Of Moon and Stars

Chapters

Chapter 1: The Heavens Rebel
Chapter 2: The Unanswered Question
Chapter 3: Seek
Chapter 4: Finding Answers
Chapter 5: Moon. Stars. Mirror. Blast.

Chapter 1: The Heavens Rebel

The autumn night was cool and crisp. An icy breeze blew from Mount Everhoof in the North, bringing with it rust-colored leaves and flocks of birds escaping to the sunny crags of Aris. The air was chilly, seeing that ponies were wearing scarfs and muffs, and perhaps smoking a pipe or two to keep warm. The sky above was cold, black, and foreboding. There would be no moon tonight, for it was shielded by Earth’s cosmic shadow. The sapphire stars of Aquilian’s Watch would bring light in its stead.

Up on a high tower, a purple griffoness and a greyish-blue earth pony measured the stars.

“That’s why we call it the Blue Moon Festival,” Tarla explained as she sat at her desk. She was hunched exactly 90 degrees, her beak kissing the parchment sheet, as she drew a very fine line from one dot to another, in an agonizingly slow manner.

“I’ve… I’ve never known that,” wondered Aidan, her assistant, as he adjusted the astrolabe for the 147th time. “I’ve always thought it was just a griffon tradition. Uh, star Boerus at right ascension 6 hours, declination… 17 degrees south.”

“Well, it’s not just an old tradition,” countered Tarla, marking the celestial object with a little inky dot. “It’s a festival of thanksgiving, a celebration of the stars giving us light. We’ll always have light, no matter the darkest night” – she dipped her quill in the inkpot.

“Well, you learn something new everyday, eh?” Aidan readjusted the astrolabe.

“Yup. Can’t stop learning, can we?”

Tarla drew another line between the stars, finally completing the constellation Brulia, last of Aquilian’s Watch. Though the map was far from finished, all major constellations and stars had been marked down crystal-clear. Half of the parchment was now a dizzying labyrinth of dots, shapes, angles, and lines contained within circles and circles.

She breathed a sigh long due. “Shall we take a break?”

Aidan turned around and nodded with a tired smile. He set the instrument down and trotted over to Tarla. “How’s the map going?”

The griffoness picked up the sheet and held it before the stallion. His initial curious glance was wiped off with an awed gaze, as he beheld masterful griffon craft, precisely inked and all.

“Woah.”

Tarla grinned. “Pretty, eh?”

“It’s accurate… right?” the pony confirmed nervously.

The griffoness flashed a scowl. “Of course! Hey, I spent a lifetime in the Royal Observatory learning all this stuff, plus 6 years of blood and sweat paying for fees. You can’t doubt my skill!”

Aidan rolled his eyes teasingly, before turning towards the candle and, with a ‘huff!’, snuffing it out, plunging the room into cold, star-lit darkness. He wrapped a hoof around Tarla and embraced her, the griffoness responding likewise. Outside, the air was chilly, but the two felt as if they were close to a lively hearth.

“Of course I’d never doubt your skill, Tarla Sparklefeather.”

She chuckled a little. “I always feel so relaxed after hearing that. Especially when you say my full name.”

He smiled. “Hey, I mean it. But…”

“But?”

“Can’t say the same for the royal court.”

Tarla’s countenance darkened a little, as if the room was not dark enough.

“Yeah…”

“Not just your skill.” He sighed, disappointed, but not in her. “They doubt your everything, griffon and all.”

“Well, it’s not like we were that… kind to them…” Tarla cringed at her own understatement.

“Well–” Aidan’s heart stung a little; the truth was too close to home. He sighed. “Yes.”

“I don’t blame you. We were cruel during the war.”

“I’d never hold that against you, though…”

“But it’s not just me, right?” Tarla leaned back and gazed at Aidan’s eyes, a sparkling yellow against the deep darkness. “You and I. They’d never…”

She looked away, rather ashamed to say it. But Aidan… he was a smart guy. He knew. And he understood.

“Right. I’m just your assistant.”

Now he was disappointed at her. Tarla drew in a sharp breath, feeling accused.

“No, no… you’re not just my assistant,” she whispered. “At least to me. I’d never want that.”

Now Aidan looked away, staring at the astrolabe bathed in starlight.

“Is it even possible?”

Tarla wanted to answer back. No, her heart urged her. Not now. Stay silent. She sighed, suddenly feeling nervous.

“I… I think we should get back to work. Somepony could see us.”

Aidan breathed. “Right. Don’t want any devilish rumors going around.”

Tarla rolled her eyes. “Especially not the court.”

The pony quickly struck flint, and the room was immediately lit up. The griffoness sat at the desk and inked up her quill. Aidan straightaway set the astrolabe spinning, and the two began mapping out the rest of the parchment.

“Star Scilio, right ascension 4 hours, declination 22 degrees north.”

“Marked.”

“Just below, star Maia, right ascension 4 hours, declination 8 degrees north.”

“Marked.”

“Next, star Logium, right ascension 3.5 hours, 7 degrees south, just below Gaila.”

“Logium, Gaila, marked.”

“Wait… hold on, something’s not right.” Aidan shook the instrument and held it up again.

“What?” questioned Tarla.

“Gaila’s… changing positions.”

Tarla raised a disbelieving brow. “That’s… impossible.”

Aidan shrugged, as mystified as her. “I don’t know, it’s just… it’s moving eastward. Declination is increasing.”

“Gimme that.”

Tarla grabbed the instrument and glanced between it and the night sky. Back and forth. Sure enough, the bright, tangerine-colored star was moving up and westward at speeds way too fast for a star. She’d have to keep rotating the stupid disc just to keep track of it.

“Aidan, fire up the telescope. Keep track of it. I’m gonna follow its trajectory.”

Aidan snapped up. “But the map–”

“The map can wait,” Tarla cut off. “Stars don’t just go rocketing up and out. This warrants investigation.”

Aidan rolled his eyes and trotted off. Tarla set the instrument down – no, dropped it, with a loud clang – and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Quill flowing with ink and compass at the ready, the griffon plotted a horizontal line, followed by a vertical line, and then a great big circle. Gears spun and clicked as Aidan cranked up and out a giant, cannon-sized telescope. He set its calibration with utmost speed and jammed his eyes into the lens, observing the runaway star.

“Original location?”

“Right ascension 11 hours, declination 7 degrees north.”

Marked.

“Now?”

“Just crossed star Dandelion at declination 10 degrees.”

Marked. She quickly joined the two with a line.

“It’s slowing.”

“Location?”

“Right ascension 9 hours, declination 11.5 degrees. Currently aligned with Palorix.”

“The East Star? Strange.”

“Yeah, it’s almost superna– wait, wait, another one!”

“By Heaven, what?”

“Star, can’t tell what it is. Bright, violet in color. Origin at 16 degrees north, right ascension 7 hours.”

“Sounds like Juno. It’s located in the northern groupings anyway.”

“It’s stopped. Right ascension 8.4 hours, declination at 11 degrees.”

Tarla scrawled it all down with a quick talon and observed the plot. The end points of both trajectories lined up with each other, vertically. It almost looked trivial. Coincidence, perhaps. She tried to make any sense of it, but there seemed to be no meaning behind this… event.

Maybe just some distortion on the leylines. That was stuff she’d rather leave to the Thaumaturgy department.

“Uh, Tarla?”

“What, Aidan?”

“Another.”

“What?!”

Aidan tore his eyes away and glared at her with an I-don’t-know-what-to-do look. He couldn’t believe it just as much as her. There was simply no reason, absolutely no reason, for stars to run about like a yak on a wheelie.

“We–”

“Keep track of it. This… this is most strange.”

“Aye aye, captain,” drawled the pony, as he readjusted the behemoth instrument.

***

Hoofsteps echoed softly off alabaster walls and polished marble. Princess Celestia exhaled a sharp sigh of relief. She chuckled sourly – that last noble really deserved a good verbal whacking for his irresponsibility; perhaps she should’ve given him an actual one on his fine plot, just like the old days.

She sent a small smile to the guards standing vigilant by the entrance. They instantly bowed in deference and moved to open the doors.

“That’s alright, boys. I’d like to do it myself,” bade the princess. “I tire of such ceremony, especially when it’s just myself alone.”

They nodded. “Goodnight, your highness. Have a good rest,” one offered.

“Thank you, you’re very kind.”

She shut the door with a sigh and locked it. Twice. She really wanted to make sure every complaint, murmur, and noise from today’s proceedings would stay out, out, and out of her chambers.

She ruminated on what to unwind herself with as she stripped off her regalia. She paused for a moment, taking note of a little scratch on the surface of her neck-plate, before hanging the set onto its ornate stand, gleaming gold and bright in the candelabra’s light. She’d have to ask the goldsmith to fix that up tomorrow.

Stargazing sounded good. A perfect activity to relax with, for it allowed her to admire the pure love and artistic craft expended by Luna to beautify the dark heavens. There was no moon tonight, for it was new – a greater chance to see the fainter stars, and, perhaps by fortune, a nebula.

She retrieved a telescope from a far corner of her room. She frowned at the amount of dust it’d accumulated. With a simple spell, she wiped it clear of all grime and dirt, and gave a little polish to the brass plaque that identified its maker. Bringing it closer to the light to illuminate the finely carved letters, she read the name inscribed.

Luna. Princeps Nocti. Soror Amatus.

Soror Amatus. Celestia paused, a little saddened as she thought about that phrase. Luna… really loved her, hadn’t she?

She sighed, suddenly finding the telescope much, much more valuable now. She gently held it and brought it to the balcony, propping it up to view the sky.

She gasped softly as thousands of stars blinked to life. They twinkled and shone, sparkling brightly like jewels sewn on dark silk. Celestia chuckled; she briefly wondered how much Rarity could take inspiration from just staring at them like that.

There was Angelon, the North Star, shining brightly on her left, for she faced east, and directly in front of her gleamed Palorix. She drew out the patterns of Caeria, Osmosial, and Ferrius, three giant constellations whom Luna had personally made and named, and admired the blues and golds of Aquilian’s Watch. Beautiful, all was so beautiful.

Then, she noticed it. Something moved amidst the stars.

At first, Celestia brushed it off as her imagination; maybe some interference of light somewhere. She observed the moving object and watched it slow and stop. She shrugged; maybe it was some particle or comet moving. It stopping, though, was a bit strange…

Then another star moved. She snapped up and focused. Then another. And another. It wasn’t some faint unknown star going cranky; no, these were bright ones. The major stars. The ones that astronomers and navigators always looked to first.

They shifted, they moved. Why, or where – not even how – Celestia didn’t know. She huffed, perhaps out of stupor, or annoyance; perhaps both. She had to investigate this.

Holding her ground, and with gritted teeth, Celestia fired up her horn, aimed it towards the heavens, and strung onto an invisible leyline. She closed her eyes and observed.

She felt alignment, but to what? She sensed something… Fulfilment, or perhaps a kind of culmination. But of what?

It was vibrating, oscillating hard. A bit too hard for her liking. There was something wrong; she could feel it. It twisted in her gut and clawed at her heart. Celestia felt darkness taking over her soul, as if… as if she would drown in the night.

Gasping, she cut the connection, horn sparking angrily. Light-headed, she leaned against the balcony, breathing in ragged gasps.

“What’s… going on?” she thought aloud. Then, eyes widening, she turned towards the stars once again and inhaled.

“Could it be…?”

Chapter 2: The Unanswered Question

Tarla quickly traversed the wide halls of Canterlot Palace, talons clacking loudly against marbled floors. She’d done well being first in line for court; now came the challenges of nasty nobles’ talk, steely-eyed guards, and fatigue on her way to the courtroom. She’d promised herself that stars only played circus once in a lifetime, so last night’s frenzy would be her first and last. Well, she hoped it would be.

She and Aidan had tracked twelve stars moving from their initial positions; the messy, ink-blotted draft notes had transformed into a fully annotated and neatly arranged parchment. Only one question remained – why? Tarla had, of course, no answer for that; neither did Aidan. Supernatural responsibility was high on the list, but Tarla was unsure whether to take that as a solid answer. Facts, facts, and facts should be the best option now.

One idea did intrigue her, though, and despite her reservations regarding supernatural stuff, she could not put it out of her mind.

Aidan mentioned in passing some famous legend of a certain Nightmare Moon, a monster that Celestia had allegedly fought and banished to the Moon. Not too long after, a prophecy appeared, predicting that Nightmare would return after a thousand years by the aid of the stars.

The pony had dismissed it as an old mare’s tale. Tarla had done exactly the same.

She reached the corridor to the throne room. It was a short one, with an ornate lantern hanging above, flanked by rich designs from Canterlot’s golden age. In niches on either side were great busts of Canterlot’s founders; they both exemplified dedication on the part of the sculptor, and awesome terror on the part of the viewer. Tarla quietly confessed that neither affected her greatly as she made her way past; she wasn’t much for the arts anyway.

Two guards stood post at either side of the great door. “State your business!” declared one.

Tarla produced a little plaque from her satchel – a bronze-gilded piece of wood with her name and Celestia’s seal embossed upon it. The guard eyed her warily for a moment, then nodded with a grunt.

“Follow me,” he requested as he and his fellow pushed open the doors. She complied, walking in softly and trying to be as meek as possible.

“Your Highness, Miss Tarla Sparklefeather requests your audience!” bellowed the guard.

The princess looked up and nodded. The guard turned and left. Tarla bowed, as deep as possible. “Good m-morning, y-your highness,” she greeted, stumbling over her words a little. The princess gave a hearty chuckle.

“Good morning, Tarla. Please, be at ease and rise. Don’t be afraid.”

Tarla breathed, rising up to face the princess. Her warm, genuine smile put her heart to rest, at least a little. A familiar scene came to mind, when she’d stood in the very same court to be judged for–

She shook her head and beamed a huge smile to the princess, shutting away that memory.

“How has your work been?” asked the princess.

Tarla smiled a little. “It’s been going great, your highness. The autumn star map’s going pretty well too. But, um…” She hesitated.

“What is it, Tarla?”

The griffoness sighed, opening her satchel and pulling out the parchment. “Last night, my assistant and I saw twelve stars suddenly moving from their positions in the sky. We tracked their movements” – she offered the parchment to Celestia – “and recorded it here, all annotated as well. It’s a strange event. I… I thought you should know about this.”

A golden aura wrapped the parchment up and received it, Celestia reading it with a raised brow. Tarla froze in terror when she heard a gasp coming from the throne.

“When did this occur?” urged the princess.

“L-last night, your highness,” quickly answered the griffoness. The princess sighed, then arose from her throne. Tarla gulped and bowed so deep her beak kissed the marble floor.

“I watched the stars last night. The very same occurred,” answered Celestia, pausing in her steps. She frowned. “It was… strange. Dark, even.”

Tarla glanced up, but remained bowed. “Do you have any idea what it is, your highness?”

Celestia eyed her sadly. “Unfortunately, no, I don’t. This is something that I’ll have to take up with the Thaumaturgy Department. Thank you, though, for letting me know,” offered the princess with a smile.

Tarla nodded. An idea suddenly came back to mind, the one that’d fascinated her. She was curious as to what Celestia would say about it. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“Um, your highness, my assistant mentioned about some old mare’s tale about a monster called Nightmare Moon? One whom you supposedly defeated?” Celestia raised a brow, but Tarla continued. “Is it true?”

The princess slowly nodded, her subtle stiffness missed by the griffoness. “Yes, it’s true. It was a tragic moment in our history.” Her heart burnt for a moment; she forced it down. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” continued Tarla, “he mentioned some prophecy that said she’d return with the help of the stars.” She chuckled. “Not that I’m saying it’s true, but do you think it has some connection to what happ–”

“What does a mere astronomer know?” chided a deep, slightly coarse voice. Tarla and Celestia snapped towards a white stallion trotting over to them in a grand stride, with matching suit and puffed wig over his head.

“Minister Armillary,” greeted Celestia, to which the stallion gave a quick bow. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve come to report to you a strange observation in the sky. Although, it seems” – he shot the griffoness a glare of spite – “somecreature less qualified has beat me to it. And even tried to make some connection with a foal’s story.”

Tarla’s griffon instincts ordered her to grab his throat and choke him to death, but she forced them down and dropped her gaze to the floor. Better to stay silent. Perhaps the princess was benign enough to defend her.

“Oh, minister, I assure you,” chuckled Celestia. “Tarla Sparklefeather is not less qualified.” She stretched a wing towards her. “In fact, she’s of high importance, for her eagle eyes are much needed for stellar observation. Her star maps are, as of now, the most accurate in all of Equestria.”

“Indeed, and the most distrustful,” he spat. Celestia raised a brow. “Lately, I’ve received reports that the Érudítí are wreaking havoc again. They’ve been attempting to shift stellar planes by use of star maps.” He fixed a suspicious eye on Tarla.

“And what do you insinuate by that?” questioned the princess.

“I only mean to report. Last night’s event could very well be connected to those rogues. In fact” – he trotted closer – “I highly suspect that figures in the palace may be involved.” He, again, eyed Tarla. She sulked.

Celestia eyed the minister with skepticism, while Tarla turned her gaze to a marvelous painting of a dragon roasting a bunch of ponies alive. Scary.

“Do you have any evidence, Armillary?”

“As of today, we’ve apprehended four earth pony suspects. Found some rather high-quality star maps with them. Which makes me wonder,” he paused, shooting a glare at Tarla.

“How should we know if this griffon could be supplying the means?” he accused.

“Minister, hold your tongue!” scolded Celestia. Tarla’s eyes widened to saucers. “Do not dare jump to conclusions!”

The minister quickly bowed. “With all respect, your highness, I speak out of concern for your safety!”

Tarla breathed hard, trying to process what he’d just said. She forced the urge to scream down into her heart. She could not get angry, not at this time.

“Your concerns are needless. Please, do not disgrace Miss Tarla’s presence,” chided the princess.

“B-but how can we trust her? For all we know, she could turn against us at any moment. She’s done that during the war!”

“The war is over. Do not bring it up. For the sake of your dignity and hers, apologise. And please, see yourself out after you’re done. You may discuss the issue with me afterwards.” The princess turned and trotted to her throne.

“My deepest apologies, Miss… Tarla,” mumbled the stallion. He arose and gave her one final glare of warning – maybe hate mixed in too – and left through a side door. Celestia huffed as she eased into the throne.

Tarla released a sharp exhale, eyes wet with anger and hurt pride. “I a-apologize, your highness. I should go now,” she offered with a bow. The smoke from burning candelabras was getting to her nerves, and she really wanted to go. Thankfully, the princess nodded. Sadly.

“Tarla,” called the princess as she turned to leave. “Don’t let your past mistakes affect you. It’s your choice whether you want to change or not. Nopony – nocreature – can tell you otherwise. Understand?”

The griffoness nodded. The princess smiled a little. She turned to leave.

“Oh, and Tarla,” added the princess. “Try not to look too much into the Nightmare Moon legend. It’s best that you don’t. I’ll… sort this out with my ministers, understand?”

“Yes, your highness.”

And out she went, sorely disappointed. Not only would she have to nurse her pride back to health, but she would also have to stem her curiosity about Nightmare Moon. She sighed deeply.

The question was, why?

She’d think about it over a drink. Rich, morning coffee with milk and sugar sounded really good right now.

Chapter 3: Seek

“Everything ready?” whispered a voice.

“Yes, milord,” answered another. “The Elements are stored in the basement. We’ve covered them with a thaumic-resistant tarp to mask their location.”

“Add another for good measure. We can’t have the princess detecting anything off.”

“But how do we keep her from suspecting?” questioned a third. “You know the princess’ innate connection with those things. She knows when something isn’t right.”

“Relax,” assured the first. “We can make her feel secure. Just reassure her with the power of eloquence.”

“What, you think flowery words will change her mind? Please,” snorted the second.

“Hey, don’t underestimate the tongue,” chided the first. “It is the perfect and most misunderstood tool of the body – I’d say it is a burning fire, capable of kindling an entire forest.”

“Where’s the fuel?” joked the third.

The first shot him a glare before continuing. “She has other pressing matters to attend to – enough that’ll keep her busy. We can take care of the rest.”

“Are you sure the Crystal Province’s unrest is that much of an issue?” doubted the third.

“It has the potential to become one, given their volatile relationship with Equestria. I did poison their ambassador, after all,” boasted the first.

“Well-played. Distraction is such a beauty,” quipped the second.

“Let's just hope she stays beautiful,” snarked the third.

“Anyway, when can we start the fusion process?” asked the first, ignoring the third's comment.

“I’m glad you asked,” smirked the second. He lifted a briefcase from beneath his chair and placed it on the table. The other two leaned in, curious.

“This,” the second explained, “was very hard to obtain. Believe me when I say I paid for it with another life.” The other two looked at each other and smirked.

“Consider it a small sacrifice,” commented the first, motioning for him to continue.

“It’s a complicated formula,” warned the second. “It requires tons of thaumatic energy and acute alertness, because it only takes a small margin of error to destroy the entire process.”

“Well, I wasn’t really the brightest in maths…” mumbled the third.

The second frowned. “Unless you want to wait for the next summer solstice?” he chided.

“No, no. We have to do it now, for there can be no more perfect time,” declared the first. He stood up.

“For too long has Celestia sat on that throne alone, deceitfully thinking she can handle this nation by herself.” He scoffed. “How unfortunate her ministers took advantage of her. Day by day, she overwhelms herself with the petty complaints of her little ponies, while outside her gilded gates are the unanswered cries of a thestral for justice, or a batpony’s desperate pleas for mercy!”

“Do not forget the misery of the Dogs,” added the second voice. “We work fang and bone molding silver and casting gold, yet my brothers still starve and sleep in graves while I lie sleepless in my bed of luxury.” He growled. “I shall never forget the names of every minister who has dismissed my every request for aid!”

“Remember the griffons,” came the third. “For despite our rightful and well-deserved defeat, we will never forget the Rape of the Coast.” He puffed out his chest and stretched his wings. “My blood cries vengeance for the virginity of my sisters!”

The first slammed his hoof against the table. “By all means, let us take this path to see the Diarchy restored! The Princess of the Sun has been blinded enough by her court; we will dispose of them and let her sister rule alongside her, as it was before, and as the Princess of the Night so wanted.” He turned to the diamond dog. “Let us begin the process.”

The dog smiled as he retrieved a large box from behind a curtain. “I do hope you remember your chemistry lessons from school.”

The griffon’s eyes widened when he saw what was inside. “Is that a..?”

“Yes. A thaumatic distillator. One of the finest in the land.” He gently placed the brass and glass instrument on a larger table. “There used to be hundreds of these around Equestria. Now” – he huffed – “there are only five.”

“Well then, we shan’t waste any more time,” responded the thestral as he trotted closer. “Let us begin.”

***

Tarla drank her coffee. Her eighth coffee. Aidan eyed her with a worried glance. “Are you sure you won’t… you know, suffer from caffeine overdose?”

She looked up with a bored look. “You mean die?”

Aidan put a hoof behind his head. “Well, I’d rather put it in a nicer way…”

“Nah, don’t care right now. I’ve had a terrible morning. Just let me drown in this rich goodness,” she remarked, before downing the cup.

Aidan reached out and squeezed her talon before she could ask for another. “Please, Tarla. Don’t do this to yourself.” She glared at him, but softened at his firm but gentle gaze. He smiled a little.

“Why do you care so much?” she sulkily asked.

He smiled wider. “Why do you think?”

Tarla’s eyes widened, and so did Aidan’s. Both cut off eye contact and looked for something else to gaze at. Tarla wondered whether the coffee was too warm, or if the weather was a little hotter than usual. Pegasi really know how to heat a griffon’s cheeks, eh?

“You don’t think… ponies are staring at us, do you?” asked Tarla, eyeing the sack of beans on the counter.

“Probably best we just leave like normal creatures,” mumbled Aidan, quickly finishing his cocoa.

“You’re right,” agreed Tarla. With a silent, mutual 1… 2… 3! they trotted out of the cafeteria like normal creatures, trying their very best to hide the blushes beneath their cheeks.

Tarla stayed silent, thinking about Nightmare Moon. Just… why had Princess Celestia told her not to look into it? She thought the princess would be ecstatic about recounting her victories. So why wasn’t she this time?

Maybe the princess wasn’t so willing to share certain details with outsiders. Perhaps Aidan knew some things..?

“Aidan, remember when you told me about Nightmare Moon?” she asked.

“Hmm, yeah,” he answered.

“Anything else you know about her?”

The pony jogged his memory a bit. “Well, I know she was related to Celestia in some way. Can’t remember the exact details.” He glanced at her. “Why?”

She sighed. “I’ve been a little curious about her. I’m sort of… wondering if last night’s event has something to do with her.” She paused in her steps. “The prophecy said the stars would help her, right?”

“Yeah, it does, but…” Aidan hesitated. “It’s just a foal’s story – at least, that’s what I’ve been told.” He frowned. “I do agree, though, that last night was… strange. The best explanation I can think of is some complicated thaumatic disturbance.”

“Yeah, I guess. I only wonder why the princess advised me not to look into it. Well – too much into it.”

Aidan thought for a little while, then sighed. “If you really want some answers, you could go to the… thestral quarters. I have a... friend there, a loremaster of sorts.”

Tarla fixed a puzzled look. “Thestral? What’s that?”

Aidan said nothing for a while. Or maybe, he was thinking of what to say.

“Well,” he began, “they’re basically dark-colored ponies with leather wings and fangs. It’s almost like… a bat mixed with a pony.”

Tarla raised an eyebrow. “That’s… ok, that’s fine, but, why are you like– wait, are they bad creatures?” she questioned.

Aidan racked his brain for a suitable answer. “Well, not really, I guess?” he answered with a nervous grin. He wiped it off and sighed. “It’s just that… we have a low opinion of them. A… very low one.”

“Basically, how almost every pony treats griffons?” Tarla responded with a low voice. Aidan slowly nodded, cringing inside. “I… Please don’t be mad at me,” he whispered.

Tarla raised a brow. “For what?”

He gritted his teeth. “Well, I… I’m… Look, it’s not like I hate them, but, it’s just that I was raised to see them in that light.” He sighed. “Now… reminding me how ponies treat griffons – treat you – it… it makes me feel stupid.” He gazed down. “I’m sorry.”

Tarla pulled him into a corridor. Making sure nopony was there to watch, she wrapped a wing around the stallion and leaned close. “Hey, of all the ponies in this world, you treat me the best.” She smiled a little. “You don’t see me as some… enemy or some liability. You see me as a friend” – And hopefully much more, whispered her heart – “and I’m glad for that.” She brought the other wing around and embraced him.

“I’m sure you can do the same with these ‘thestrals’.”

Aidan sighed and buried his head in her chest. “Thanks, Tarla.” She giggled, then slapped him hard. He yelped in pain as the griffoness moved away. “Quick, before somepony sees us!” she hissed, before quickly trotting out of the corridor.

She ruminated on the issue. Thestrals… half-pony half-bat, eh?

Both words in the same sentence sounded kinda weird (well, she refused to admit that “lion” and “bird” made as little sense), but she knew “bat” equaled “night.” And right now, she needed some answers about last night – perhaps they knew much more about the moon than the rest of ponykind?

Yup, she was definitely gonna see these creatures. Perhaps her question could be answered. Besides, curiosity had sparked – now she really wanted to see what a half-pony, half-bat creature looked like.

She turned to Aidan, who’d caught up to her, his cheek smarting red. She giggled. “Could you run along and get me a parchment? I’ll need to take some notes.”

Author's Note

Looking at the time and date, and with a busy schedule, I might not make it in time for the deadline. However, I'm trying my best to get as much out. I'll work on this until it's time's up.

Chapter 4: Finding Answers

It was afternoon now, and a rather intense one. The throne room was brightly lit from the grand skylight above, and judging by how saturated the light shining in was, the sun had reached its peak.

Still, afternoons had never been this hot, not even in the summer. The heat had become so oppressive that Celestia had ordered blocks of ice to be brought for her and the guards – loyalty was admirable, but she’d rather her colts not fry themselves to death in their thick armour for her sake.

She mumbled to herself, wondering if the astronomical issue had anything to do with this… extreme weather. The stars had shifted, disrupting leylines, and now this? Something was not right. Definitely not right…

A loud bang and a huff broke her train of thought. Celestia looked up, noticing the sentry standing at attention.

“Your H-highness, the ministers are here!” he bellowed, huffing as sweat poured down his mane.

Celestia managed a chuckle, despite the heat, and nodded. “Send them in. And when you’re done, you must take a cold bath. This is an order,” she commanded with a teasing undertone. The guard bowed and, huffing again, pulled open the heavy wooden doors with his companion.

A crowd of groaning, tired ponies stumbled inside. Most were holding kerchiefs and fans to keep themselves cool. Celestia sighed quietly, for they looked quite pitiful, especially Minister Armillary – that haughty stallion had rather be baked in his wig and suit than slip into something more modern and cooling.

Celestia shook her head. There were more important issues at hoof than clothing styles.

The doors closed with a loud groan; the lone sentry had gone, probably galloping off for a cold dip. Celestia glanced around the room and smirked.

“Guards, take a bath. All of you,” she commanded again. They immediately obeyed, armour clanging and spears knocking as they rushed out of the throne room, excited. The doors closed behind them with a confident bang.

Celestia wanted to smile at their cheeky display, but the assembled crowd of depressed, dehydrated ministers dampened her mood. She coughed and took her seat.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began. The assembly nodded in acknowledgement, and she continued. “I’m sure you all know why we have assembled, despite this… malevolent weather.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Your Highness. We’ve battled creatures more malevolent than this insufferable weather,” chuckled Armillary. He gave a side-glance to his companions seated beside him, and they chuckled with knowing looks.

Celestia observed the minister with a lowered brow. “Minister, I suggest you get back on topic,” she firmly chastised. Armillary bowed his sweaty head and apologised.

“We are here to discuss any solutions we have to this current crisis,” she stated.

***

Tarla and Aidan cautiously made their way through the wide alley. It was dark, dingy, and permeated with a nauseating stench. Aidan’s nose twitched more than once at the scent of blood. A wary look revealed nothing more than ragged stalls selling rotting vegetables and wild game – an abattoir of sorts, seeing that fowl and rabbit hung from hooks dangerously strung upon overhead wires.

Tarla wasn’t affected at all by the meat, but to Aidan, it was a gore-fest. Unfortunately, she found it hard to sympathise, being somewhat of a meat-eater herself. “I don’t blame you, though,” she remarked. “You are a pony, after all. Green is your diet.”

Aidan nodded, before stumbling to the side and throwing up for the third time. Tarla brought a wing and patted him gently.

“T-thanks Tarla,” he mumbled. She nodded kindly.

They continued their way through Whitecottage Lane. It was infamous for many things, not least of which was being the road to the thestral quarter. Aidan had said it was located in a large cave, enough to house around a quarter of ten-thousand.

“Large enough to raise brows and suspicions from court,” he whispered.

Tarla noted the two sentries milling about the gates. Something seemed off about their ears, though…

“H-hey hey, pretty girl…” slurred a low voice. Tarla and Aidan’s heads snapped to the side. A ragged stallion trotted toward them. His uneven gait and lustful gaze told them a thousand words about his character.

Before Tarla could react, Aidan had stepped in front of her, briefly giving an I-got-this look to the griffon. Ignoring her protests, he marched toward the stallion.

“Back off, leech,” spat Aidan.

“And who are you, bastard?” riposted the stallion, his lustful gaze now turned into anger. He glanced between the two and spat. “You her coltfrien’ or somethin’?”

“I said back off.”

The stallion grabbed him by his neck and brought him close. “You listen to me, bugger – you are a bugger, no? Your pretty body tells me you enjoy colts more than ma–”

A hard hoof connected with his haggard face, sending blood and a tooth flying out. Now it was Aidan’s turn to grab the stallion by his neck. He leaned in close.

“No, you listen to me, lecher.” Aidan spat to the side and glared ice-cold daggers at him. “I’ll say it one last time. Back off.” He leaned closer, trying not to gag at the revolting stench of alcohol coming from the stallion’s bloodied mouth. “Or something else is gonna get punched. Understand?”

Aidan dropped him without waiting for a response. He trotted to Tarla and hugged her shivering form. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah… T-thanks, Aidan,” she answered.

Aidan nodded. “Come on, let’s go,” he whispered.

They resumed trotting, albeit at a quickened pace. The loud cussing of the lecher faded into the evening air. Night was coming, and Aidan kept Tarla close; he didn’t notice the blush beneath her cheeks.

There was still a bit of road between them and the gates. The guards stared at them, and Tarla noticed that their slitted eyes never left them. Their ears appeared tufted and befurred. Strange, thought Tarla. Perhaps it was a different tribe of ponies?

The dimness made it hard to see. A mist also began to settle. The sun was fading quickly beneath the horizon, and the only light in the alley came from one or two lanterns that hung warily from a building to their left. A few windows were lit, and there was some noise coming from inside. Tarla noted the two mares outside eyeing them intensely, a gaze that hung between lust and misery.

“It’s called The Snake’s Pit,” whispered Aidan, consciously keeping his voice low. Tarla shuddered at the name. “It’s a den of bong smokers and drug dealers. Not to mention” – he shakily gestured to the mares behind – “the p-prostitutes.”

Tarla gasped, shivering as a cold wind whipped her plume up. Was that..?

“Tarla, Tarla!” called Aidan, shaking her. She choked, whispering, “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” soothed Aidan, hugging her again. The warmth of his body slowly calmed the griffon, and she sighed.

“I don’t want to be here. Please, let’s just go in,” she whispered. Aidan nodded, and they continued forth.

“State your business!” barked one of the guards. They both clacked their spears against the dusty road, slitted eyes focusing in on the two visitors.

“W-we’ve come to visit the local loremaster. We just want to ask a few things,” stated Aidan, a bit timidly.

“What, you from the court?” spat the other guard.

The first one chuckled darkly. “Heh, the griffon looks like one from the Snake.”

“Hey!” roared Tarla. “I’ll have you know that I am an astr– mmff!”

Aidan shut Tarla’s beak with a hoof and chuckled at the guards. “I-I apologise, sirs. She’s a little… loud sometimes,” he offered. Tarla shot the pony a death glare and mumbled some curses, but Aidan ignored her. Instead, he cleared his throat and continued, “He’s my friend, the loremaster” – Well, sort of, he thought – “He said to say this if I wanted to meet him. It’s… uh, it’s…”

Aidan hesitated. Languages weren’t his strong point. Well, the worst he might do is accidentally swear (was it even possible?), and then the guards would poke the end of his rump and chase them away. Mission failed, in that case.

No, I can do this, he determined, and huffing a sigh, he stated, “Er… Erle rishga… uh, balsh… kan! Yeah, erle rishga balsh kan!”

He panted, waiting for the guards’ response. Hopefully he’d gotten it right…

“Ahem, it’s balesh, not balsh, but… good try,” remarked the first guard, spitting on the ground before continuing. “Fine, we let you in.”

Tarla breathed a sigh of relief, while Aidan repeatedly thanked the guards. “However,” the other warned, spear deftly pointed at Aidan’s heart, “do not say anything about what goes on inside. We’re legal folks, but the ponies will use anything and everything against us. Clear?”

“G-g-got it. I’ll just say I v-visited a friend,” mumbled Aidan, with a nervous smile. Satisfied, the guards allowed them passage through the gigantic iron double-doors. Though, likely for safety’s sake, only one was opened, and with a creak so fierce that Tarla thought it’d thundered.

They stepped inside. It was a voracious cavern – a jaw of sorts, one that waited patiently for its prey to bounce in, ignorant and unworried. Tarla wondered… would it snap shut, crush, and devour them, just when they weren’t looking?

“Stupid ponies…” mocked one of the guards, as the door banged shut behind them, cutting off the sentries’ jeers. Welp, they were food now, weren’t they?

“Those were thestrals,” informed Aidan, bringing Tarla out of her macabre musings.

“They were? Huh, no wonder their ears looked, uh, different,” she remarked.

They trotted briskly towards a loft, where a little lamp emanated blue light. Such a small lamp, of course, dimly lit the small area. It was enough to mark the entry into the quarter. Tarla’s throat began to burn slightly, and she choked as they neared the loft, while Aidan’s eyes began tearing.

“Ugh, what is this?” rasped Tarla between coughs.

Aidan huffed, toxic breath escaping his nostrils. “I think it’s sulphur. The thestrals are – cough – more or less engaged in… dangerous work,” he answered. Of course, he hesitated on the second-last word. After all, it was hard to imagine what a fellow creature went through every day, in a society so hostile and an environment so lethal.

A low, hammering drone began to reverberate as they entered the loft. The lamp, Tarla noted in her coughing fit, was filled with some… blue creatures. A bug of sorts, one that radiated blue light. There were enough of them to make the lamp glow with a benevolent halo.

“Bio-" – she coughed again – "Stupid sulphur – bioluminescent lights, huh?”

“Safety reasons. You know, they don’t want fire around here…” commented Aidan. “Come, let’s go, I think we’re reaching.”

The low hammer drones gave way to high-pitched shrieks and chirrups. Chittering, actually, not chirruping.

And there, they saw it.

In a hewn-out space, large and cavernous, sat a small city bathed in glow-bug lights of blue and orange. The cave itself must’ve been… as large as the castle itself. Or maybe her perception of space was screwed, but Tarla had never seen anything like this – a city secreted into a mountain.

“So… this is the place?” inquired Tarla.

Aidan turned to her and nodded, before pointing to a small tower. “That’s the loremaster’s house. He’s… technically my friend,” he explained.

Tarla shot him a bemused smile. “What’s with the ‘technical’? A friend’s just a friend, no matter how close you are, right?”

She smiled, and Aidan chuckled nervously. Oh, the blue light just made her so pret–

“Come on, let’s go. What are you waiting for?” called Tarla. Aidan shrugged and smiled; perhaps he could admire later on.

They descended a flight of roughly carved-out stairs, Aidan taking the lead. Despite the glow-bug lamps radiating from the city, the area around was unlit, and rather damp – not to mention that putrid smell of toxic gas and waste.

As they reached a street – if it could be called a street – Tarla began to notice that slitted eyes were watching them – intently, and silently. Like… predators watching their prey. Tarla shuddered, but Aidan took no note. He sallied on, griffon in tow, as the growing crowd of fanged, suspicious, miserable thestrals eyed their guests’ movements.

“They hate ponies,” whispered Aidan. “I don’t blame them.”

They turned into a denser part of town. The blue of the organic lamps became more concentrated. Subdued chitterings and faint hissing emanated from the large mass of thestrals; it was clear they didn’t like them, not one bit. The distant hammering and droning only made the duo’s hearts beat faster.

From somewhere amidst the noisy crowd, a thestral bellowed some gargled word. Tarla’s ears flicked, both in fear and in interest – a word from their native tongue, perhaps? Given their situation, he’d likely sworn at them.

They reached a house with a small tower. “We’re here,” announced Aidan. He knocked on the wooden door with three quick raps. Tarla stuck close to him, trying to ignore the stares of the rabble around them. Aidan kept his focus on the door; he also didn’t want to face the crowd. The loremaster better answer the darn door…

In the course of their wait, however, the crowd wasn’t so patient.

“What are you doing here, pony?” spat one of them – a stallion, judging by his voice.

“Yeah, what does a pony have to do with us?” added another, also a male.

“Spies!” accused a third. Gasps and jeers radiated from all around. Tarla snapped towards the agitated crowd, searching for the accuser. It was easy to spot her – she was a big thestral, a mare of sorts. A really, really buffed dam, her mane hung in ragged chunks, while her fangs were double the size of the others’. Her slitted eyes looked ready to slit throats, and Tarla whimpered, grabbing Aidan’s trembling hoof by instinct.

“P-please don’t hurt us…” she begged, although her pleas were drowned by the crescendoing mass.

Aidan had turned by this time also. He glanced at Tarla, and she glanced at him. For a moment, he saw her eyes flicker with a plea. A plea for protection. Aidan gulped and looked back towards the angry crowd, and tried his best to scrunch his cheeks in determination.

“Hey! Leave us alone!” he cried, pushing Tarla behind him as he stood between her and the crowd. The clamour softened, if only a little to hear what he was saying. “Look at us. Are we dressed in armour?” he continued. The crowd didn’t answer; the big, buff mare gazed at him with scorn.

“Are we armed with a sword, huh?” shouted the pony. A few heads shook “no.” He frowned and continued. “Did we shout at you? Insult you? Hurt you either by hoof or tongue? Huh?”

More heads shook “no.” The buff mare’s scorn mellowed down to thoughtfulness.

Aidan sighed. “Please. We just want to… ask a few things of the loremaster. I know” – he glanced through the crowd with sad, uneasy eyes – “I know you hate us. And I don’t blame you. Just let us be,” he finished, meekly turning to Tarla and giving her a hug. He proceeded to knock on the door again – this time harder.

The crowd began to disperse. Tarla noticed a few lingering behind walls, or crates – maybe they were curious this time. However, the big, buff mare, who’d snarled accusations and slanders against them, stood in the middle of the quiet street. She gazed at Tarla, then to Aidan as well, mouth slightly agape and breath shallow. Perhaps she was contemplating, wondering if she’d gone too far.

Tarla glanced at Aidan. He was sad – a simple sadness of sorts. He wasn’t conflicted, or frustrated about anything. He was just simply… sad.

“I-I… I-I’m sorry,” mumbled the big mare. Tarla turned and noticed her trotting, ever so slowly, towards them. Tarla’s heart began to beat faster, and she did her best to breathe calmly.

Just then, the door creaked open. A ragged cough followed by a hoarse grunt came from inside. Aidan huffed a loud sigh of relief.

“Oh, finally! What took you so long, Nisha?” demanded Aidan.

The thestral in question grinned nervously. “Hehe, forgive me, my boy. I, uh, may have fallen asleep while reading.” Aidan rolled his eyes and sulked, though he relented when Nisha closed in for a hug.

“It’s been so long since I saw you,” cooed the thestral. “I may be blind, but I will always remember your voice and scent.”

Tarla gasped. “You’re blind? How?”

Flinching, Nisha turned a bit. “Oh, you brought somepony with you..?”

Aidan paused; he’d forgotten about Tarla, hadn't he?

“Uh, yeah, sh–” he began, but before he could finish, the thestral cut in with a wicked grin. “Ah, haha, why didn’t you tell me you brought your marefriend!” he jeered.

Tarla and Aidan’s faces blushed madly – though, with a blind creature and a house so dark, nopony would really see it… right?

“Uh, w-well, I’m actually his colleague at work,” corrected Tarla, trying not to die from the awkwardness. Though, she secretly thought, I really want to be his someday…

“Hehe, anyway! Forgive me, come in, come in!” called Nisha, leading the two of them inside. Here goes nothing… brooded Tarla. I hope I can find some answers.

Author's Note

Apologies for the long wait (3 months!). Many things happened and I came to a huge adjustment in life, so, of course, the story had to wait. I'm very busy because of school currently but I'll try to find time to pick this fic and move it on. Cheers :twilightsmile:

Chapter 5: Moon. Stars. Mirror. Blast.

Night molested the halls of the castle with perverse, ominous shadows. Celestia ambled at a solemn pace through the marble corridor. Her golden hoof-shoes tinkled icily against the cold floor, like the haunted knell of a church bewailing a pony’s passing.

The council’s final decision strained her conscience with the force of a mountain, like the deadly rock weighed upon a criminal’s back – an ancient form of torture. Perhaps this was heaven’s way to punish her for bowing to the council’s unanimous will.

Minister Armilary’s suggestion – no, insistence – of an inside pony helping the Erudítí had won the majority. After all, his evidence was compelling, and Celestia’s every objection to his points had been answered with eloquence and confidence. The rest of the council easily accepted his proposal. All they needed then was her approval.

“Remember, princess…” echoed Armilary’s words. “The fate of the entire nation rests greatly upon you.”

She shut her eyes.

“Ponykind looks up to you. Please, do not fail them.”

Hot tears slowly escaped from a guilty heart.

“After all, this is for the good of Equestria.”

She had signed their motion with a heavy stamp on the hot wax. It was law. To reverse a decision approved by herself would make her the fool and hypocrite, right?

“For the good of Equestria…” she repeated in a hollow whisper.

Tarla Sparklefeather was to be arrested, tried, and, if judged guilty, executed at the third hour the day after. Her charges: treason, conspiracy with malicious groups, and obstruction of justice. The chosen method: axe and chopping block.

She’d just ordered innocent blood to be spilt.

Screaming, she swiped her hoof and sent a nearby flower table crashing into the floor. Precious Neighponese vases shattered into million pieces, scattering hydrangeas and lavenders across the slippery tiles. Celestia dropped to the floor, powerless against her conscience. She screamed, despaired.

A few guards had rushed to her aid. “Begone! Leave me!” she bellowed. They instantly obeyed, fearing the sun’s wrath, and scurried out of the corridor. Now by herself, she sobbed freely, uninhibited by protocol or demands. She simply wept for yet another soul lost to her foolishness.

Something pinched her hoof, and she stared down, alarmed, to see that she’d pricked it against the thorn of a fallen rose. A twisted, sanguine little thing. She gazed with wide, tightened eyes the small stream of blood spurting from the little wound.

It would never compare to the blood soon to spurt from the griffon’s neck.

She gasped at that thought. The corridor suddenly felt so small. Walls closed in as her ministers’ voices echoed within the marble prison. Trapped… she felt trapped. Distressed, she snapped her head this way and that, trying to find a way to escape this condemnation. There ahead, on the other side, was the wooden door. It would lead to her private wing.

She begged heaven that it was unlocked.

She quickly arose. The candlelight shined hotly; it reminded her of this afternoon’s discussion. She arrested that memory and bade it shut up. She couldn’t – nay, she wouldn’t – let another soul perish because of her.

Mustering a fragile, determined breath, she marched towards the inviting door and crossed into her private wing, shutting that door with a slam. Celestia sped towards her own library. She wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

“There has to be a way…”

***

It was a glorious morning. Armillary Amberstone walked the halls of the castle – head held high, wig puffed right, and portly lips twisted in a fat smirk. His silver horseshoes chinked loudly, an acoustic servant that demanded all who heard it gave way to its master. Naturally, they did. Pages, deputies, valets, secretaries – all greeted him with good mornings and polite smiles.

He crossed into the grand rotunda. The sun shone gloriously through the skylight above. Soldiers stood at attention at every corner. Servants crossed from one end to another, carrying papers, ink, and other amenities. Ministers Axle and Point were standing at the East side, gossiping about Secretary Pots’ new coat, while Minister Bloom trudged sulkily across the chamber, ears pulled back and eyes dimmed with rage. Whatever had happened, Armillary wouldn’t bother with; it wasn’t his interest and business to ask.

He arrived at his office – first corridor, twelfth room. Head of Royal Sciences, the lacquered plaque read. He sighed contentedly as he gazed at it. Father had always wanted him to be high-brass. He’d proudly fulfilled that dream. Just… not in the way Father had expected.

Armillary’s heart tightened at that thought. His pride faltered, as he relived the day Father rejected him and ousted him from his place in the family – the very same day he had been sworn in as a member of court. Yes, Father should’ve been proud of his achievement. But he wasn’t.

Armillary growled. Father’s approval be damned. He didn’t care – at least, no longer. He gazed at that plaque – Head of Royal Sciences – and relished in that title. Military or not, he had achieved the high brass, and Father should have at least been grateful for that.

Nodding to himself, he entered through its rich, ornate spruce doors.

The day’s papers sat neatly, waiting for him. He grinned – Daisy always did a great job for him. Coughing, he stroked his wig and sat at his desk, seeking a very important piece of paper.

He found it stored nicely within a folded letter. It was rather thick, gilded with bronze leaf at its corners, a sign of its official status. Pressed in ink and blackletter was the title,

WARRANT

An ominous word, but one befitting the solemnity of the case.

He chuckled. In no time, that griffoness would be gone. He had made sure of that – she’d meddled with enough of his secrets, and it was time to pull the thorn out of his flesh. The Erudítí could finally continue their activities in peace – after all, as their head, it was his utmost duty and responsibility to protect their goals. He could spare a few to take the fall, for the sake of the others’ survival within the stormy seas of politics.

And the griffoness was simply the unexpected scapegoat, with the right background and qualities needed to shoulder the blame – a saviour who would die for him and his group. Perfect. He reminded himself to plant a rose at her unmarked grave as a token of his gratitude.

Armillary coughed again, ignoring a familiar knot within his heart. Guilt or conscience mattered little to him now. He had to accomplish this. The truth of the war, the griffons they’d enslaved, and now their meddling with the stars – all would die… with her.

Ah, a satisfying relief.

Armillary arose, warrant in hoof. Musing was over. It was time to perform the final act. He and his griffoness would stand in the spotlight – one would take it all, the other would fall. With a stroke of his puffed wig and brush of his coat, he strode out of the office and made for the Royal Impression. By day’s end, every newspaper, advertisement, signboard, and stone wall would demand the arrest, trial, and execution of Tarla Sparklefeather.

***

“Armillary is making his move,” stated the batpony solemnly. The diamond dog and his griffon comrade lowered their gazes. The batpony turned to his left and gazed at that jar of glass and cork, shining brightly even beneath the two suppressing tarps. He sighed, then stood up.

“What are you going to do, Vicious?” growled the diamond dog.

“We, Turin, not I,” corrected Vicious. He walked up towards the tarps and slowly, almost ceremoniously, pulled it back. Shining like ten thousand crystal angels, the Elements of Harmony sparkled and fizzed as a white liquid reflecting many colours. “Marvellous job by the way, Turin,” he commented with a slight chuckle.

The dog smirked. “Courtesy of my people’s science.”

The griffon grumbled. “Well, are we going to just sit on our rumps and watch Armillary play his games? And lose our chance of making a change?”

Vicious frowned. “Do not even think for a second that we’ve lost our goals, Stormtalon.” He scoffed. “He’s played his hoof in this game. Now, it’s our turn to answer, and we’d better make the right move.”

“Sure, easy for you to say, Vicious,” mocked Stormtalon, clicking his beak with an arrogant glare. Vicious ignored the griffon and carried the jar back to the table. He exhaled.

“I had wished that time would be our ally, but alas,” he commented wistfully. He was visibly reluctant to say what he had to say, that much the table could tell.

“We have to do it tonight,” declared the batpony.

A glass mug shattered into ten thousand pieces – Stormtalon had hurled Vicious’ coffee into the stone wall. It was nothing more than brown liquid; its rich, golden flavour had vapourized long ago.

“Pity, it was my favourite brand,” whined Vicious. “Old Pony Joe, Abyssinian Roa–”

“Save your crap, fruit-lover!” bellowed Stormtalon. “Tonight? Tonight?!”

“We have no choice, bird,” countered the batpony.

“‘No choice.’ No choice my rump!” he berated. “One of us against their hundred, three of us against their thousand. What does that say to you, bat?”

“That it’s now or never, bird,” hissed Vicious, baring his fangs. “We have the power of the Elements. The Elements. Ancient gems of divine power, melted into liquid, sitting in a glass jar so white one could drink it as milk” – Turin’s face twisted in disgust – “What is a hundred, and what is a thousand? Huh?”

Stormtalon puffed his chest and fired up his wings, vitriol boiling from a slighted pride.

“He’s right, griffon,” wised Turin as Vicious collapsed back into his chair, spent. “We don’t have much time. We can’t wait till every guard in the ranks is bent to our will. While we have the chance” – his mouth peeled into a sharp and wicked grin – “we better take that chance.”

Stormtalon huffed, short of breath. His tightened eyes darted between the other two, before loosening into two miserable orbs. His chest contracted back, wings drooping flaccidly. No doubt Vicious’ and Turin’s voices had worked their way into his brain.

“Fine,” he spat. “Take my vote. I have no choice anyways.” He spurned his seat and marched out of the room, the door’s slam echoing like a musket shot.

Vicious and Turin eyed each other. A sad heaviness seemed to rest upon them. All their months of careful planning were now swept away by a rash course of action.

“Sometimes…” mumbled Vicious. “Sometimes, I believe it was better to have died back there.”

“I admit, it was a suicide charge,” snorted Turin. “But then, perhaps you survived for a purpose,” he offered. The faux optimism extracted a cringed scowl from the batpony. The dog decided to switch gears. “Now, what’s the actual plan?” he inquired.

Vicious exhaled a tired breath and cleared his throat. “I have weaved together a formula based on info I extracted out of my people, and a few others–”

“Let me guess, you threatened them?” deadpanned Turin. Vicious’ fangs shone as he grinned. The dog groaned.

“The end justifies the means,” justified the batpony with a smug, before continuing. “The formula works in three phases.” Turin leaned in, eager to absorb whatever Vicious had in store.

The batpony smirked. “Phase one. Place the jar in an open space and concentrate white light onto it. The liquid should simmer – preferably audibly – and release thaumic waves.”

“We should be able to sense them?” inquired the dog.

“I have a thaumic current metre, capable of up to 12,000 spheres,” confirmed the batpony, and continued.

“Phase two. Position a few mirrors around the space, with at least one facing skywards. Fix all with transmutation crystals set to the Phoenix code – which I have already settled, thank me later – and allow the wavelengths to increase in magnitude.”

“I like this…” grinned Turin. Vicious answered with a fanged chuckle. He breathed in.

“Phase three, final phase. Once the waves have reached a minimum of 80,000 spheres, smash the jar. The built-up energy should be released in one, single beam. Explosive. And deadly.”

Vicious imitated a kaboom with his furry limbs. Turin ignored the dramatics with lowered eyes. “A 12,000-sphere metre measuring a force of 80,000. How effective.”

“That has little relevance. My metre is only there for reference. We have to feel it, my friend,” leered Vicious, almost sensually.

Turin sulked. “Fine, even if we somehow reach the right amount, what should we expect for results?”

The batpony snickered. “The resulting blast should be powerful enough to shatter the elemental magic holding our dear princess captive – after all, enchantments weaken with time. Even though powered by the Elements of Harmony, such can only hold up for exactly a thousand years.” Vicious took a moment to chuckle. “An explosive beam reflected into the Moon should be strong enough to destroy the intricacies holding the enchantment together.”

“But how will Nightmare Moon… er, materialise, so to speak?” awkwardly questioned Turin. And it was a good question, for one who denied spirits.

“When she was banished, her body was destroyed. Her spirit, however, took residence within the Moon. At least” – he paused to observe Turin’s doubting face – “that’s what we believed. You, of course, have little to do with religion.”

“None, ever since I was born,” confirmed Turin, a little proudly. “I find the science of my people, shall I say… safer,compared to the rigour of faith.”

“That matters little,” brushed off Vicious. “The Phoenix code faithfully embedded within the mirrors should convert elemental magic into so-called resurrective magic. That should do the trick of giving our princess a body capable enough to do her job here.”

“Well, at least that settles her arrival. Even then” – Turin coughed – “that’s an awfully lengthy process. And we don’t have time.”.

“Which is why we are doing it today,” emphasised Vicious, rising from the table. “Meet me at the Tower Observatory at the fifth hour of night. Come discreetly, take the alleys. The guards will receive you with a code.”

Turin arose, eyes narrowed. “And shall that be?”

Vicious’ slitted eyes gleamed in the dim room.

“Moon. Stars. Mirror. Blast.”

Author's Note

I have nothing to comment. Enjoy the chapter, and the story.

Oh, and blessed Easter -- it's that time of the year where we remember Jesus died, got buried, and resurrected again for human beings and ponies. God bless.