Below a dual-moonlit sky and an empty temple, a ghost stood before Midnight.
It was blue-tinged, translucent. Artificial. Not like a hologram, though; this was a consistent construction, bearing weight and presence even the most elite-model holoprojectors couldn’t. But Midnight knew it wasn’t real, even before she glimpsed the faint lines tracing the image back to the glowing cube in her palm.
Not a true spirit. But ghost still felt appropriate.
Particularly given how Midnight had watched its death, and memorized the moment of expiration.
Yet despite knowing this, Midnight had quickly drawn her lightsaber and ignited the azure plasma blade that now hummed hungrily at an angle to her left.
She could feel the fire ringed around her eyes -- so close she could taste the heat -- as she stared at the specter, boring into it with such intensity she felt convinced it might burst into flames too.
It didn’t, and returned her gaze with a smirk. “Miss me?”
“How. How are you here, Shimmer? This isn’t your holocron. You never touched it. This thing can’t be carrying any data from you.”
“And yet, here I am.”
Sunset laughed, a haughty screech to Midnight’s ears. The holocron fell from Midnight’s palm as she brought the saber to guard.
The apparition grinned; its image only briefly shook as its projector landed on the surface. It drew its own translucent green blade and struck an exaggerated combat pose. “Cute move, Twi. Shall we dance? I miss those exercises of ours…”
“Shut. Up.” Midnight snarled, hands quivering. “And that’s not my name.”
The figure shrugged, its ethereal weapon shrinking away as it stood up straight and shook its red, wavy hair. “Figures. You always were one for drama, figures this version of you’d be worse. Anyway, Grimlord Sparkle, I can ask questions, too. Like how exactly you managed to open a Jedi holocron. I can see the dark side radiating off of you, y’know.”
Midnight wasn’t sure how literally to take that comment, but it hardly mattered. Her lightsaber shrank away and winked out; she strode toward the ghost, with forced confidence, only for it to sidestep her, and the pair’s movements coalesced into a circle.
“I don’t need the light side to open a puny holocron,” Midnight spat. “I just need–”
“No, you do need it. But how… ah, I got it. You found a place strong with the right energy, that could provide the light for you. Is this Tython? I don’t recognize this temple.”
“It doesn’t matter where. You still didn’t answer my first question.”
The phantom guffawed. “No wonder you need your hands on one of the Jedi’s most valuable data repositories, then, since you must think that all the wisdom contained in this cube will make up for all the lost common sense Twilight had. Anyway, I had friends, smarty-robes. Our teachings, our lives, our selves rubbed off on each other. When a Jedi pours their knowledge into a holocron, didn't you realize that would include the people they know?”
After a moment, the blue-tinted face fell. “I bet you’re in here somewhere, too. We had all the same friends, really.”
A rasping growl issued from Midnight’s throat. “That’s not me.”
“I know.” It stepped away, breaking off from the endless circling and looking up toward the temple. “How did I die?”
Midnight blinked, uttering no response.
“I know you, Twi. You wouldn’t be doing this if I was here to stop you. You couldn’t have turned to the dark, abandoned the Jedi, abandoned your ideals, if I was here to stop you. To reason with you, be your guide, your partner. You know I’d have stopped at nothing for you.”
“And that made you weak.”
Gradually, the figure turned around, meeting her face to face. And Midnight returned its gaze with a sneer.
“Weak,” Midnight hissed, stepping forward, “and a hypocrite. You speak of the ideals of the Jedi, while ignoring their rejection of attachments. Such fondness for friendships, such empathy, such care – and that was before you decided to see just how close of partners you and Twilight could be. You abandoned your ideals long ago.”
A grimace. “I never abandoned anything. I don’t have my full memory, but I know that much. I made allowances in my conduct because of my ideals. Because I felt they were worth upholding, whatever the impact on my standing as a Jedi. I can’t control dogma. But I can control myself, and without that care, that empathy, that love… I couldn’t have been me.”
Now standing before the apparition, Midnight lifted the hilt. “And that love,” she declared while igniting the lightsaber right through its chest, “was incredibly satisfying to watch leave your eyes, when you realized how blind it had made you to me, to my ascension. You hadn’t even known she was gone, until you were too.”
The figure shook its head, unresponsive to the blade. “Was it worth it?”
“I have everything I need, don’t I? Now, go away.”
In reply, she received a mirthless laugh. “It’s funny. You say the holocron's important now, but when I was the image that greeted you, suddenly it was just ‘this thing’, and ‘puny’, and you dropped it like a toy.”
Teeth grit, Midnight thrust the blade deeper.
“What happened to us, Twi?”
The fire around her eyes intensified. “Your love happened. Attachment leads to the dark side–”
“Yet the first thing you did was destroy that attachment.”
Midnight roared, shockwaves of power pulsing around her. From behind, there was a shattering sound. Angular fragments with Jedi inscriptions scattered around her.
Looking down, Midnight’s jaw dropped. “No…”
“I've done my duty." Flickering rapidly, her image fading, Sunset Shimmer placed her ethereal palm on Midnight’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Twi. I’m so sorry I couldn’t... I couldn't save you...”
And then she was gone, and there was nothing but a plasma blade stabbing air.
It shrank away as Midnight crumpled to her knees, her agonized scream reaching up to the heavens.
