Unraveling the Unwritten

Chapters

Discovery
Investigation
Making Plans
Hermit

Discovery

“Achoo!”

Page Turner shook her head, wiping at her snout with the side of her hoof. Even after working in the Royal Archives for three years, she still found herself irritated by the layers of dust covering every surface of the back rooms. When she’d started, she had spent the first few weeks obsessively cleaning every surface she could find, but it just kept coming back.

Even then, most rooms weren’t as bad as this one. Her department was Ancient History, texts on civilizations long since departed, and it was ironically one of the most used parts of the Archives. Especially since, as had been found in recent years, some of those civilizations weren’t so departed after all. There were texts that had been there decades that had become completely obsolete in the short time Page had been there, thanks to Princess Twilight and her friends. As a result, barely anything sat still long enough to accrue that dreaded grey coating.

The Fiction department, on the other hoof, was a completely different story. The Archives were required, by law, to contain a copy of every single book published in Equestria. Every single shoddy romance novel, every cheap pulp fiction book… Piles upon piles of ‘literature’ with barely more merit than the paper they were printed on. There was quality fiction there, of course, but Page had found (through experience) that only about ten percent of what made it to print was actually worth reading.

What that meant was that the Fiction department was massively overstocked and, as a result, hideously understaffed. Hence both the disgusting amount of dust, and why ponies from other departments were temporarily assigned to attempt to wrangle the endless stacks into something usable.

With a tired sigh, Page brushed away more dust with her magic, making sure to keep it out of her face this time. Once the dust was cleared enough that she could actually read the spines of the books in front of her, she set out on her actual task of reshelving them with a modern sorting system. Nobody had touched these books in decades, and they were still sorted alphabetically, with no care for genre or author. It honestly made Page uncomfortable just to look at them.

Pushing a strand of her reddish brown mane out of her vision, Page got to work. She floated the checklist of shelf’s contents up to her face and started running through each book on the shelf to make sure they were all accounted for.

“Ranger Quest… Redmane… Rhombus…” Page murmured, quietly reading the titles on the spines to herself as she checked them off. “The Sad Mule… Shilic… Silk-”

Page froze, her brain processing the title she had just skimmed over. Confused, she looked back at the book, in case she had just misread the title. But she hadn’t. That same six letter word stared back at her. A nonsense word, one that couldn’t be found in any dictionary. And yet, it was a word Page was very familiar with.

Because she had been the one who had made it up. A random word that had sprung into her mind years ago, when she was just a filly. She’d had silly, childish dreams of being a mysterious, reclusive author, signing her work with the word as a mononym. Stupid, impractial dreams, ones she cringed at to think to about.

She looked back to her list. Sure enough, it had a book with that title listed as well. Assuming she wasn’t just tired and hallucinating, there was a book titled Shilic on the shelf in front of her. Weird coincidence… Page thought.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she pulled the large, black tome off the shelf with her magic, holding it in her aura’s faint green glow. The cover had no words on it, but instead a large purple symbol, one Page didn’t recognize. It was mostly circular, with a small ring in the middle surrounding a solid circle, and a rectangular extension at the bottom giving it a slight keyhole shape. Two more solid circles marked the spots where the circle jutted down, and three thin, parallel lines in the middle of the extension ran from its bottom to its top. It made Page vaguely uneasy; it had an eye-like quality, like the dot in the middle was watching her.

Slightly creeped out, Page cracked the book open to a random page and started reading.

“LOOK OUT!” Typhoon lept, grabbing Misty and pushing her out of the way just before the blade fell. The ancient axe-blade slammed into the ground, slicing off the end hairs of Typhoon’s tail.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Misty stared at Typhoon, eyes wide in fear, processing her close brush with death, while Typhoon himself breathed a sigh of relief. Eventually, Misty spoke. “T-thanks…” she muttered, flustered.

Page snapped the book shut, eyes bulging. That’s mine. I wrote that. This is one of my stories and it’s in a book here what is going on-

She felt her breathing pace increase, and she forced herself to stop, to calm down a little. Taking a deep breath, she opened the book again, scanning the pages. Sure enough, it was one of hers, word for word. One of the stories she had bits and pieces of written down in a notebook in a drawer next to her bed. This is impossible. This is all kinds of impossible.

Page ran through the possibilities in her mind. Was this a prank? Had somepony printed out her stories and placed this book here, as a joke? No, that can’t be right. She’d never shown any anypony her stories, she was too embarrassed to. And even if somepony had read them without her permission, there was no way they could have planted it; it had been covered in the same amount of dust as the rest of the shelf.

Not to mention, the book was very clearly decently old. It wasn’t in poor condition, but the slight whitening at the corners of the cover and faint yellowing of the pages indicated it was far from recently printed. It was most likely from the same timeframe as the other books on the shelf, and of them, the newest release Page recognized was around fifty years old.

She opened the book to the first page, hoping to find an author name or publisher, but she had no such luck. There was nothing on the interior cover, and the first page only held a chapter list – Page noted the name “Quake”, a character in another of her stories – and nothing else. The back cover was similarly empty, with only a stamp marking it as property of the Royal Archives. No checkout slip, meaning it was never kept in the public library parts of the Archives, nor the name of a donor.

For a while, Page just held the book in her magic in front of her. She felt slightly dizzy and light-headed, and she sat down on the floor, taking several deep, slow breaths. Eventually, she decided to finish her job first. This shelf was probably going to be the last thing she would do before clocking out, after all. Slotting the book back into the shelf, Page stood back up. With one last deep breath, she moved on the next book, trying to keep the mysterious tome out of her thoughts.

At least, out of her thoughts enough to do her job.

By the time Page finished reshelving, clocked out, gathered her things, and made her way out of the Royal Archives, it was so late it couldn’t even be called late anymore. A faint hint of light glimmered at the edge of the horizon, a sign that Princess Celestia was in the process of raising the sun.

Page didn’t mind working the nightshift. The public library part of the Archives were closed for most of it, meaning she was rarely pestered by its patrons, and most of the archives proper had no windows and were lit the same at all hours. Sometimes, Page even forgot it was the middle of the night while she was working, since there was barely a way to tell.

The sun continued to rise as she made her way home. The few ponies she passed on the way stopped to watch, but she didn’t bother. She’d seen it a thousand times, and if she was being honest, she didn’t see much special about it anyway. It was impressive how it rose, the sheer magical power of the Princess, but it didn’t strike her as particularly beautiful. She had been called weird for thinking that. She had been called weird for a lot of things.

By the time she made it back to her apartment, the sky had lightened to a pinkish color, the sun fully above the horizon. A new day had dawned, and ponies had begun to venture out of their homes, ready to greet it.

Page was glad her apartment had thick walls and blackout curtains.

She climbed the exterior stairs to the second floor, fishing her keys out of her bag. Canterlot being the kind of place it was, her apartment building wasn’t one of those boxy grey high rises found in Manehattan or Fillydelphia, but an elegant, three story building with golden railing and an honest to goodness tower that served as the penthouse. The point, Page supposed, was to make it not look like an apartment building from the outside, because that would ‘make the area look lower class’ or something otherwise.

Canterlot ponies could be such snobs sometimes.

Unlocking her door and slipping inside, Page let out a tired sigh of relief, hanging her bag on a hook. Her apartment wasn’t massive, but it was big enough for her, all things considered. A living space with her bed pushed up against the wall, a kitchen nook, a bathroom with a shower… It was nice and cozy. Considering what she was paying in rent, it ought to have been.

She glanced into her mirror. A tired unicorn mare looked back at her: Off white coat roughly the color of parchment covered in countless specks of grey dust, moderately long reddish brown mane and tail she barely bothered to style a complete disaster even in her book, murky green eyes drained of energy… she looked a mess.

I need a shower… she thought. Before anything, a nice, long, hot shower…

Nearly an hour passed by the time Page, fully washed and dried, stepped out of her bathroom. Like always, her mane and tail were still ever so slightly damp, but she never had quite gotten the trick to completely drying them down, and she always felt anxious using the hair drying spell, like her hair was about to catch fire. Regardless, the pony in the mirror looked much more energised and presentable. Not that she had anyone to present herself to.

Feeling her stomach rumble, Page moved over to the kitchen nook, opening a cupboard and pulling out a packet of instant noodles. Cooking had never been something she was particularly good at, and the old college staple worked just as well now that she was employed. Celestia bless Neighpon. Pretty sure half of all students would starve otherwise.

She filled a pot with water and placed it on her stove to boil, then broke the block of noodles into several pieces, taking a crunchy bite of one of them while she waited. In some ways, they were better dry.

Page went about cooking her meal in relative silence, occasionally humming to herself. There was nobody to talk to, after all, and Page preferred it that way. Living with somepony else sounded like a stressful nightmare. It made things quiet, but that wasn’t so bad either.

She finished boiling her noodles, poured them into a bowl, and sat it down on the small table she ate at. Before she sat down herself, however, she dug through her bag, pulling out the strange black book she had found in the archives. Since it wasn’t a rare or valuable document, she had been allowed to simply take it home with her. One of the perks of the job.

She set it down on the table as well, then moved to the drawers next to her bed. Pulling one open, she pulled out another book; a thick notebook. Her cutie mark, an open book propped up next to a stack of more books, was stitched onto the cover. A going away present from a childhood friend when she had moved off to college.

Page finally sat down, her food cooled enough that she could eat without burning her mouth. As she ate, she flipped through both books, making sure not to stain either of them. She quickly found the part she had read earlier that day, and compared it to her notebook. Sure enough, apart from a few grammar mistakes in her own writing, the archive tome was identical.

Time seemed to fly by as she compared the two books. Her food was gone before she knew it, her fork clinking against an empty bowl. Page took the briefest moment to move it to the sink before continuing her reading.

The more she read the black tome, the more things she found. All her stories were there: The tales of Quake, a stoic earth pony that wandered a post-apocalyptic Equestria, of Typhoon, a Wonderbolt roped into a quest for ancient treasures, and of Grace, a griffon diplomat uncovering a sinister conspiracy. Every little snippet she had scrawled down, every fragment of the larger narrative she never had found the time or motivation to fully write.

That wasn’t all, though. Her notebook may have only contained fragments, but the tome had everything. The full stories; every idea she’d had at work and never had the energy to write, every scene she’d been unable to make satisfying enough to put to paper, even connective tissue she’d barely thought about. Completed stories, with good pacing and satisfying endings.

More than once, Page wondered if she was just dreaming. It certainly seemed like a dream: Finding the passion projects she’d always put off in a complete state inside a book printed before she was born? That sort of thing only happened in dreams. But if it was a dream, it was an exceptionally vivid one. Her dreams weren’t ever coherent enough to pass for reality.

It wasn’t until she was at the very end of Grace’s story that Page realized there was still a fair amount of book left. She only had three stories, but the book had space for four. What, then, took up the rest of the space?

She turned the page, and froze.

Page Turner

What?

Almost instinctively, she turned the page again, reading the words printed there in a daze. It was a story… starring her. Like the rest, it was written in her style, but it was about her. She’d never written anything like that. Yet, here it was, in a tome with the rest of them.

The more she read, the more she found herself sucked in. This version of herself was slightly different than her; she worked at a museum instead of the Archives, for one thing, and she seemed slightly more meek. She also seemed to live in the near future, one where Princess Twilight had ruled alone for several decades.

The story progressed, depicting the fictional Page uncovering an ancient prophecy from a lost civilization. It certainly seemed like something Page would want to write; the historical angle led to lots of expositional tangents she found almost as interesting as the main plot. A lot of it was complete nonsense, but it was internally consistent, and that was what mattered in fiction, after all.

By the time she reached the climax, with her fictional self narrowly averting the end of the world brought about by a magical throne, Page had almost forgotten that she was supposedly reading about herself, instead treating the main character like an uncannily good reader surrogate. She read the final page, the story Page receiving a letter of invitation from Princess Twilight, and turned it, only to find nothing but the back cover, blank but for the Royal Archive stamp.

With a deep sigh, Page set the tome down, leaning back on her chair. She glanced at her clock; sure enough, she had stayed up all day reading, and it was nearly sunset. It’s a good thing I don’t have to work tonight…

She stared at the book on the desk, the symbol on the back seeming to stare back at her. Reading it had been enjoyable, but she was no closer to an answer than when she had started: How did this book exist, and why was it in the Archives? The fourth story, the one with a version of her, only raised more questions.

And the title. Or, perhaps, the author? Shilic. She’d planned to use it as a name, once, so maybe that was what it was supposed to mean. So then, what was the book’s title? Did it not have one? Was there a missing dust cover that contained that information, and more?

Page yawned. She had been so invested in reading she hadn’t noticed how tired she was, but now that she was done, the exhaustion hit her like a load of bricks. Questions for tomorrow, I guess… she thought, standing up and staggering over to bed.

“Tomorrow…” she said, out loud to herself. “There’s got to be somepony who knows something…”

She reached out with her magic, flicking off her lights, and collapsed into her bed.

“Tomorrow…”

She expected to be awake thinking to herself for ages, but she was asleep within minutes.

Outside Page’s apartment, a hooded figure looked up at her apartment. Ponies walked past them obliviously, seemingly unaware of their existence.

“So, it begins…” they said.

They turned, walking away from Page’s apartment building, but after only a few steps, they simply vanished. Not a single pony noticed, the bustle of the city continuing on in ignorance.

Author's Note

Where should the story go next? What should Page do? Leave a suggestion in the comments. You know, if you want. I'm willing to take this story just about anywhere, as long as it doesn't go above the T rating or break site rules. This is kind of an unorthodox start for comment driven stories, and I must admit I don't know exactly what I'm doing... eh, it'll be fine. Probably.

Investigation

While Canterlot had developed a (not unearned) reputation of a stuffy, upper class city inhabited solely by wealthy and arrogant nobles, that was far from all of what made up Equestria’s capital. The shining mountainside city was the centre of the nation’s civilization, and civilization did not run on lords and Princesses alone.

For that reason, every business and company in the country made getting a branch in Canterlot a top priority. Not only as a status symbol, but to provide easy access for aforementioned wealthy and arrogant nobles to spend more bits than most ponies would ever see on whatever it was they were selling.

It also gave Page an opportunity. All of Equestria’s major publishing houses had offices in Canterlot, and their addresses were public knowledge, easily pulled up from the Archive’s city maps. Which, in turn, made it easy for her to pay them a visit, and see if any of them knew anything about the mysterious book.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing like that in our records.”

It wasn’t going well.

“That’s okay,” Page said, feigning a smile. “Thank you for your time.”

The mare on the other side of the desk, a secretary for Pelican Books, noticed Page’s strained expression, and frowned. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more. Have you tried checking at HooferColtins?”

Page nodded with a sigh. “Pelican was the last big publisher on my list. No luck.”

“Hmm…” The mare put a hoof to her chin in thought. “In that case… what about Blackquill Books?”

“Blackquill?” Page blinked. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

“You wouldn’t have,” the secretary replied. “They went out of business decades ago. But this ‘mysterious book’ of yours is exactly the kind of thing they would have published. They were small, indie publisher. You know, the ‘if nopony else will print it, we will’ type.”

Well, the timeframe matches up, I guess… Page thought. “I’ll try them, then. Any way I can get in contact with them?”

“I think the former owner still lives somewhere in Canterlot?” The secretary shook her head. “Other than that…”

“Oh, no, you’ve been a great help, thank you so much!” Page smiled, genuinely this time. “I’ll… figure something out, I’m sure. Thanks again for your time.”

“Have a nice day!” The secretary called as Page left, Page waving a hoof behind her in farewell.

Once she was outside, Page sighed again, pulling out the book and staring into the eye-like pattern on the cover. It hadn’t gotten any less eerie; it vaguely reminded her of a skull, even though it didn’t much look like one. “I’m going to solve you, one way or another…” she muttered to herself, tucking it back into her saddlebag.

‘Figuring something out’ turned out to be a lot simpler than Page had feared. All it had taken was a simple search in the Archives; Blackquill Books’ business registry was right where it should have been, easily findable by someone with experience in the Archive’s organisation system. From there, all she needed to do was take the name of the owner (Blackquill, unsurprisingly), and look him up in the latest edition of the Canterlot Directory.

Any ponies say that none of those old records are good for anything… She thought smugly as she made her way towards Blackquill’s address. This is exactly why we keep these kinds of records in the first place!

The address was in a part of the city that was noticeably less ‘high-rise’ than where Page lived. It was a purely residential district, made up mostly of small, one or two story houses for single residents or small families. It seemed like the perfect place for an old city pony to retire to; which, Page assumed, was exactly why Blackquill chose to live there.

She found his house fairly easily; it wasn’t much different to the surrounding houses, but the cutie mark on the mailbox, an ebon quill writing into an open book, made it clear she was in the right place. She stepped up to the front door, reached out, and knocked on the door with her magic.

“Coming!” A voice called from somewhere within the residence. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing a elderly, dark grey unicorn stallion. “Yes?”

“Uh, yes, hello, sir, my name is Page Turner, I’m from the Royal Archives,” Page said, reciting the half truth she had told the publishing houses. “We happened to find a book that doesn’t have a recorded publisher, and since we need that for our records, I’m looking for anypony who might know who published it.” This was, strictly speaking, untrue. ‘Unknown’ was a perfectly acceptable entry into that field, but none of the ponies Page had spoken to at the publishing houses had called her out on it. “You are Blackquill, formerly of Blackquill Books, correct?” For a second, an irrational flash of anxiety surged within Page, terrified she had somehow gotten the wrong address.

The stallion gave a soft smile. “Yes, that’s me. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.” Blackquill opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

“If it’s not any trouble…” Page said, slightly sheepish.

“No, no trouble,” Blackquill chuckled. “I don’t get many visitors these days. Come in, come in. Would you like some tea?”

Page quickly shook her head as she stepped inside. “Oh, no thanks, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I just brewed some.”

“No, really, I’m good, thanks.” Page said. “I’m not the biggest fan of tea.”

“Really?” Blackquill asked. “I’ve never been able to get through the day without at least three cups.” He led Page to a cosy sitting room.Bookshelves covered almost all of the walls, except for the currently lit fireplace. Blackquill sat down in a comfortable looking chair, picking up the teacup in his silver magical aura and taking a sip. “Sit down, sit down!”

Page took a seat on the sofa opposite him, and opened her saddlebag. “This is the book I’m investigating,” she said, pulling it out and hovering it in front of Blackquill. “Do you recognize it?”

The instant Blackquill’s steel-grey eyes fell on the book’s cover, they widened. “Oh my!” He exclaimed. “I haven’t seen a copy of that particular tome in years…”

“So you do know it?” Page asked, excitement creeping into her voice.

Blackquill nodded. “Yes, yes indeed.” He put down his teacup and reached out his aura towards the book. “May I?” he asked.

“Of course.” Page replied, letting Blackquill’s aura take over holding up the book.

Blackquill pulled the tome towards him, inspecting the cover, before turning it to look at the spine. ”Shilic… Yep, this is it, alright.” He looked up at Page. “I remember this particular book well.” He grinned sheepishly. “Well, not the actual contents, I must admit. But it is one of the books that I published.”

“That’s great!” Page said enthusiastically. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me a little more? Anything about the author, or…”

“For your records?”

“Yes… aaand a little bit of personal curiosity…” Page admitted sheepishly.

Blackquill laughed again. “I can certainly understand that. But, honestly, I’m afraid I don’t really know much myself. The whole affair was rather peculiar. It was about… fifty-five years ago, I think. A mare showed up at our offices with the manuscript, very specific specifications, and about five times as many bits as she’d normally need, all paid in advance. She only wanted two hundred copies, all of them without any publishing or copyright information or anything, and for them to be delivered to her personally instead of being distributed.”

Blackquill paused. “In hindsight, it was a sketchy deal. But, I was young, cocky, and willing to do what the other publishers wouldn’t, for the right price.” He opened the book to the front cover and glanced at the blank interior cover. “I thought it was some kind of marketing stunt; get ponies talking, wondering about who the author was, and then do a more traditional print… but I never saw her again, and I never saw any other copies. I lost my prototype copy years ago.”

“She didn’t leave a name, or anything?” Page asked, pressing a little further in her eagerness. “What did she look like?”

“No, no name,” Blackquill shook his head. “Well, apart from what we put on the spine. ‘Shilic’. It could have been her pen name, or the title of the book, or both. She just requested it be put on the spine. And as for what she looked like…” He trailed off. “It’s been a very long time. I’m afraid I don’t remember. She was a unicorn, I’m pretty sure, but apart from that…” He shook his head again.

“Oh…” Page’s face fell, disappointment clear in her voice. I thought I was getting closer… but it’s just another dead end.

Blackquill gave an apologetic smile. “I wish I knew more, I really do.” He flipped through the book with his magic, skimming the pages. “If I recall, I was pretty impressed with these stories. They probably would have sold really well.” As he reached the back of the book, he slowed down, furrowing his brow. “Hang on… ‘Page Turner’...” He looked up at Page. “You-”

“Yeah.” Page cut him off in a hurry, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “It’s, uh, part of why I’m curious.” I hope he doesn’t notice just how close the similarities are…

“I can imagine. Finding your own name in a book like this?” Blackquill thought for a moment, and then stood up, floating the book back over to Page. “There’s one last thing I think I can do for you. Wait here for a moment.” With that, he ducked into a corridor and out of sight.

Page sat still, ignoring the slowly growing anxiety of being left alone in a stranger’s house. After what was only a few minutes but felt like hours, Blackquill returned, a yellowed piece of paper in his aura. “Here it is!” He called, pleased with himself. “I still have all the old records from the old days, you see. And the mystery mare, whoever she was, gave us an address to deliver to.” He smiled proudly. “And they said I’d have no use for those old documents…”

Page smiled in return. “They’re kept for a reason. I couldn’t have tracked you down without the Archive’s records.

“Ha! A mare after my own heart.” Blackquill passed Page the document. “It’s good to see there are young ponies these days who understand how useful record keeping is.”

Page nodded, taking the paper in her magic. Sure enough, there was an address listed, one in Canterlot. Page quickly took a notebook and pencil out of her saddlebag and scribbled down the address, then gave the document back to Blackquill. “Thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it.” Blackquill replied, waving a hoof dismissively. “If you ever need anything else, don’t hesitate to visit again. There are probably other oddities I published that the Archives may need information on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Page said, stuffing her things back into her bag and standing up to leave. She turned to leave, and nearly left the room before stopping and turning back to Blackquill. “Uh, have a nice day?” She said awkwardly, unsure of what to say as farewell.

“You too.” Blackquill replied with a nod. Page smiled briefly, and then ducked out of the room, rushing out the front door a little faster than she probably should have and shut the door behind her. She’d been so focused on getting the information she was after, she hadn’t really thought through what she was supposed to say after she got it.

Still, that could have been a lot worse. It’s a good thing Mr. Blackquill was so accommodating…

She pulled out the address she had scribbled down. She had expected that she would need to go to the Archives again for directions, but, to her mild surprise, she actually knew the street by name. She looked up into the sky to roughly check the time. It’s still pretty early afternoon… I can go check it out.

“70… 72…” Page muttered to herself counting off the house numbers as she walked down the street. 74… 76!” She looked up at the house in question. “Huh.”

Trotter’s Lane wasn’t exactly the ritziest of Canterlot locations, but it was hardly some kind of downtrodden slum. (Canterlot didn’t actually have slums anymore; An elaborate series of makeshift platforms below the city had held a slum district a few hundred years ago, but they had long since been integrated into the city as part of an expansion project ordered by Princess Celestia to provide a better standard of living for Canterlot’s underclass.) Which is why it was such a surprise to see that 76 Trotter’s Lane looked like nobody had stepped hoof on the premises in decades.

The house itself probably used to be fairly fancy, but those days had long since passed. Nearly all the windows were broken and boarded up, the paint had almost completely faded, and there was even a hole in the roof. The house’s lawn was wildly overgrown in some places, and completely dead in others. A rusted gate separated the property from the rest of the world, but it may as well have been a portal to another dimension for how stark a contrast it was to the surrounding city.

How come nobody noticed this? She thought. I thought the city went out of its way to make sure this exact kind of thing never happens? Canterlot was, after all, known for taking its appearance very seriously. A building like this sitting abandoned for what must have been a long time… Yet another mystery…

Page took a tentative step toward the gate, pushing a hoof against it. She had expected it to be locked, but instead, the gate swung open with a grating, high pitched noise. Page took a quick step back, and looked up and down the street. She was alone.

With a gulp, but before her brain could talk her out of it, she darted forward, dashing through the gate and up to the house’s front door. She reached out with her magic and pushed, finding that it too was unlocked, and quickly slipped inside.

It was dark inside the house, with the only natural light coming through the holes in the boarded up windows. Page lit her horn with a light spell, illuminating the entry hall in a greenish glow, and looked around. Despite the clear damage and lack of upkeep, it seemed pretty normal. A staircase in the middle, some doorways leading off to different rooms… in other words, exactly what an abandoned house in Canterlot would look like.

Page suddenly felt really silly darting inside. What was I even expecting? Some kind of grand secret? It was pretty weird that the house was still standing in such a state, but it was probably just some kind of bureaucratic error. Nothing sinister about that, except the presence of bureaucracy.

Still, Page felt an urge to explore, at least a little. She decided to stick to the ground floor, reasoning that the upper floors might not be fully stable. She picked a doorway and began to poke around, looking for anything interesting, but, to her partial disappointment, she didn’t seem to find much. There were no decorations or personal belongings of any kind anywhere; the house had clearly been moved out of, not simply abandoned.

Just as she was about to give up, though, she noticed a door that was slightly out of place with the others. She couldn’t quite put her hoof on it, but it somehow seemed… different, the faded purple paint standing from the whites and yellows of the other doors she had seen so far. She pulled it open and stepped inside, looking around for anything interesting, and then gasped in surprise.

The room was a hexagonal chamber, just as degraded as the rest of the house. A chain that presumably used to hold a chandelier hung empty from the high ceiling, rendering the room devoid of any light but what came from Page’s horn. The walls on either side of Page were painted pure black, and unlike the house’s other surfaces, this paint didn’t seem to have faded.

But it was what was on the wall directly in front of her that shocked Page. It too was painted black, but it had something else on it as well: The symbol that was on the cover of the book, the mysterious purple ‘eye’, but much larger, reaching from the top of the chamber to the bottom, easily more than twice Page’s height. What the…

Page moved up to it, bathing the symbol even more in her aura’s glow. What’s even the point of this? It’s a room with a symbol in it? Was this some kind of meeting hall, or…

Almost without thinking, she reached out with her magic, touching the symbol.

Without warning, the symbol flared to life, lighting up with a bright purple glow. Page yelped, pulling her magic back and scrambling away from the wall, but it continued to glow and pulse. It… reacts to magic? Her heart beating in her ears, Page took a deep breath, trying to force herself to calm down.

With one last surge of light, the symbol flashed, the entire segment of the wall it was displayed on lighting up. As Page watched, the wall vanished, dissipating in the same way a magical aura might.

The back wall now gone, Page was free to see what lay hidden beyond.

Author's Note

Who likes cliffhangers? Not me, I'm actually sorry about this, but this is an excellent chance to show off how this story is going to work in regards to comment suggestions. There could be literally anything behind that wall. I have about a dozen vague ideas on what it could be, but none that I think it should be. I'm playing this extremely by ear and it will backfire on me in the future, possibly sooner rather than later.

Anyway, yeah, leave a comment please, it really helps me in the algori- wait, no, wrong platform. Leave a comment so I can decide where to steer this trainwreck. Also, sorry if this chapter is even sloppier than usual, one of my editors hasn't been around lately and I didn't want to hold onto this chapter any longer I wrote it like 4 days ago okay author's note over bye

Making Plans

Page blinked.

“Okay, first of all… please stop calling me ‘Miss’. It feels patronising.”

Hermit gave a sigh of something that might have been relief. “Thank you,” It said. “I have to say it, at least until asked otherwise. It’s part of one of those protocols Mistress put in seemingly just to annoy me.”

“Uh… okay then?” This Mistress character is really weird… “And, secondly… why are you asking me what we should do? Aren’t you in charge of this place?”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking you,” Hermit shot back. “This instance is under my supervision, but I also can’t leave it. I’m stuck here, but you aren’t. Besides, I’m not programmed to make leadership decisions. Mock them, yes, but not make them.”

“I… think I understand?” Page said, unsure. “I probably should read that book…”

“Yes, yes you should. I really hate dumbing things down.”

Page ignored what was probably an insult. “In that case… I probably should rea- oh, snap, I forgot, I have a shift tonight!”

Hermit hummed. “Work, I assume.”

“Yeah,” Page said with a nod. “I should go home and get some sleep beforehoof.” Her eyes lit up. “I know! While I’m gone, you should clean this place up. It won’t help us find your ‘Master’, but…”

“It is a good first step, I agree,” Hermit said. “I can reconfigure the instance to make it more useful for our endeavours, as well as less of a complete mess.”

“Great!” Page smiled. “I’ll be back… probably late morning? I’ll try and see if I can read that manual during my breaks or something. You think you’ll be done by then?”

“Easily,” Hermit replied, it’s voice smug. “It will be a trivial task.”

“Okay then, that’s good.” Page turned towards the exit to the control room, pulling it open with her magic to reveal the relative normalcy of the abandoned house beyond. “I’ll… see you later, I guess?”

“I’ll be expecting you, Page.” Hermit replied. Then, it’s dice like projection flashed and winked out of existence, presumably to begin it’s task. Page took one last look at the control room, before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

She was halfway back to her apartment before the absolute absurdity of what had happened to her fully hit her. A pocket dimension, some kind of artificial mind with a very abrasive personality, a mysterious ‘Master’ she was supposed to help it find… I’m just an archivist, I’m not cut out for this!

But… everything did tie back to her. The book with her stories, the additional story with another version of her as the main character… whatever the deeper mystery was, it related to her in some way. Things had gone beyond simple curiosity; she had to get answers.

It was a very good thing that Page had sleeping medication to help with her insomnia, or she would never have been able to sleep.

All things considered, Page was immensely surprised that she was able to focus on working as well as she did.

She was back in the Fiction department again, sorting the endless stacks of subpar stories. It was pretty boring work, the only bright spots being occasionally coming across an interesting looking story and reading its back cover. Luckly, she didn’t find anything like the Shilic book again. One mystery was more than enough for her.

During her breaks, she studied Technology of the Information Age for Dummies. It was a well written reference manual: Despite how obvious it was that the technology described within was far above Equestria’s reach, it was all explained in terms that made sense to her.

It didn’t make it all any less fantastical. Computers, artificial intelligence, global information networks… it all seemed like it was out of some science fiction story– in fact, Page was pretty sure she had even read about some of the concepts, under different names, in speculative sci-fi– but clearly real, with simplified yet detailed explanation on how they actually functioned.

She was only about halfway through it by the time her shift was over, so she retreated to one of the Archives’ reading rooms to finish it off before she went back to see Hermit. Luckily, nopony else came in to bother her, saving her the anxious task of trying to explain what exactly she was reading.

It was almost noon by the time she returned to 76 Trotter’s Lane, head full of computing knowledge. She very much doubted that it would put her anywhere near Hermit’s level, but she hoped it would at least be enough to let it explain what the instance could do. It had helped her understand what her new friend was, at least: Hermit seemed much more advanced than the AI described in the manual, but the same principles seemed to apply.

‘Programming’... it’s like a kind of magic without magic. If it can create programs that can mimic a living being, what else can it do?

While she had gone, Hermit had clearly taken ‘cleaning things up’ seriously. The house no longer looked out of place; all the damage to it’s exterior was repaired, the garden immaculate, even the rust on the gate had been cleaned. If Page hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she never would have believed it had been in disrepair only the day prior.

She walked up to the gate, but before she could reach out with her magic, it swung silently open on it’s own. Page hesitated for a second, surprised, before continuing on, pushing the front door open and stepping inside.

Much like the exterior, the interior had undergone a stark change since the day prior. The entrance hall was now well lit, and all the damage done by time had been repaired. Instead of looking abandoned, the house now looked brand new, as if waiting for an occupant.

Page retraced her steps to the control room, pushing open the door and walking inside. Hermit’s platform flashed, and the AI’s floating form appeared, it’s rotation as confusing as ever. “It is currently 11:29am, local time,” It said, sounding slightly annoyed. “You are technically on time, I suppose.”

Page cringed a little. “Sorry, I got a little caught up finishing that manual.” She pulled it out of her saddlebag and placed it on one of the computers. “I see you fixed up the house. It looks nice!”

“Like I said, it was a trivial task.” Hermit replied, smugness clear in its voice. “The damage to this instance was repaired in 26 minutes, 14 seconds.”

“That quickly?” Page felt her jaw drop. “Now I feel extra bad about making you wait…”

“It is of no concern,” Hermit said dismissively. “I used the extra time to run maintenance cycles on the instance, as well as scanning the local area for traces of Master.”

“Did you find anything?” Page asked.

“Nothing helpful. I was able to trace remnants of Mistress’ aetheric signature, but the most recent of those remnants was over 45 years old. It appears that they changed their signature to avoid detection.”

“They can do that?” That’s only a theoretical process! Every pony had an aetheric signature, a unique magical aura that couldn’t be replicated. Page had heard of research into unicorns being able to modify their signature, but nothing concrete.

“Mistress’ capacities are far beyond anything your world is capable of.” Hermit said. It flashed, and a holographic map of Canterlot appeared underneath it’s floating shape, a long glowing purple trail snaking through the city, covering most of it and doubling back on itself often. “There’s no clear pattern in their actions either.”

“Hmm…” Page put a hoof to her chin. “It could be that they’re trying to hide? I can’t think of any other reason somepony would even want to change their signature other than that.” She paused. “Unless they’re, um… dead. Can they even die?”

“More or less. The fragments of their soul they place in mortal bodies return to the Pocket when those bodies perish, though, and that’s something I would be able to detect. They’re still alive, and unless they found some local way to cross universes, still in this one.”

Page blinked. “I… think I get it? Hiding, then. Or at least, trying not to be found.”

“It seems likely,” Hermit agreed. “The question is, then, what exactly they’re hiding from. Something also capable of tracking aetheric signatures, it would seem.”

“Do they have enemies?” Page asked. “You make them sound like they’re pretty old and well travelled, so…”

“Beyond your comprehension in both aspects.” Hermit replied. Page rolled her eyes, getting sick of Hermit using that as an answer, but the AI either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “And yes, they do have enemies, but I doubt that Master is hiding from one of them. If it was someone they felt the need to hide from, it is doubtful this city would be left standing.”

Once again it hit Page exactly how out of her depth she was. Hermit was talking about being that could destroy Canterlot, beings that were enemies of the pony she was trying to track. If the ‘Master’ was anything like them… she shook her head, trying to push those fears out of her mind. I need to know. I need answers.

“Well, I guess… we’ll need to look for them another way.” Page thought for a moment. “Is there anything they… like to do, I guess? Hobbies, goals, stuff like that.”

Hermit was silent for a moment, spinning around in a way that implied that it was thinking. “Above all, Master’s priority has been information collection and archival,” It said at last. “They seek to collect the sum knowledge of all societies they encounter, through recording their history, media, and scientific knowledge.”

“Which would make the Archives a natural first stop…” Page said, mostly to herself. “It would explain how their book ended up there. It’s possible they donated it themselves…”

“However,” Hermit continued. “It is unlikely that is their current task. It would not take Mistress this long to archive the data of such an undeveloped planet, especially not an Equis.”

“Thanks a lot…” Page grumbled, before pausing. “Wait. An Equis?”

“Correct.” Hermit flashed, and the projection of a globe appeared next to it. “Your Equis is just one iteration of the planet.” With a flash, the single Equis became two. And then four, and then eight, and on and on until Page could no longer keep count. “There are many versions of Equis across the multiverse, each of which vary in any number of ways.”

Page’s mind spun with this revelation. “Parallel universes…”

“Some are parallel, some are alternate, some are similar in name only.” Hermit flashed, and the rapidly appearing globes vanished. “Regardless, the many variants of Equis are some of Master’s favourite planets. It is unlikely that they are here to archive data, considering the number of times they have done so in the past.”

Page had an exceptional number of questions, about alternate universes, and how they differed from parallel universes, and… everything, but she got the feeling that Hermit would find answering them extremely annoying, and she filed them away in her mind for a later time. “Then… why did they come to… this Equis?”

“I am unsure,” Hermit said. “Mistress made an offhand remark about ‘setting things up’, but that could mean any number of things.”

“Setting things up…” Page paused, and then pulled the mysterious book out of her saddlebag. “I would assume this is part of whatever plan they had, right?”

“Most likely,” Hermit agreed. “But I am unsure as to what it means.”

“...Maybe…” Page began slowly, opening the book and flipping through the pages with her magic. “Maybe it’s a way we can track them down.”

Hermit hummed. “Curious. Explain your thought process.”

“Well, three of the stories in here are mine,” Page said, flipping past them. “But the last one is out of place. It has a pony like me as the main character.” Maybe it’s a version of me from one of those other universes? “I… don’t like to make things about me, but I feel like… I’m relevant somehow.”

“Agreed.” Hermit’s form bobbed up and down as if nodding. “It is highly unlikely this is all a coincidence.”

“Then, maybe,” Page continued, growing more confident in her guess. “Maybe I should follow the steps of the Page in the story? Perhaps that’s what the story is for, a hidden set of instructions to follow!”

“It’s certainly possible,” Hermit said. “It is an unusual, esoteric, and utterly bizarre way to hide a message. In other words, exactly the sort of method Master would use.”

“And it’s not like we have any other leads to go on…” Page added. “So if I’m retracing the steps of this other Page…” She flipped through the book’s pages some more. “Her story was about uncovering an ancient prophecy from a pre-Equestrian civilization: ‘When the gate of false seers opens, the king of ruin will claim the throne of power.’ The civilization had made a magical throne that could project their ruler’s desire to their subjects, but over time it became so powerful that it could be used to control minds.”

“So, one day, an evil king tried to use the throne to conquer the civilization and create an army to conquer the world, but before he could, a group of powerful sages banished him to another plane of existence.” Page was aware she was rambling at this point, but Hermit did not interrupt her. “The civilization later collapsed, and the throne was lost. But the sages foresaw that one day the king would be freed and seek the throne once more, which turned out to be because Princess Twilight was running experiments to open portals to other worlds. The Page in the story figured this out and tried to stop her, but she wasn’t fast enough and the king escaped and kidnapped the Princess, so Page and the ponies helping her had to find the throne and destroy it before the king could use Princess Twilight’s power to activate it and rule the world.”

Once it was clear Page was done, Hermit spoke. “I did read the story too, you know.”

Page grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, I… get like that sometimes when I’m talking about things I like.” Her expression turned serious. “But that civilization never existed. The story gives dates and locations, and three thousand years ago, what is now south west Equestria was Mesocoltamian territory. An independent society could not have formed there.”

“Not in this universe, at least.” Hermit added.

“Right.” Page nodded. “If there are a bunch of alternate Equis’, then maybe in another one, but not this one. So what is the story here to tell us..”

“It could just be as simple as telling you to go to the same places your fictional counterpart does.” Hermit suggested. “If the locations in the story do not exist, then any other reader would have no reason to think that they’re directions. Only you, who are nearly identical to the main character, would see them that way.”

“It’s possible…” Page considered her options. “Even still, I can’t exactly just go galloping across Equestria.”

“Why not?” Hermit’s tone of voice indicated a slight confusion.

“Well, I can’t afford it, for one thing!” Page said, half jokingly. “The Archives don’t pay that well!”

“Money is no object.” Hermit said simply.

Page looked at it, confused. “Huh?”

“This Equestria uses a gold backed commodity currency standard, minted into coins categorised by purity. These ‘bits’ lack serial numbering, and thus it is a simple task to recreate them.” Hermit flashed, and a coin fell from the air and dropped to the ground.

Page picked it up with her magic and stared. “T-this is… a ten-bit piece?”

“Correct. I have replicated it from basic matter.”

“Isn’t that… counterfeiting?”

“Counterfeiting implies that these recreations are of lesser value than the originals,” Hermit replied. “While a copy, this coin is identical to a legally minted ten-bit-piece in every way, made of the exact same precious metals that give them value in the first place.”

Page inspected the coin closely. It certainly looked real… “So you can just… make money?”

“In this case, yes. To my knowledge, there would be no way to tell a replicated bit from a genuinely minted one. As long as a large number of them do not flood the economy and affect scarcity, I do not predict any repercussions.”

“And… how many can you make?” Page asked tentatively.

“As many as is needed,” Hermit said. “If I were to use all of my stored matter on bits, assuming coins of maximum value are created, they would have a total value of three hundred sixty seven billion, one hundred ten million, nine hundred thousand bits.”

Page stared blankly. Three hundred billion!?

“Of course,” Hermit continued, not acknowledging Page’s shock.”We will not require anywhere near that much, and the repercussions of creating that much excess value would be devastating to the local economy.”

Page had a thought. “What… can you make anything else?”

“Of course.” Hermit seemed almost offended. “As long as it is made from relatively simple matter, I can produce any physical object. However, since you have only limited administrative control of this instance, what you can request for me to make is also limited. Don’t expect me to make computers or weapons for you.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want anything!” Page cried, waving her hooves. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“That being said, I can provide finances for you to use in our operations. I am unsure of how much you will need exactly, but I can provide up to one hundred thousand bits.”

“That should be more than enough!” Page exclaimed. “That’s more money than I’ve ever had at one time. I probably only need about ten thousand.”

“In that case, twenty thousand, just in case.” Hermit flashed again, and small pouches appeared underneath it one by one, until there were a total of five. “Each bag contains forty one-hundred-bit pieces.”

Page stared for a moment, and then stepped forward tentatively, looking to Hermit for approval. When it did nothing, she picked up the pouches with her magic and stuffed them into her saddlebag. They felt a lot heavier, and not just because of the weight of the coins. “Uh… thanks.” She said awkwardly.

“Now that you have sufficient funds, are there any other obstacles to stop you from, as you said, ‘galloping across Equestria?’” Hermit asked, sounding a little smarmy.

“Uh, well… Not really?” Page replied, unsure. “I guess I could ask for some leave. It might take a few days… other than that…” Now that the money problem had been resolved, and the idea of travelling was feasible, the many other, less glaring problems rose their heads, anxiety chief among them.

Do I really want to go through with this? She asked herself. But even as she thought the words, she knew she did. She had the opportunity and means to work towards solving the mystery, and despite her fear, there was an ever louder part of her inner self that was driving her forward. “I… I’ll need a while to get organised.” She said at last.

“That’s fine. I do not expect this task to be particularly time sensitive.”

“Well, then, uh…” Page flipped through the book again, to the start of her fictional self’s story. “The museum this Page works at isn’t a real place either, so I don’t think there’s anything else in Canterlot, so the next location is… Ponyville, where Princess Twilight’s experiments are done. Might as well do things in order, right?”

“Seems logical.” Hermit said.

“Then… I’ll go prepare?” Page took a half step around, and then froze. “But wait, what about you? You’re stuck in here, right?”

“I have a solution for that. Return before you leave. Now, go see to your preparations, as I shall do with mine.” With that, his avatar vanished.

“Ooooo….kay then.” Page said, fully turning to leave. What have I gotten myself into…

Author's Note

Sorry about the long wait between chapters. Stuff happened, you know how it is, and I did say not to expect consistent updates. It'll probably happen again, who knows? Not me!

You know the drill by now, what do? We're off on an adventure...ish. Page could go on an adventure, or she could sit in Namepending Castle or she could sit with Twilight and/or Starlight and do a bunch of research instead. Who knows? Not me! Writing a story like this is wildly irresponsible and is going to backfire on me eventually, but since I can't post the fics I have actual emotional investment in to this website this will have to do! At least one person likes this stuff, so that's good, right?

Anyway, comment the stuff you want to see. Author's Note out.

(Also, I totally didn't accidently not save copy pasting the text in and publish a blank chapter. Didn't happen.)

Hermit

Page stared at where the marked wall used to be, into the opening that had suddenly appeared. She blinked, rubbing her eyes with a hoof to make sure she wasn’t just seeing things, but the sight in front of her refused to vanish.

Extending from the back of the hexagonal room was a space that defied explanation. Firstly, it was massive; Page hadn’t had a great look at how far back the house had extended, but it was obvious that it wasn’t that big. This room, however, seemed to stretch into infinity. It didn’t even seem to have an end, and if it did, it was beyond Page’s sight. The ceiling, too, was too high, much higher than the house itself.

Secondly, it was the most bizarre looking space Page had even seen. The pattern and material of the flooring changed at random intervals, from checkerboard marble to carpet to floorboards… Page even spotted what looked to be a patch of ice. The ceiling appeared to be much the same way, and dotted all over were both random pieces of furniture, also made of various materials, and other strange objects that looked like modern art sculptures. Unlike the darkness of the rest of the house, this space was brightly lit, but there didn’t appear to be any obvious light sources.

I… I should leave. Page thought, gulping. I shouldn’t be here. This is… This is something that Princess Twilight should deal with, or Princess Celestia, or… somepony who knows what they’re seeing, at least. And yet, curiosity bubbled within her. Against all better judgement, she took a step forward. And then another. Before she knew it, she had passed the threshold entirely, entering the strange space.

Now she was inside, the wrongness of the space was even more apparent. It didn’t just stretch on forwards, but to the sides as well, a seemingly infinite space. It’s like… a pocket dimension or something? Apparently there was a way to link such a dimension to a doorway, but that kind of magical theory was far from her forte.

She turned around, curious to see how the entrance looked from this side, only to reel back in shock. The way in had vanished: The only thing behind her was the indefinitely extending space. There was no sign of the hexagonal room, or any kind of exit. She was trapped.

Oh buck, oh buck, oh buck… Panic fully set in, and Page felt her breathing quicken. I should have just left what was I thinking this wasastupididea-

She stomped her hoof hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath. No, I can’t panic! She was scared and anxious, incredibly so, but she knew that curling up into a ball and hyperventilating wouldn’t get her anywhere. She mentally scrunched up her anxiety and threw it into the back of her mind, where she could suffer through it later, when she was safer.

She considered her options, but there was really only one choice to make: What direction to walk in. After a second of deliberation, Page chose the direction she had come in from, in the slim hope she might come across a way back to the hexagonal room.

However, no matter how far she walked, no exit came into view, or any kind of walls. Only the eccentric flooring, the high ceiling, and the random objects lying around. On closer inspection, even the objects she assumed to just be statues seemed to be furniture of some kind, chairs and tables and shelving, but designed in such a way that made them totally unusable for a pony. Somehow, that just made them more unnerving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Page finally came across something different. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an exit, but rather some kind of hexagonal metal platform. It wasn’t very high, only about an inch off the floor, but it was large enough that several ponies could easily stand on it. In the very centre, there was a circle of smooth, black glass.

Is it… some kind of stage? Hesitantly, Page touched it with a hoof. It flashed purple, and she quickly retracted her leg. Why do I keep touching things?

“Well, it’s been a while…” An androginous voice rang out from nowhere, and Page jumped slightly in surprise. The circle of glass flashed, and a cone of light projected out of it. A floating purple object appeared, slightly transparent, hovering above the platform. It looked a little like one of those many sided dice used in tabletop games, but through it’s transparent sides Page could see more edges, and it spun and rotated in seemingly random directions as the edges and vertices shifted.

“...Oh.” The voice spoke again, except this time it sounded disappointed and annoyed. “It’s just one of the local equinoids.” The floating shape twisted a little, and Page had the distinct feeling it was focusing on her. “How did you even get in here, anyway?”

“Uh…” Page froze, taking a step back with wide eyes. “I… I don’t really know…”

The voice groaned in annoyance. “Typical…”

“What… who are you?” Page asked.

The voice sighed again. “Right, okay, let’s get this over with. Back and forth explanations are annoyingly inefficient, so what is going to happen is that I am going to preemptively answer the questions you almost most certainly have, and then you are going to answer mine. Okay? Okay.”

Without waiting for a response, the voice continued talking. “You can call me Hermit. I am an artificial intelligence–” they paused. “–right, pre-computing society, you have no idea what that is… think of me like a self aware spell, that’s close enough, you don’t actually need to understand.”

‘Artificial intelligence’? This ‘Hermit’ was right, Page didn’t know what that was exactly, but she was fairly sure she understood what it meant: She was talking to wasn’t a living being.

“Anyway, yes,” Hermit continued. “I am the artificial intelligence in charge of overseeing this instance of the Pocket. Which…” The shape that seemed to represent Hermit spun around, as if to look at the space around it. “Hasn’t exactly gone very well. In my defence, I’ve been in sleep mode for… wow, fifty-six years, eight months, twenty days. No wonder it’s such a mess.”

Page opened her mouth to ask a question, but Hermit noticed this, cutting her off. “What’s the Pocket, you ask? It’s simple. Well, it’s not simple, it’s far beyond your ability to comprehend, but, in short, it’s an extra-dimensional construct that Master uses as their home base. The Pocket can be split into instances that have the ability to take form in reality, such as the house located in the Equestrian capital of Canterlot that, unless something has gone catastrophically wrong, is how you managed to end up in here. This instance appears to be breaking down, and the excess infinity is leaking into this space. A trivial fix, I’ll get on that after I deal with you.”

“Now…” Hermit flew right up to Page’s face, and she took a step back. “Your turn. Explain yourself.” It’s voice didn’t change much in tone from mild annoyance, but Page still felt threatened.

“Uh… I’m P-page Turner, and…” She took a deep breath. “I was, um, looking for the pony who wrote this…” She reached into her bag and pulled out the book, holding it up to Hermit. “I was told that she may have lived here in the past, so…”

The book was yanked out of her magical grip by Hermit, who pulled it into itself. “Hmm… where did you get a book with Mistress’ symbol on it?”

“I-in the Royal Archives…” Page stammered. “I… the stories in there…” She gulped. “I have stories just like it that I’m writing. I… wanted to know how that was possible.”

“Interesting…” Hermit made a humming sound. “The records within this book don’t match anything in my data banks. The main character of the fourth story bears some resemblance to you, however.”

“They aren’t me, though. Not really.” Page answered, slowly growing in confidence as she continued to converse with Hermit. “She has the same name, she looks like me, but we’re not the same pony. And it’s the one story I didn’t write myself. I was… I was hoping I would find a clue here.”

“Well, the fact that Master’s symbol is on the cover means something. And the style of writing… it bears some similarities to that of Master’s, but it’s distinct enough that it doesn’t seem to be their work… You say you wrote these?”

“I… kind of? I haven’t finished them,” Page explained. “I’ve been writing bits and pieces for years, but none of them are complete. And yet, this book has them, and it was printed over fifty years ago.”

“Hmm…” Hermit’s floating projection flashed several times in succession. “I don’t detect any kind of temporal anomalies on this tome, but I don’t suppose that means much. Your information could still have travelled to the past through other means. You say investigating this book led you here?”

Page nodded. “I found the publisher, and, apparently, the mare who provided the manuscript left this house as her address.”

“It could have been Mistress, I suppose…” Hermit ejected the book, floating it down to Page. “This warrants further investigation.”

“Who are these ‘Master’ and ‘Mistress’ you keep talking about, anyway?” Page asked.

Hermit froze. “Did I… I did, I forgot to explain that part! How could I forget something so important… spending so long in sleep mode must have affected me more than I thought. If I had the capacity for it, I would be embarrassed.”

Page blinked. “You can’t get embarrassed?” Lucky…

“Seemed like a waste of processing power.” Hermit said simply. “Anyway, yes, Mistress. They are, I would hope you would have already figured out, the creator and master of the Pocket and all that exists within it, including myself. They are a being vastly beyond the comprehension of mortals like you, or even my own computational ability.”

“What about your ‘Master’?” Page asked.

“They are one and the same. Master transcends those concepts of sex and gender organics obsess over so much. I was programmed to randomly alternate between titles. I think it amuses them.”

“...Huh.” Page didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Fair enough, I guess.”

“I stopped questioning their choices a long time ago. For an AI like myself, their irrational decisions are often nigh incomprehensible. I often think I was granted self-awareness solely so Mistress could confuse me…”

“Hmm…” Page put a hoof to her chin. “Where are they now? This… Mistress.” Page felt weird calling them that, but without another name to use, it was all she could call them.

Hermit made a movement that Page interpreted as a shrug. “No idea. I’ve been asleep for fifty six years. Master made this instance of the Pocket and placed it here, said they were ‘going to set something up’, and then never came back, it seems.”

“Then… is it possible that they were the one who got this book published in the first place?”

“In lieu of another explanation, that seems like the most likely explanation.” Hermit flashed again. “I cannot decipher a reason for their actions, however. This book could be any number of things, from a message for help to a simple prank. And this book’s title…” Hermit trailed off.

“What about the title?” Does the word Shilic actually mean something?

“I do not recognize it, and yet it feels… off.” Hermit seemed to shudder slightly. “I cannot quantify this feeling. It’s annoying.”

“Oh.” Page looked down at the floor. “Sorry, I guess. It’s… like a pen name, that I wanted to use, it’s not supposed to mean anything.”

“Another mystery to add to the ever expanding list…” Hermit was quiet for several seconds. “I’ve come to a decision.”

Page looked back up. “What?”

“I do not know Mistress’s current location. Since a significant amount of local time has passed, locating her would seem to be a logical course of action. Since you possess a book with Master’s symbol, and also have a vested interest in locating them, I believe it would be practical to work together. Thus, until further notice, I shall grant you limited administrative control over this instance, as well as my own operations.”

“Huh?” Page took a step back. “Grant me… what? I just wanted to–”

“In simple terms, I’m letting you control this instance, within reason. You do want to find answers, correct?”

“Well, yeah…” Page had to admit, the mystery had become even more intriguing. This… ‘Master’, or whoever they were, had some connection to the book, and to her, somehow. If I walk away, I’ll wonder about this for the rest of my life…”

“Great.” Hermit flashed again. “And done, you’re registered. What first, Miss Page?” Despite the polite title, Hermit’s voice still had a slight bite to it, and Page wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t some kind of subtle mockery.

Page looked around at the infinite space, and then back to Hermit, with a sheepish expression. “Can… can you make a way out?”

“Ah, yes, the excess infinity. A simple fix. Give me a second…” Hermit flashed some more, and then made several beeping noises. Suddenly, a ripple of energy emanated from it’s floating projection of a body, consuming the room with a bright blast of light that forced Page to cover her eyes.

When she looked again, the space had completely changed. She seemed to be back in the black hexagonal room, but it was significantly different. The walls were lined with advanced looking machines, with glowing panels covered in text, numbers and diagrams. The chandelier was lit, but with tiny glowing orbs instead of fire. A few of the pieces of furniture from the infinite space were also present, but only those suited for ponies, and in sensible places.

In the centre of the room was Hermit’s platform, though it was much smaller than it had been before. Hermit hovered above it, it’s projection also smaller. “There we go. Much better.”

Page looked around. “What happened? What’s all this stuff?”

“This is the control room for this instance,” Hermit explained. “It seems Mistress deactivated it after she left. You passed through a similar room before you entered the damaged area, correct?”

Page nodded. “Yeah. The symbol that was on the book was on the wall. When I touched it with my magic, the wall disappeared and led me to that weird space.”

“Figures. Normally, that would be locked to Master’s current biometrics, but it seems they decided to instead have it react to any unicorn magic. Most likely another part of whatever ploy they have cooking up.”

“What about the rest of the house?” Page asked. “It’s in pretty poor shape.”

“Everything in the instance is controlled from here. It would be a simple matter to clean it up.”

“Wouldn’t… ponies notice, though?” Page pointed out. “That this old house was suddenly fixed up?”

“I doubt it,” Hermit said dismissively. “The instance is covered in a perception filter. The only way to notice it is to be specifically looking for it.”

That explains how it managed to last in such a state for so long… Page thought. I guess a perception filter is like a ‘Notice-Me-Not’ spell or something. She walked over and closely inspected one of the strange machines. “What does all this stuff do?” She asked.

Hermit groaned. “It’s a computer. It computes. I really do not have the patience to explain these basic concepts to you.” With a flash, a book appeared on the flat top of one of the machines. “Master made that guide to explain these things so they didn’t have to. If you really want to know, read it and progress your civilization by several decades.”

Page’s eyes went wide, and she eagerly snatched the book up in her magic. It was bright yellow, with the title “Technology of the Information Age for Dummies” written on the front. At the bottom of the cover, a small blurb read “How to understand computers when your society is still in the Iron Age”. Pretty sure Equestria is a little more advanced than that, but… “Thanks, I’ll definitely take a look at this.”

“Most people don’t react so positively to reference manuals,” Hermit commented. “Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, based on your cutie mark. Figures you’d be excited by books.”

“I’m predictable like that.” Page joked. She was still a little uncomfortable, but Hermit, while grumpy, didn’t seem like a bad… whatever it was. And getting out of the disorentating infinite space had helped her mood, enough for her to joke a little.

“Once you’re done with that, I’ll explain the specifics of the controls in here,” Hermit said, floating over to one of the panels. “The instance is operating at eighty two percent efficiency. Not great, but acceptable. All functions are operable, at least.”

“So…” Hermit flew over to Page, hovering in front of her. “What’s the plan, Miss Page?”

Author's Note

It's time for the first Genre Shift! We're moving into more Sci-Fi territory here, so... that's a thing, I guess. This will probably happen several times, so if you don't like the direction of the story, feel free to comment and suggest other ways things could go. I'm honestly a little nervous about the reception to this chapter, but I'm personally happy with how it turned out.

Anyway, audience participation: You heard the AI, they need a plan. (Yes, the plan will involve Page reading the guide. That will probably happen during a cutaway. This is a given. She is a book pone.) Since this isn't just a 'telling the character what to do' comment driven story, you may also suggest things that Hermit and the Pocket are able to do, things Hermit may or may not know, stuff like that. I always say "I have no idea what I'm gonna do next", but so far I've been able to use comment suggestions to make the next chapter fairly easily, so fingers/hooves crossed I can keep that up.

Long Author's Note, sorry, I always feel the need to explain myself. Thanks to everyone who has been leaving comments so far, by the way. This story is doing pretty bad compared to most of everything else I've put out but I've had fun writing it so who cares about that green lightsaber down there?