. She had learned after the first few near-collapses that Twilight preferred not to be waited on, and steadfastly refused anything offered to her while she wasn’t feeling well. Rarity thought she had tracked this to a sort of stoicism, but she was beginning to suspect more and more it was born of sheer denial.

“Did they ever tell you what to do when this happens?” Rarity asked.

Twilight looked up and opened her tired eyes a crack. “Hm?” she grunted. “Who?”

“The ponies who turned you into an alicorn,” Rarity said. “Did they ever give you any advice on how to recover when you’re feeling a little… ragged?”

Twilight scoffed lightly. “No.”

“Then you are feeling a little ragged?”

“No!” Twilight argued. “No. I’m alright.”

“Fine.”

Rarity once again allowed silence to overtake them. Only the ship’s far-off air conditioning could be heard whining softly to cool the room.

“Say you were feeling a little run-down,” Rarity said.

Twilight hung her head once more.

“What could I do about it?” Rarity asked. “As the mission leader, I think it’s only right that I know how to help you in a medical emergency.”

“There’s no medical emergency.”

“A magical one, then.”

“There’s no—” Twilight stopped herself. She took a slow breath and tried to relax, but only ended up looking like a wax statue left in the sun. “Rarity, I’m the first truly artificial alicorn. The ponies who made that happen don’t know any better than you do what that means for me medically.”

Rarity swallowed. “What about Cadance?”

“Cadance had alicorn blood,” Twilight reminded her. “She was going to be one eventually. It was just a… a sped-up process.”

“Mm,” Rarity replied.

“But, like I told you, I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not that great with my magic yet. I told you that much. Sometimes I just get wiped.”

Rarity sighed lightly.

“I need you to accept that,” Twilight pressed.

Rarity huffed. “But I—”

“No buts!” Twilight countered. “I—look, Rarity, I enjoy working with you and all, but you need to take my word for it that I’m telling the truth. And, even if I wasn’t, you need to accept that some of your team members are going to need to make sacrifices for the greater good of the group. You’ll be lucky if it’s something as simple as feeling a little tired.”

“I won’t accept that,” Rarity spat back.

It was quick. Bitter. It echoed through the deadly silent ship and came to a rest at Twilight’s hooves. She looked upon them with disdain.

Twilight gave her a look. A long, hard, cold one. “You won’t accept my word?”

“I won’t accept team members making sacrifices!” Rarity countered, her exasperation clear as she pounded one hoof on the grate below. “This isn’t that sort of mission! It isn’t life and death, it’s a research mission, plain and simple. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone to be treating themselves like—”

“This is what’s expected,” Twilight said firmly. “I mean, look at me!”

Twilight flared her wings in a sudden and violent display of color and power. Though she was running on empty, the size and impression of those wings would have been enough to spook a lesser pony into quietude. It reminded Rarity a bit of a songbird puffing its feathers to intimidate a predator.

“All of this is for the work,” Twilight said. “It’s just research now, but it may very well be life and death someday soon.”

Rarity could not look at her. She kept her eyes trained dutifully on a spot just above them, to give the impression of attention without truly paying it.

“This is serious, Rarity,” Twilight continued. “You can’t keep coddling me and pestering me like this. It’s not acceptable behavior for a mission captain.”

“Oh?” Rarity scoffed. “Or what?”

Twilight’s face went stony. “Or you’re not going to get your wings.”

Chapter Six

The atmosphere on Eventide changed after that.

Not just from the addition of the trees, though that was at least a pleasant change. And not from the new scents introduced by the work—the construction of a laboratory, Pinkie’s diligent tending of the trees, and Rainbow’s introduction of rain all brought depth and nuance to the once one-note bouquet of the new planet.

In a word, the atmosphere had become professional.

There’s nothing strictly wrong with professionalism. In fact, most ponies would argue that a professional atmosphere is the most appropriate type for the sort of goals this group had. But ‘most appropriate’ was by no means ‘best’, and this all but proved the rule.

Rarity had been giving Twilight an understandable cold shoulder. Twilight had given Rarity an equally understandable cold shoulder in return. Both mares were, however, incredibly stubborn, and so refused to discuss their friction with the other members of the research team, leading to more friction.

“Did something happen between you and Twilight?” Pinkie had hissed to Rarity one lazy Eventide afternoon. “I noticed you girls are talking about sixty-two percent less often than usual.”

Rarity had given Pinkie an odd look. “There’s no chance you’ve actually measured it.”

“Don’t doubt my abilities!” Pinkie had snapped back. “And… are you saying something did happen?”

Likewise, Rainbow had been putting on the pressure. Always begging for updates on the education, asking Rarity for pointed pieces of advice, hiding her suspicion in every conversation the pair had. Chipping at the wall with a sewing needle, and just annoying enough to shut Rarity down completely.

“What was Twilight like when you were younger?”

“Is Twilight doing okay? She looks pale.”

“Why don’t you go work with Twilight in the lab today?”

More and more dismissive answers faded to harsh looks, which then faded to total neglect of the questions entirely.

Less and less questions. Less and less talking. Less and less Twilight.

Until, at long last, all that remained on Eventide was the work.

It was easy enough to keep on without the friendship and camaraderie. Each member of the crew continually invented new tasks to complete—Rainbow pushed for a complete weather cycle, Pinkie tried grafting fruit branches onto her trees so the crew could have 'native fruits', and Rarity and Twilight threw themselves into chemical and magical analysis of the asteroid itself, while doing their best to avoid each other’s shifts.

It became a sort of dance. A twisted tango by which Twilight and Rarity dodged one another at every turn, an excuse for leaving always on the tip of their tongues.

“I need to collect more crust samples from the pole.”

“Pinkie needs help training saplings.”

“Rainbow Dash wants to consult about the cloud layer.”

When one or both mares did find themselves in the laboratory, an almost dreamlike distance held the place at leg’s length from its inhabitants. Untouched, yet not in the way the asteroid had been. Rather than the wild blue yonder laden with possibility, the laboratory was willfully constrained. No matter how much work was done here, it wouldn't be home—wouldn't be comfortable in the least—until there was a warmth of friendship and shared misery built there.

But there wasn't.

And so it remained cold and empty.

This day was no different. In fact, as Rainbow Dash worked outside to perfect the acidic balance of Eventide's rain, the inside of the laboratory grew icier than ever before.

Rarity shuddered as a puff of steam rose from her snout. The rain pounded on the roof of the lab in concentrated bursts, a bit like lightning, as Rainbow made her careful changes and kicked new samples from the clouds.

Rat-a-tat.

Then silence.

Rat-a-tat.

Rarity wondered briefly if she should request that the testing occur elsewhere, but ultimately decided against it. The last thing she wanted was to go out in the cold. Instead, she pulled on an altogether unnecessary lab coat, in the vain hope that its cheap fabric would protect her from the cold.

"Not sure why you're wearing that," Twilight quipped as she came gliding into the room.

Rarity spared her only a momentary glance between precise drops of water on her crystalline subject. "It's rather cold in here."

Twilight hummed. "Someone should look into that,” she said.

Pointed.

My turn. Go busy yourself elsewhere.

Only Rarity wasn’t quite in the mood to play games today. "Yes," she agreed. "Someone should."

Twilight did not reply.

She crossed the room in just a few strides. Each carried her in a long, low arc, as if gravity were ignoring her more than usual today.

Without another word, Twilight set about her own analysis—rummaging through the variety of samples in the lab's drawers, pulling chunks of stone and crystal out into her workspace, and gathering a great variety of glass utensils from all directions at once.

There came another sheet of rain. A percussive rat-a-tat on the roof. Echoing through the room.

Rarity cleared her throat. “We should start thinking about bringing other researchers here fairly soon,” she said. “There’s only so much you and I can truly accomplish on our own.”

You want space so badly, I’ll just put someone else between us.

“We have Pinkie and Rainbow,” Twilight said simply. “Just train them on the instruments if you feel like you need the help.”

Sounds like you don’t know what you’re doing.

Rarity set her jaw. “Now, that isn’t what I said at all,” she said firmly. “I only mean that—well, there are only so many hours in the day. So much less here than anywhere else. We’d be on our way to a real scientific breakthrough so much faster if—”

“This is the work,” Twilight said stiffly. “This is the way it is.”

For once, that was almost precisely what she really meant.

She did not move. Her pipette hovered over her sample, ready to dispense once her mind caught up.

Rarity considered this the end of civil conversation and returned, still flushed in frustration, to her work.

The stone sample which sat on the lab bench before her seemed almost to leer up at her, mocking her for her ineptitude in dealing with difficult coworkers.

Memories were beginning to come back to Rarity, if she were honest. Less golden, sunshine-y times back in Canterlot. The way Twilight’s drive had mixed with her anxieties into an impenetrable mass of porcupine quills which she puffed up at any passerby. To call her ‘prickly’ would have been an understatement.

“Is this where you thought you’d be?” Rarity murmured.

Twilight furrowed her brow, and risked a glance up from her work. “What?” she asked, short and angry. “What’re you talking about?”

“This,” Rarity said, gesturing to the lab. “You know, all of it. Is this where you thought you’d be?”

“When?”

“When we knew each other before,” Rarity said. Her eyes remained focused on her work. “I don’t know. As driven as you were, I don’t feel like I ever knew your direction. I’m sure you had one.”

Twilight was quiet for a long moment, then scoffed. “Why does it matter? Why are you even asking?”

“Because,” Rarity replied. “I’m just trying to remember what we were like back then.”

“You mean what I was like back then” Twilight corrected. “I was jaded then, too. That’s what happens when you’re young and anxious.”

Rarity sucked in a small breath. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Twilight sighed. “Well, it is,” she said. “And… no. This isn’t where I thought I'd be. For a lot of reasons.”

Her wings seemed to shudder at her sides as she pulled them in a little closer.

“Where did you think you’d be?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, Twilight, you’re clearly unhappy,” Rarity said. “I’m not blind. I simply want to know what can be done to—”

“There’s nothing to be done!” Twilight shot back.

Her pipette dropped to the counter.

Rarity said nothing. Her legs trembled as she fought the urge to step away from the alicorn before her; Twilight had her wings flared and her head raised in defiance, though her own hooves seemed just as uncertain as her student’s.

“I mean—look, I get the romanticization of all of this, but it’s not how they make it look!” Twilight went on. “I know they load you onto those big ships and sail you out into space with this stupid promise that you’re gonna be some—some pioneer, but everyone wants to be a pioneer! And everyone can’t be a pioneer!”

Rarity stood her ground. She held her tongue.

There came another splatter of rain on the roof of the lab, followed by a great, wide nothing.

The silence closed in on Twilight. She seemed to take it to heart, and lowered her voice when she next spoke. “It’s tedious. And, when it’s not tedious, it’s dangerous,” she explained. “We’re in the ‘here be dragons’ part of the map.”

Silence, still.

Rarity held her gaze with Twilight as long as she could manage, until Twilight finally seemed to tire of its edge and turned mutely back to her work.

Only then, when Twilight had the pipette in her trembling magic once more, did Rarity say, “I don’t understand why you’re treating me this way.”

Twilight drew in a quick deep breath and held it. “Treating you what way?”

“This way,” Rarity said, stomping lightly on the tiles beneath her hooves. “Like a foal who doesn’t know better. Like all of this is suddenly worthless.”

It was Twilight’s turn to stew in silence, though she kept her eyes glued to her work.

“When we first arrived, your eyes were just as starry as mine,” Rarity said, her words sharp-edged as they flew from he lips. “Even back then! All that time we spent dreaming of a voyage into space, all those hours crowded around the radio…”

One of those golden images.

It made Twilight falter.

“And now you act so above it all,” Rarity accused. “What changed? What makes you think you’re so much better than me?”

“I don’t think I’m better than you!” Twilight argued back, her voice close to breaking, her face twisted into a grimace. “I am you!”

Her expression held there for a moment, tears springing up in her eyes as she glared at her student. Then, as if suddenly realizing what words had tumbled out of her mouth, the anger melted to surprise.

Rarity clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Just what is that supposed to mean, Twilight?”

“Nothing,” Twilight said, turning back to her work. She sniffled lightly and rubbed the back of one foreleg under her eye. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Are you saying I’m willfully ignorant?” Rarity pressed. “That I don’t understand the dangers of exploring deep space? Or does this all come back to my designs being too kitschy for you?”

Twilight shook her head. “No.”

“I hope this isn’t about Rainbow Dash and Pinkie.” Rarity stepped forward, and Twilight leaned away from her. “I understand they’re not exactly your type of pony, but they work hard! They’re intelligent! Don’t think I didn’t catch that veiled insult about teaching them the instruments, I—”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Twilight said through clenched teeth. “And that wasn’t a veiled insult. Just forget it.”

“I will not!” Rarity shouted, pounding her hoof on the tile. “You’re hiding something from me! You have been since practically the day we landed! And… and as mission leader, it is my duty to know—”

“You’re a pioneer!” Twilight blurted out.

Rarity barely managed to stop her frustrated rambling in time to hear her. “Excuse me?”

Twilight took a deep breath. “You’re a pioneer. That’s what we have in common. Leaving things behind to do…” She looked up, as if searching for a word, only to gesture vaguely to the ceiling. “This.”

Another splatter of rain on the roof.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

“Go on,” Rarity said.

“I…” Twilight grit her teeth, then at last set her pipette down beside her samples and turned to face Rarity. “Listen. You gave up fashion for this, didn’t you? Even though it was a perfectly viable career. You gave it up.”

Rarity gave a half-hearted shrug. “I suppose.”

“Why?”

Why?

Why, indeed?

Could it be explained?

Rarity scoffed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you do,” Twilight said. “You gave up a perfectly stable, lucrative career on your home planet to kick rocks around on a barren asteroid and live in an empty city. Why?”

“Why not?” Rarity muttered.

“That’s not what I meant,” Twilight said. “Why the risk? Why the danger? Are you just an adrenaline junkie or something? Why would you give up—”

“Because someone had to!”

Silence.

Then rain.

Then silence again.

Rarity bit her lip. “Someone had to, Twilight. You know that,” she said. “It’s not the sort of job we had ponies waiting in the wings for. Someone had to give something up.”

“And you decided it would be you,” Twilight finished.

Rarity cleared her throat lightly. “Yes.”

“That’s why we’re alike,” Twilight said. “Because I decided it would be me, too.”

She said it with weight. It was a heaviness that Rarity couldn’t quite place, and hesitated to apply a meaning to.

“Well,” Rarity said softly. “We’ll just have to be pioneers together, then. It can’t possibly be—”

“Rarity, I’m dying.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

An admission like that could stop the world itself. Could halt motion of the planets, could stop the wind from blowing, could turn out the sun and the stars and everything out there. Could plunge everything into darkness forever.

At least, that’s the way it feels to hear that someone you care for is dying.

Usually, though, the world spins on. Life goes on, even as the one pony you thought you could always count on being there is dying, because that is how the world works.

But here, on a new planet at the edge of the known universe, the wind did not blow anyway. The night sky was dark and still because it hadn’t started yet, not half of it. And, if Rarity had really wanted to, she could have brought this world to a screeching halt.

She didn’t.

Instead, she blew up all of the glass in the room.

There was a magnificent popping sound as all of the beakers exploded, all at once, followed by the steady, icy sound of glass tinkling down to the tile below, liquid pouring after it. All of it in slow motion. Like time was coming to a stop.

Twilight squeaked in terror and surprise.

“Oh,” was all Rarity said.

Twilight lifted one hoof gingerly away from the spill around her, and quickly found that there wasn’t a better place to put it. “Someone had to be the first artificial alicorn,” she said, hardly more than a whisper. “One without the lineage, without the bloodline. And I thought it should be me.”

“Oh,” Rarity said again.

“It’s—it wasn’t on p-purpose,” Twilight stuttered. “The process just isn’t right yet. And I feel it… whenever I use magic that wasn’t mine in the first place, I feel it. Just… I don’t know. Just—”

“Emptiness?”

Twilight hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“And sickness?”

“Yes. And sickness.”

“And you’re sure that—”

“It’s eating me up, Rarity,” Twilight said. “Whether I use the magic or not. Every day I just get a little bit… heavier.”

More rain.

“And I’m tracking it!” Twilight said, feigning cheer and positivity. “I’m taking down all of this data, so that no one else has to go through this. So that, someday, artificial alicorns will work.”

Rarity nodded.

“And I just… I’m not sentencing you to this,” she said. “I can’t. Not until it’s perfect, and I know you’re safe.”

Rarity breathed.

Just breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. Her voice was thick with uncried tears. “I’m sorry I kept it from you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The lab was silent.

Rarity wanted to be angry.

She wanted to be furious. So many lies. So much spite and vitriol covering for a special sort of condescending sympathy. How could Twilight not even attempt to explain this to her? How dare she suffer in silence, pushing off every offer of help and kindness given to her?

She wanted to think those things.

But she couldn’t.

Strangely enough, there was only one thought in Rarity’s mind at that moment:

I need time to stop.

And, when time kept marching on, when Twilight lurched towards her student in a clumsy offer of comfort, Rarity turned and ran.

Blueprints had a particular smell.

It was one Rarity had not smelled in a long time. One that took her back to the campus on Aurora, where the gravity wasn’t so unusual and the sky glowed orange and the city was just like home.

It wasn’t a bad smell. In fact, it made Rarity’s heart flutter with that same sort of excitement she had felt so long ago, standing under that streetlight, imagining the wealth of opportunity ahead of her.

“Uh… explain this to me again?” Rainbow asked, scratching her head with one hoof. “We’re building a planet on the edge of a black hole? Why?”

“Well, a black hole is many things,” Rarity mused. “But one of its more envied properties is time dilation.”

“Okay…” Rainbow squinted at the blueprint again. “Huh?”

“Black holes eat time!” Pinkie explained. “So you get less time per time, and time goes slower when you’re near one. C’mon, Dashie, keep up!”

“And why do we want that, exactly?” Rainbow asked, this time addressing Rarity directly. “I thought the point was to make time feel longer on the vacation planet. More time per… time, I guess. Why would you want to make it feel shorter?”

“You wouldn’t,” Rarity said. “Not for a vacation.”

Rarity ran her hoof over the list of coordinates on her plans, made a quick mental note, and allowed the blueprint to snap shut once more. She then lifted it in her magic and rolled it up as tight as she could, before slipping it back in its case and tucking it away.

“Was she always this cryptic?” Rainbow asked Pinkie.

Pinkie merely shrugged.

“Girls, I’m entering some coordinates into the nav system,” Rarity informed her team as she typed away on her televox. “We need to get moving, alright? No time like the present.”

“Yessir!” Pinkie cried, leaping into her seat. “Next stop: black hole!”

“Not yet” Rarity corrected. “We’ll be passing a very small, cold system rather soon and nicking a small moon. No one will miss it.”

Rainbow gave Rarity a suspicious look, but strapped herself into the pilot’s seat anyway. “Alright, fine. We’re gonna throw a moon into a black hole,” Rainbow said. “How exactly do you plan on moving a moon? You still don’t have your wings.”

“I don’t need them,” Rarity said simply.

This was all she offered, and so the other mares in the cockpit merely traded a confused look and pressed ahead. In this rare moment of silence, Rarity allowed herself to drift backward, settling into a strictly observational position as the ship cut silently through the emptiness ahead.

It was difficult, for many reasons, not to think of Eventide.

It was difficult for Rarity not to ultimately consider it a failure, since its abandonment had little to do with the concept or her management ability. Other things had gotten in the way.

It was just as difficult not to dwell on the way she had left things, though there really wasn’t any other choice. Rarity had never been one for the Sirish goodbye… but a quick and painless departure was, in this case, the only option.

It was difficult to consider what might happen when her supervisors discovered that Eventide had been abandoned. Though, to be fair, Rarity wasn’t entirely certain who that was, and figured that it may be a few months before any such discovery was made.

And, of course, it was difficult to ignore the piece of her new planet that stuck with her.

She had noticed it slowly. Day by day, short as they were on Eventide, Rarity felt herself changing. A crushed tea kettle here. Spilled seeds there. Glass popping. Energy humming within her. A little at a time, unnoticeable even to her as she went about the monotonous little things that made up life on a research outpost.

But, every now and then, something would snap. Rarity would do something she’d never be able to do before.

The closest thing to it was gravity. Not gravity itself, but the effect it had on a pony—the way one couldn’t truly feel its strength without leaving it behind. There was always a lightness to leaving a planet behind as its gravitational grip finally released, and this felt just the same.

An impossible lightness.

A power and she hadn’t known until she’d left its source behind.

She was sure she could do it now. Move a moon, that is. Sure as she was that she would feel the heaviness of gravity tugging her down to its surface.

“Rarity?” Pinkie said, her torso twisted to look around the back of her seat.

It took Rarity a long moment to come out of her thoughts. “Yes?”

“We’re almost there,” she said. “Are you sure you—”

“I’m sure.” Rarity pulled herself forward, peering out the front window at the tiny moon before them. “Take us in. We have work to do.”

Chapter Seven

This little ship was starting to feel like a home all its own. Perhaps even more so than Eventide.

All the zig-zagging across the universe had made this Rarity’s most constant dwelling these tumultuous months. And, where Eventide often felt distantly alien, the ship had a comforting familiarity and age. Same old metal grate beneath her hooves. Same squeaky, sticky seats which didn’t fit her quite right. Same stickers on Pinkie’s half of the console.

It’s possible that, had she been stronger, Twilight would have made an effort to look a little less at peace with her sudden foalnapping. But she was tired. Tired all the time. Tireder all the time.

She had put up a fair bit of a fight, of course. Yelling and digging in her hooves and trying to close her door in Rarity’s face. Perhaps that was one of those hidden dangers of living on an empty planet—yelling in public was no longer a deterrent for Rarity.

Now, though, Twilight was slumped quietly in the back of the ship. She breathed slowly and consistently, if a bit rattly, and seemed transfixed by the view out the front window.

Nothing but a sea of stars.

“Is this some sort of twisted farewell tour?” Twilight asked. “Because… y’know, I’m not quite that close to death. You can give it another year or so.”

Rarity glared at her passenger. “Don’t you dare be so morbid on my ship.”

“Right, right…” Twilight muttered with a little dismissive wave of her hoof. “Sorry.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you, by the way,” Rarity said. “Just so we’re clear. This isn’t me forgiving you.”

Twilight sighed, long and low. “It’s clear.”

“Good,” Rarity said with a nod. “Because I have a zero-tolerance policy on lying.”

“That’s a good policy,” Twilight forlornly agreed. “Can you please tell me where we’re going?”

Rarity chuckled dryly. “You won’t catch me on a technicality. It isn’t lying if I simply don’t tell you.”

“Is it someplace tourist-y? Because you know I hate that.”

“No comment.”

“It’s not one of those wellness retreats, is it?” Twilight all but whined. “I just—I always feel so awkward. Don’t you?”

“I do not feel awkward,” Rarity agreed. “No further comment.”

Twilight let out a low growl and sunk lower in her seat. “Fine. Are we there yet?”

“Very nearly.”

“Can’t this thing go any faster?”

“Darling, I understand you’re still angry with me, but you really might want to enjoy the view,” Rarity said, without even a hint of exasperation. “Take my word for it.”

Twilight didn’t reply.

She squirmed in her seat a bit, and perhaps even thought about talking back a few more times, but ultimately went quiet and watched the universe go by.

It was a wonderful thing. Even the worst trips were made beautiful when you could watch the universe go by. All those colors. All those stars. The deep swirls of violet and royal blue, even the occasional red or green or pink. The greatest abstract painting there ever was or ever would be. A representation of life and triumph, but also the crushing size of it all. The overwhelming endlessness of the universe and its mysteries.

Twilight watched it. Her eyes locked on to star after star, planet after planet, blips and swirls and lights here and there, carrying her to her destination in relative silence. Only the humming of the engine.

When the nav system began to beep, pulsing like the heart of a songbird, Rarity stalled the ship to a near perfect stillness.

It took Twilight a long moment to realize that this was not, in fact, part of a landing procedure. “We’re stopped?”

“I can’t go down with you,” Rarity said. “I’ll need to send you down on your own. So I’m going to talk to you up here. Is that alright?”

Twilight looked around, much in the way someone might search for loved ones preparing to leap out and properly begin a surprise party. “I don’t… what’s going on?”

Rarity sucked in a deep breath, clapped her forehooves together, and said, “you’re dying.”

Though it took Twilight a moment to register the phrase, she actually laughed when she did. “Yes. I remember.”

“But you aren’t dead yet,” Rarity said, a hoof raised as if giving a lecture. “And, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but acting as if you are is utterly unbecoming.”

Twilight’s ears flattened against her head. “Where are you going with this?”

“When I was studying on Aurora, I was working on two projects in tandem,” Rarity explained. “I always had trouble deciding which I like better: the Diamond Planet, a research utopia, or the Vacation Planet, a simple little place which would be placed in orbit around a magical anomaly to speed time up. In short, it could make a vacation longer without wasting real time.”

“Uh-huh…” Twilight mumbled with suspicion.

“In the end, I chose the Diamond Planet. Eventide, that is. A little less diamond than I’d planned,” Rarity said, a little bit of a giggle lifting her words. “But those plans for a planet where time moves faster… I kept those. I figured I might need them someday.”

Rarity turned and withdrew the blueprint case from behind her. She only did this to wave it about, to prove to Twilight that she’d kept it around, but she ended clutching it to her chest as she continued to explain.

“When you told me you were dying, that the magic was eating you up, I wanted time to stop,” Rarity said. “I wanted everything to stop until I could figure out how to fix it. I went over all of my old notes and textbooks, just in case there was something inside that might help. And I found these plans. And I made some changes.”

Twilight was quiet. She stared at Rarity, eyes wide, gears whirring in those pupils as she tried to put the pieces together herself.

“It was very simple, really. Rather than speed time up, I needed to slow time down. I needed to put you in a sort of stasis until I could find the cure,” Rarity went on. “So I… I made you a planet, Twilight.”

She nodded. Very small and understated. Just to her left, out the front window.

Twilight, weak as she was, leapt out of her seat and floated to the front of the cockpit.

The moon, a tiny stolen thing, was lush and green. From this distance, it looked almost exactly like a miniature version of Equus. Patches of green, swaths of blue, all of it marbled together across a galactic marble orbiting a black hole.

“You… how?”

Rarity smiled. A sad sort of smile. “Eventide,” she said. “There’s something there. Magic. I think it could be the key to curing you, though I honestly have no idea where to begin.”

She hung her head and laughed.

Twilight’s lips parted as she tried to form a coherent thought, but she came up empty.

“I don’t know how long it will take us to find the answer,” Rarity admitted. “But here, your disease will move much much slower, and you won’t need to use your alicorn magic. It’s a vacation. A nice place.”

Twilight pulled herself even closer to the window. “Where did you learn to do this?”

Rarity laughed. “The technique? Schooling, of course,” she said. “But the idea? You.”

“No.” Twilight shook her head. “No, I didn’t teach you this.”

“I’m not sure that you intended to. In fact, I’m fairly certain you intended the opposite,” Rarity said, laughter still nipping at her words. “You made a sacrifice. But you were wrong; a good leader would never abandon a team member. Especially not one that had sacrificed so much.”

Twilight was silent.

She gazed out at the empty planet, one hoof resting on the glass between her and the rest of the universe.

“Not to mention all that talk of kernels and seeds and pioneers,” Rarity went on. “Always starting something new. They started something new with you, you know. And, since they neglected to finish it, I suppose I’ll just have to take it upon myself!” She puffed out her chest, doing her best to sound cheery and perhaps even a little theatrically pompous.

Twilight did not react.

She only stared out the window, watching the tiny planet below inch across the great void of the black hole.

“I’ll be around,” Rarity said, her voice as soft as she could manage. She came up beside Twilight and gently caressed her shoulder. “Probably more often than you’d like. Running tests and all that. For you, it will probably only be a few days between visits.”

“And for you?” Twilight asked.

Rarity smiled. Again, that sad smile. “Well. It may be a few years before we have the answer. Maybe more,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But this is a sacrifice I’m making. This is me being a pioneer.”

Twilight hung her head.

The ship purred softly, its engines still warm, ready to deliver Twilight to her temporary home. Other than that, there was only silence in the cockpit.

The light of a nearby star shone orange through the window and decorated Twilight in its glow. She leaned into it, if only slightly, relishing its warmth and its richness on her fur.

“I’m sure it’s lovely, Rarity,” she whispered. “A real work of art. But I already want to go home.”

In the near-silence, Rarity could hear the tiny plip of a tear striking the metal grate beneath her hooves. She moved in to embrace her old friend without the slightest hesitation.

Twilight accepted the embrace as quickly as it came, wrapping her own forelegs around Rarity’s back and squeezing gently in return. Though Rarity could hardly feel the pressure, she knew that it was likely every bit of strength Twilight had left in her.

“You’ll be home soon,” Rarity cooed, stroking her friend’s mane slowly and firmly. “Before you know it. Only a few weeks, really.”

“But what if you can’t help me?” Twilight asked.

She squeezed tighter.

“Well, then, I shall have to pass the work on to someone else,” Rarity replied. Her throat was hot and tight as she held back her own tears. “My student this time. And she’ll be brilliant, because I taught her how, just as you taught me. And if she can’t do it, then she’ll find another.”

A tiny sob escaped Twilight.

She squeezed tighter.

She said nothing.

She couldn’t have said anything if she wanted to.

She shook like a leaf, all of her clinging so desperately to Rarity as the pair floated slowly through space, slowly through the cockpit, slowly closer to the moon awaiting its one and only denizen. Rarity clutched her right back, holding her together with those slender forelegs.

They remained like this for a long moment. How long exactly is difficult to say.

But, eventually, the orange light of the nearby star began to slide off Twilight like a curtain. The cockpit went dark, save for the lights on the console.

Rarity said, “It’s time for you to go. I have work to do, you know.”

Twilight squeezed her friend, her student, her pioneer with everything she had. “I know you can do it,” she whispered. “You’re an artist. Do something creative and brilliant and come right back to get me.”

“I promise,” Rarity said. “I promise.”

Chapter One

The color of the twin suns shining off the river of metal below was making Rarity rethink everything.

She stared nervously out the window of the train, absent-mindedly twirling her mane with her magic, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. Beneath her, the city rushed by, a fluid thing made of metal and glass—only things which shimmered, things which fractured and twisted the light until it bounced back purple, pink, and orange. Colors so bright that Rarity thought she may have to shield her eyes.

But she couldn’t possibly.

“You’re sure it’s not too old-fashioned?” she murmured. “It’s not… not as shiny as the city, is it?”

Rainbow snorted, a sound abrasive enough to draw her away from the captivating view just before it vanished behind the walls of a tunnel.

“No, you’re totally right,” she said, fighting a smirk. “Too old-fashioned. You can redo your whole proposal before we get there, right? On a moving train?”

Rarity clenched her jaw. “Oh, nevermind,” she spat, drawing her portfolio in closer.

“Pft. Don’t listen to her,” Pinkie said. She gave Rarity a comforting nudge on the shoulder. “She just doesn’t wanna think about her exam later.”

“It’s just a technical exam!” Rainbow argued. “I-I can compress an ozone layer in my sleep!”

Pinkie rolled her eyes and returned her focus to Rarity. “I think it’s super pretty, Rarity! You always make the prettiest, coolest stuff.”

Rarity blushed. “Thank you, Pinkie. That means a lot.”

The girls were quiet once again, without even the rhythmic sound of train tracks to interrupt their thoughts. All there was to hear was a quiet and constant rushing, like a waterfall tumbling by on the other side of the tunnel.

“But… well, I still haven’t decided between the vacation planet and the diamond planet,” Rarity said, reaching for her portfolio. Her magic quickly undid the top snap on the plastic carrying case. “I was going to wait until I got there, sort of feel out the audience and choose in the moment, but—”

“But the vacation planet is so, so cool!” Pinkie squealed. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wished I could stop time to throw a really great party? Like, a billion! And you just scienced your way to the dream!”

“The planet just slows time down, Pinkie. And o-only theoretically,” Rarity was quick to correct. “Under ideal conditions. I’ve no idea how well the idea might play out in reality.”

“Yeah, see? It’s super cool, but it’s also bonkers,” Rainbow commented , her attention fixed to the device on her foreleg. “She’s gonna get a ton of hard questions on that one. I dunno much about these things, but I know you don't want a ton of questions.”

Pinkie shrugged. “I mean… I kinda thought that was Rarity’s thing!” she said. “Coming up with bonkers stuff, but totally pulling it off!”

Rarity frowned. “Um… thank you?”

“I’m serious!” Pinkie insisted, giving Rarity a much stronger shove to the shoulder.

“She’s kinda right,” Rainbow admitted, sparing a glance up from her endless emails. “As far as taking risks, you could even give me a run for my money. I still remember that space station you designed—y’know, the ring-shaped one that followed the sun? That thing broke my brain.”

Rarity pulled her portfolio in closer. “Well. I think both concepts showcase my more technical design skills,” she said. “I just want to see if I can score some extra points on aesthetics. The vacation planet ended up as such a throw-back, but the diamond planet is so… so…”

“Shiny?” Pinkie suggested.

Rarity giggled. “I was going to say ‘modern’, but you’re not wrong. It is quite shiny.”

Pinkie beamed. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s rocks!” she proclaimed. “Maybe that’s why I like the vacation planet so much… fewer core samples to take.”

“Seriously,” Rainbow said. “You know you’re good either way, right? Your designs are awesome.”

Rarity hid her smile behind her forelock. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“Hey. Quit it with the humility, okay?” Rainbow said. “You’re awesome. Your stuff’s awesome. They’ll be crazy not to certify you.”

Pinkie nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Rarity straightened up. Her grip on her portfolio loosened. “Thank you. Sincerely. I know I’ve been a touch difficult as of late, and I—”

“Yeah, but it’ll all be worth it if you get an apprenticeship, right?” Pinkie said.

The mere mention of it had Rarity smiling so strongly she nearly split her face in two. “I suppose,” she murmured.

“You kidding?” Rainbow crumpled up her coffee cup and tossed it into the nearby bin. “Rarity’s gonna have her own Architect’s wings in, like, a month. Max.”

“They don’t just give out alicornhood, you know,” Rarity corrected. “Cadance was a special case.”

“I know,” Rainbow said with a shrug. “You’re a special case too, dummy.”

She said it so nonchalantly, looking down at the televox device strapped to her front leg, about as emotional as if she had only just told her friend what she’d eaten for breakfast. Her hoof scrolled mindlessly through a number of notifications, bored quickly, and dropped back to her side. She seemed somehow surprised to see that Rarity was still staring at her.

“What’d I say?” she asked.

“You think I’m a special case?” Rarity breathed.

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “Of course. You’re, like, a planetary design genius. They’d be stupid not to give you wings. You could get whole solar systems kickstarted all by yourself, no complaints.”

“And they’d be the most fabulous solar systems in the whole galaxy,” Pinkie added, poking her friend affectionately on the snout.

Rainbow made a face which suggested this was a matter of opinion.

The train, at long last, came flying out the end of the tunnel. The full force of the sunlight filled the train car with almost artificially bright light, all of it spectacularly colored and flowing through the car like water.

Rarity was so stunned by the sudden explosion of color that she almost didn’t notice the train pulling up to the platform. She turned to look back out at the city below, the way the light sparkled and shimmered—seemed alive. Filled her with pride. Made her chest swell at the very sight of it, at the mere possibility that she should be able to create her own.

It wasn’t until Pinkie stretched and popped up from her seat that Rarity even registered they’d stopped at all.

“Just remember: if it gets scary, tell a little joke!” Pinkie said, hooking one foreleg around the back of Rarity’s neck. “Committees love that. No one ever tells them jokes.”

Rarity giggled. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, and we’ve got your back,” Rainbow added. “When it’s all done. No matter what happens.”

The friends fell into a comfortable silence.

Just the three of them in this big, empty car.

Rarity leaned her head against the window once again, staring out at the peaceful landscape below. The sky, tinged yellow rather than the more familiar blue, was a constant reminder of the newness of this place.

Just the few of them in this big, empty city.

Beyond the city, an empty planet, waiting to be formed.

Beyond the planet, an empty galaxy, waiting to be discovered.

Pioneers. Preparing the new world for ponies yet to come.

The examination room was smaller than she had pictured.

No, no. Not an examination. A presentation.

Examination was such a big word. A scary word. She wasn’t being examined, she was presenting. She was giving. An important distinction.

The carpet was ugly. Funny to have such ugly carpet in a design school. Shouldn’t they know better? Here, of all places?

Rarity ran her hoof over the dense pile. Then again. Then again. Faster, faster, allowing her hoof to lose feeling as it memorized the oppressive non-texture. She looked down once again, wondering if it may have changed.

Still ugly.

The chairs looked uncomfortable, too. Low, stiff backs covered in stained fabric. Would that count against her? Would her committee be so eager to get out of that tiny room that they’d bail before they got the chance to hear her brilliance?

Rarity looked back at her drawings. She was proud of them, of course—the culmination of many years of study, tears, and vicious cycles of terse criticism and late-night revisions. Just a few drawings, all painstakingly checked and rechecked, calculated and recalculated. It was a complicated plan for such a little planet, but the detail with which she had imbued the drawing hopefully sold the whimsy of it all—tiny natural crystals which, despite being drawn in plain, dark ink, seemed to sparkle in Rarity's eyes.

She could only hope they would sparkle in the eyes of her committee, as well.

As if on cue, the rickety metal door to Rarity's right side flew open, and she snapped to attention beside her easel.

The first in the door was Sunburst, his head ducked as he fussed with his spectacles, his hoofsteps more erratic and thumping than the average unicorn. “Morning, Rarity,” he said. “You’re here early.”

Rarity could only laugh awkwardly in return, offering no actual words.

Behind him was Spitfire, a much more put-together pegasus who marched with the confidence of a military captain. Perhaps she had been. Rarity had never really gotten the chance to get to know her; she seemed to resist being known at all. Even now, as she prepared to judge Rarity’s academic worth, she entered the room silently.

Last was Braeburn, a stallion who resisted everything academia was or ever could be. Effortlessly casual, limitlessly humble, and blindingly southern. He tipped his hat to Rarity and flashed her a kind smile as he moseyed to his seat.

Her committee filed into their uncomfortable seats, squirmed a bit, found their place, and looked up at her expectantly.

And it was only then that she realized her committee was no older than she was.

It struck her in the chest with a strange force. These ponies, ones that she had considered so much wiser and more learned than she was, were her age.

How had they made it so far?

Perhaps that was the downside of being a part of the cutting edge. Even though it was new to everyone, there were still those who would find a way to squeak out a lead. To be the best and brightest at this brand-new thing.

Well. Perhaps they hadn’t thrown away a perfectly good career to make a late-stage change. That would probably help.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sunburst said.

He was still rummaging through his bag. As if none of this mattered to him. As if it were just one in a long line of presentations he'd see today, and he knew precisely how all of them would go, so much so that he didn't bother to look.

Or he was trying to put her at ease.

One or the other.

Rarity cleared her throat. "Er… thank you for being here today," she said.

"I think I signed a paper that says I had to be," Spitfire observed. "So don't thank us yet."

Braeburn chuckled at that. "Aw, you got the best sense 'a humor, Spits."

Spitfire did not respond.

Rarity laughed, a bit forced but her committee pretended not to notice. "Well. Regardless," she said. "Thank you."

Spitfire nodded.

"What've you got for us today?" Braeburn asked, cheery as ever.

Rarity blinked.

Was that how she was meant to start? Wouldn't someone… you know, introduce her? Give her a jumping off point?

"Of course," Rarity said, turning to her easel. "Of course. I'd like to present to you all a method for long-term interstellar asteroid mining."

"Long term?" Spitfire repeated. "Can you elaborate on that?"

"Well, our current methods for interstellar asteroid mining are, er… 'get in, get out' jobs," Rarity explained. "A valuable asteroid approaches, we gear up our best astronauts and send them out for a singular mission."

Her committee was silent. They looked on with a mix of interest and calculation that put Rarity on edge.

“This is all well and good for mining that is purely profit-driven, but there is the occasional passing bit of rock that carries a magical signature, yes?” Rarity pulled a piece of cardstock out from behind her blueprint and showed off a steadily-climbing graph. Her committee leaned in slightly to examine it. “These sorts of asteroids may hold the key to new technological advances, or help us to track down other lifeforms in the reaches of space. However, our ability to study them is limited by their lack of orbital tethering.”

Silence.

Did that mean she was doing well?

“Temperature can change rapidly as the object passes nearby stars, amplified by reflection off the crystalline surfaces,” Rarity continued, her voice steadying as she brought out another piece of cardstock detailing these dramatic temperature changes in several graphics. “Materials which are not photochemically stable are going to experience wild fluctuations in structure due to lack of atmosphere. The possibility of interaction from other passing debris is nonzero and difficult to accurately predict. And, without a repeating path, delivering research materials to and from the asteroid is nearly impossible.”

Someone made a low “hm” sound.

Rarity glanced up at the panel, giving them a moment to interrupt her if she had missed something.

They only looked on quietly.

“So, then. We can agree there’s a need for a method by which we can study these interstellar asteroids for a longer period than currently allotted,” she said confidently. “I propose using the gravitational fields of other bodies as a sort of… celestial butterfly net.”

Rarity swapped her cards and boards about once again, revealing a detailed diagram of celestial bodies and planned trajectories. Her committee shifted, analyzing the image before them, searching for loose threads to pick at.

“We’ve long since used alicorns to jumpstart the motion of other planets and moons as part of the terraforming process. This would utilize the same skills to influence the paths of asteroids. It’s only a matter of good timing and physics!” She pointed to the moment of contact, when the asteroid would be caught, using her magic to trace its new path. “When it comes to mathematics, it’s nothing more strenuous than planning interstellar missions. This diagram, for example, illustrates the theoretical capture of Radiance II by the Umbrum system.”

Her magic lit up the planets orbiting the central Umbrum star, swirling around it in a chaotic dance along the dotted lines she’d carefully drawn.

“By aligning the planets properly and utilizing their combined gravitational force, we can essentially slingshot a passing asteroid into close orbit around the star,” she explained, allowing her magic planets to fall into place beside one another, and demonstrating the asteroid flying into the center. “Once it’s in place, it’s only a matter of traditional terraforming procedures. Pegasi atmospheric development, some core surveys with a team of earth ponies… and, of course, construction of a research outpost staffed by unicorns.”

She withdrew her final image, this one a more traditional terraforming schematic featuring the asteroid Radiance II. Its crystalline surface, rendered in painstaking detail by Rarity’s trusty set of draftmare’s pencils, was more impressive than she had even remembered.

Proud of her work, she beamed, and turned to her committee. “I’m prepared to take any questions you may have on the process,” she said.

The committee shared a wordless look. Rarity did her best not to stare.

“Uh…” Sunburst adjusted his spectacles. “Well. It’s certainly an elegant solution. Very simple. I’d like to review your physics, of course, but… well, I don’t see any reason it shouldn’t work.”

“Ditto, my friend,” Braeburn added. “And I’ve gotta say I appreciate your presentation, here. Too many students get bogged down in the jargon. Hard to stay enthusiastic, if y’know what I mean.” He winked.

Rarity returned a polite smile and a nod.

“I’ve got a question,” Spitfire announced.

Rarity’s heartbeat went wild. “Um. Of course.”

“Asteroid mining is expensive.” Spitfire leaned back in her chair and crossed her hooves over her chest. “But we do it because it makes money. This is great and all, but it’s gonna cost somepony a whole load of money. Are you planning on pursuing a grant for this?”

“Ah! Yes, of course!” Rarity flipped back through her materials, at last producing a card which showed, in much greater detail, the surface of Radiance II.

Seated amongst the towering columns of crystal was a simple building—one with a large wraparound porch and many, many windows, all of it contained under a transparent dome which had taken Rarity far more time to draw than she would have liked to admit.

“Tourism,” she said simply. “There are a million and one reasons one might want to visit a distant planet. These asteroids are going to be an entirely new environment for many ponies—very low gravity, untouched natural landscapes, not to mention the concentration of magical properties. They could act as a sort of nature reserve; an exotic getaway for anypony who wants to feel as if they’re taking part in our exploration of the cosmos.”

Spitfire arched a brow. “And you think there’s a market for that?”

“Darn tootin’, there is!” Braeburn exclaimed. “You know how many times I’ve had a cousin, aunt, or uncle tell me they’re jealous of my work? Don’t matter how boring I make it sound: everypony wants to be a pioneer.”

Spitfire looked to Sunburst for back-up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anypony express jealousy of my work,” he said. “Though… that might have less to do with the allure of the far reaches of space, and more to do with the way I talk about them.”

Spitfire nodded. “Fair enough.”

Sunburst looked back to Rarity. “Let’s take a look at the math, shall we?”

When Rarity finally left the small examination room, she felt a strange lightness in her chest.

Whatever happened, it was over now.

She let out an enormous sigh and slumped back against the wall. With one hoof, she reached up to pat down the flyaways which tickled at her muzzle, and found a pencil surreptitiously tucked behind her ear.

With a small and out-of-breath chuckle, she pulled the pencil out.

“Hey!”

Rarity perked up at the whispered address.

“Hey!” Rainbow repeated, coming down the hall towards her at a light canter. “Is it over? Are you an Architect yet or what?”

Rarity nodded to the door. “Deliberations.”

Rainbow skidded to a stop before her friend. “Dang. How long do those usually take?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” Rarity admitted, hanging her head.

“Well… do you think it went good at least?” Rainbow asked. She siddled up beside her friend and similarly slid down the wall into a seating position. “What am I saying—of course it did. You’re awesome.”

Rarity sighed. “I’m not so sure. Sunburst found a few mathematical errors in my work—”

“He finds mathematical errors in everyone’s work,” Rainbow pointed out.

“Perhaps,” Rarity said with a shrug. “And Spitfire… inscrutable as always.”

“Ugh, I know, right?” Rainbow rolled her eyes. “I had her last year for a low-gravity flight course. She’s basically a statue.”

Rarity snorted.

Rainbow smiled gently. “You don’t seem too torn up about it, though.”

“I think I’m just relieved to be finished,” Rarity said simply. “Whatever the outcome, it’s nice to be on the other side.”

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Is Pinkie Pie coming?” Rarity asked.

“She’s on her way. Probably got distracted by the new drink cart in the quad.” Rainbow pulled a water bottle from her saddlebag and took a quick swig. “She’ll be here.”

Rarity nodded. “How was your technical?”

“It was a breeze,” Rainbow said, with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “Soarin was proctoring. Known softie.”

Rarity laughed softly.

The sound echoed in the vast hall.

It was easy to feel small in a place like this. The University of Terraforming had, rightfully so, been founded on Aurora—equinity’s first step out into the vastness of space. Its buildings were constructed to reflect this idea of a broad and shimmering horizon… as impractical as the overabundance of glass and marble may have been.

Then again, it was easy to feel big in a place like this, too.

Ponykind had made it to the stars. Had shaped the very heavens to their desires, had reached into a dozen other solar systems and put down roots—shallow as they may be.

The suns shone through the magnificent glass dome over Rarity’s head, exploding into a rainbow of light which sparkled on the marble floor. A floor that few yet had walked, but an impossible number of burgeoning Architects would surely trace in eons to come.

The first of many.

A pioneer.

Everypony wants to be a pioneer.

Rarity tapped her hooves nervously on the marble floor. It was all but impossible not to imagine all the many ways her committee was tearing her apart on the other side of this wall. Mathematics errors, poor concept, not a strong enough inclusion of earth pony terraforming—why hadn’t she done a better job including that work? Why hadn’t she given more thought to surveying?

She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her head back against the wall.

Utter and complete agony, this was.

“Rarity!”

Rarity opened one eye and spotted Pinkie Pie bounding down the hall, her mane wobbling like jello atop her head.

“Didja do it?” she asked excitedly. “Didja get your license?”

“Well, I—”

“Prob’ly not, huh? Otherwise you’d be jumping up and down like crazy!” Pinkie surmised, demonstrating her own limitless energy with a few more bounces in place.

“I’m waiting to hear,” Rarity said, patting the floor beside her. “Come sit.”

Pinkie shrugged and skated over the marble to sit beside her friend. “Gee, you’d think they’d put some benches in here.”

“I’m sure they will eventually,” Rarity said. “That’s the downside of being the first of anything.”

Rainbow snorted. “This Architect’s school sure needs an Architect, huh?”

Pinkie snickered along with her.

Rarity only pressed her head back against the wall, willing the ponies inside to just finish up already.

As if on cue, Rarity heard the door softly unlatch.

She was on her hooves in an instant, smoothing her mane, doing her best to look presentable. Her committee filed out of the room, all of them holding their notes close to their chest, the faces impenetrable and stony.

Rarity bit her lip.

“Rarity!” Sunburst said, as if surprised to see her. “Um… congratulations! You’ve just earned your provisional Architect’s license!”

Rainbow and Pinkie instantly let loose with a chorus of shouting that seemed to startle Sunburst all the more. Braeburn seemed—well, perhaps not equally excited, but he was certainly happier than strictly necessary. Spitfire, of course, was her usual emotionless self.

Until she gave Rarity a hearty smack on the shoulder. “This is exactly the sort of thing we’re looking for from Architect candidates,” she said gruffly. “We’re gonna set you up with an apprenticeship so you can start working towards that full license, alright?”

The words stuck in Rarity’s throat. “Erm—yes! That’s—that would be—thank you!” she managed to splutter out, surging forward to shake the hooves of anypony who would offer them. “I—well, I’m just so—thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Spitfire said, giving Rarity another, more comforting pat. “Now do yourself a favor: go celebrate.”

The city streets were empty, as always.

By the time all three mares left campus, the suns were setting. As they met the horizon, they sent great arcing beams of light into the sky, warped and bent by the artificial atmosphere into a lovely orange hue. The slow darkening of the sky turned it, too, from yellow to orange to a deep and warm red, distant galaxies a bold and beautiful purple against it.

The streetlights clicked on and off one by one as the mares passed them by, only lighting the way a few strides in advance. Always keeping the next bit a surprise.

“What do you think the apprenticeship is gonna be like?” Pinkie asked.

“Hey, good question,” Rainbow said. “I mean, we’ve heard you talk about it before, but… y’know.”

Rarity chuckled at that. “I truly don’t know what to expect,” she said. “I’ve been treating it like this faraway goal for so long… If I’m honest, I don’t know that I expected to make it this far. I’m still a little in shock, I think.”

“I bet you’re gonna get this cool, old, Starswirl the Bearded kinda pony,” Pinkie continued. She tugged a piece of her mane under her chin to act as a fake beard, scrunched up her face, and put on a ridiculous fake voice. “Move the moon, you must! Or grant you your wings, I shall not!”

Rainbow barked with laughter. “Is that what you think Starswirl sounds like?!” She laughed again, throwing her head back and letting it echo through the barren streets. “What’s with the voice?!”

“I ‘unno,” Pinkie said with a shrug. “Just seemed like a good mentor voice.”

The pair went back and forth a bit longer, comparing their best voices amongst bouts of ridiculous laughter. The sound carried far and wide, stopped by nothing, overtaken by nothing, only filling the endless void of the empty city.

Rarity stopped.

The mares ahead of her carried on a while longer, giving one another playful shoves, their way lit by the endless orange streetlights.

Rarity only stood still, below a single streetlight of her own.

After a moment or two, the girls seemed to realize they’d lost a member of their crew.

“Hey!” Rainbow called. “Rares, you okay?”

Rarity blinked, hesitated, then nodded.

“What’sa matter?” Pinkie yelled, perhaps louder than she needed to.

“Nothing!” Rarity called back. “In fact, everything’s wonderful!”

The mares ahead shared a look.

“Huh?” Rainbow bellowed.

“Darlings, I’m simply trying to savor the moment!” Rarity announced, closing her eyes and soaking in the delightful glow of the singular streetlight above her.

Darkness ahead.

But in darkness lay possibilities.

Rarity couldn’t help but think of the way she’d felt when she decided to leave Equus. In an instant, she’d decided to leave behind a perfectly decent career in fashion design to chase a dream in the stars. To live amongst the hoofful of other ponies stupid and lonely enough to live on an empty planet, to dedicate all of their time to schooling. To chase the horizon.

She’d felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a foggy abyss.

She felt that way now.

But it was… good.

After a long moment, Rarity felt a gentle brush on her side.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself flanked by her friends, both of them smiling warmly at her.

“You’re a dork,” Rainbow said.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “I know.”

“A fun dork!” Pinkie corrected.

“Thank you, Pinkie,” Rarity said, smiling.

All the streetlights were off, now.

Just the three of them in the darkness.

Just the three of them and the endless universe.