She stared up at the small window of her study to the empty candleholder on the sill; it was faintly backlit by the faintest first rays of the sunrise. The way the light shone through the dust in the air and diffused through the room reminded her of the home she’d left in Seaddle. The walls were painted an inoffensive white, the wood floors mostly covered by a rug, and a single window to peer out of took up the far wall. Here though, the chalky paint was yellowed and peeling, the hardwood that wasn’t covered was scratched from too much use and not enough care and the rug was threadbare.

Absently, she peeled a paper off her muzzle and put it back on the folding table before groggily twisting to get the kinks out of her neck and back. After a few stretches, she came back to the desk and looked at what she’d written before succumbing to sleep the previous night.

“Hmm. Why would I make a list of these? Whatever, I need to get going. Adventure waits for no mare!” She exclaimed. “And deadlines even less.” She mumbled immediately afterward while she stuffed everything into her saddlebags.

She picked a dry biscuit out of her bags and nibbled on it as she made her way out of town. There wasn’t much there besides a train station; it was only one of dozens of small towns that had sprung up in the early days of the rail boom and developed into a farming commune. It also happened to be the closest town to the part of the Smokey Mountains she was interested in.

From what she’d read about the range it was the oldest and highest set of peaks in Equestria, and that they were so high that most of the time their peaks were occluded by clouds. There were numerous myths, rumors, and superstitions about the place, but she was here for something else.

Almost 1000 years ago, a fourth race of ponies had swept down from the mountains and invaded Equestria alongside Nightmare Moon. According to records from the time in the Canterlot Museum of History’s collection, they had done so with large armies that were peer to their Equestrian counterparts of the time.

Surprisingly, they had managed to acquire the writings of a few town officials from the areas under occupation, which had led the museum's historians to an interesting conclusion. Somewhere within the poorly explored mountain range were the ruins of a large and developed civilization, with all of the dangers and possibilities that entailed. The hard part would be finding the place, as although the EDF had chased the bat ponies off the continent through the mountains, they had failed in that exact feat. They, and several follow-up expeditions, had searched the forest basin thoroughly and made aerial passes of the peaks on numerous occasions.

So, it was in spite of all the literature and maps of the area showing the hoofhills to be little more than expansive scree fields that Daring Do now found herself flying just there in the Smoky Mountains. She wasn’t a psychologist — she’d barely finished her mandatory schooling before taking off on her first adventure — but she had found out that most ponies rarely looked deeper than the surface. It was a trait that had helped her escape several goon squads, and seen her rise to prominence within the field of freelance archeology.

So when every report about the area labeled the hoofhills of the inner valley as some form of, “obviously devoid of civilization” or the even more plain “empty” she decided to start there. The problem with that, she now grasped, was the expanse she had to search before her foodstuffs ran out. The reports she’d read had generally had barely a hoofnote’s worth of information about the place, and she hadn’t gotten much out of them besides that it was big and empty. Between the forest of towering trees in the basin and the peaks that loomed overhead was a stretch of sloped skree field that extended for over a kilometer out from the jungle before pitching up sharply into snowy areas.

She estimated a point near the middle of the way between the slopes and the forest she set off and quickly assembled a minimal basecamp. “I’m going to skip this part in the book. It doesn’t need to be realistic, it’s going to be labeled as fiction anyway. Nopony reads about the exploits of Daring Do! for the months of research and pleading for funds it takes to even start looking for these places.” She quietly joked to herself.

She slipped on her illusion-revealing goggles and struck a pose, “Hidden city here I come!” She exclaimed.

In the distance, two silhouettes slipped back into the obscuring needles of the forest’s foliage as the grey streak behind the Pegasus faded. “How much would you bet on her finding the ruins, Bramble?”

“If she finds it? Hmm… what’s something so fantastically unlikely that it would never happen without me? Hmm…” she said slyly and looked over at him. “Oh! I know! I’ll set you up with Winter Cascade.”

“You what? You’d do that for me? You’re the best friend ever!”

“Of course I am Moondrop, I’m me.” She said while smiling over at the beaming thestral before her. “Now let’s get back to the village before somebody realizes we left without permission again. I’ll race you!”

***

Zecora looked at her stock of potions with a critical eye and found nothing of note. Every stopper was sealed, none of the potions had started to discolor even slightly, and - most importantly - every vial was labeled and in its place. She had no doubt in her mind as to her abilities with the cauldron, but she always preferred to check them regularly for fouling.

“Where is that forest mare? I hope she is not lost out there.” She said before climbing out of her root cellar. The clearing her house tree resided in was clean and tidy, not showing any evidence of anything passing through. She wasn’t very surprised about the lack of activity though, her cottage wasn’t too far into the forest - relatively speaking - and her wards kept away the stronger monsters. They shouldn’t have had any effect on her newly acquired apprentice though.

“Hmm, I suppose it could not hurt to look for her, and I have been meaning to gather some thistlepop burrs.” She said to herself as she locked the cellar and walked inside. She sauntered to the opposite end of her home and reached behind one of her masks for her gathering bags.

After she confirmed that she had restocked the potions and empty jars she typically carried out for her gathering trips, she stepped out onto one of the paths that led deeper into the forest. While she walked, she listened to the sounds of the forest around her for anything unusual.

The Everfree Forest was a place Zecora had spent many years getting to know, and she knew almost everything about her little territory in the forest. So when the rustling of the underbrush critters faded out near the far reaches of her wards, she took more active account of her surroundings. She didn’t see any raptors under the dense canopy or the distinct flash of white-on-green of a Cockatrice, which meant it was probably something larger. Her magics were designed to disperse attention and interest from her area, but sometimes a few timberwolves or even a manticore found their way in while chasing some larger prey.

She hadn’t reached the area where the thistles grew — a small hill of rubble and rocky debris that started a short way from the furthest edge of her wards — but now she had to reevaluate her situation. There was something dangerous nearby, and while she wouldn’t usually continue if she was just on a gathering trip she was also looking for somepony. Mostly looking for somepony, honesty compelled her to admit, she wasn’t that low on thistlepop anyway. Further along her path she slunk, her steps became silent and measured. Her head rocked from side to side, searching, always searching, until she saw something up ahead.

Just slightly off her trail and obscured by the neck-high foliage was a patch of light aquamarine fur that she recognized instantly. As she approached Morning Dew she noticed the blood smeared on some of the leaves leading to her, but no prints or scratches anywhere else that warned of something scared off. It was a given, then, that her student would be alive, but she still inhaled sharply when she saw what had happened.

Immediately she pulled out a potion of healing and drizzled a small amount into the — thankfully mostly clean — wounds on her flank and tipped the rest down her throat. The five ragged gashes on her flank were long but not very deep, she figured something dull had done the cutting, and wouldn’t be life-threatening if Dew received further treatment.

Already she could see the flesh knitting itself back together within the gashes, she knew the skin would follow shortly. Dew’s face transformed from a grimace into a look of confusion and surprise just as quickly as she began healing. Zecora frowned even as she helped Dew to her hooves. I should address this when we return lest she attempt to reach for a health potion at every turn.

“Oh Zecora, my thanks for your aid! Of my ability to reach your abode I was quite afraid.” Dew whispered as the potion worked its magic on her injuries.

“While you flatter me with your imitation, only the few magically gifted speak this way in our nation. Should you try speaking in rhyme in pony society, I suspect you would gain much unwanted notoriety.” Zecora replied pleasantly yet just as quietly.

A short jaunt back down the overgrown path Zecora looked back to her limping helper. “I do believe that it is time we broach the notion, of my teaching you about the health potion.” She probed.

“You… You’d share that with ME!? But you BARELY know me! Even the alchemist back home wouldn’t let me help him with those. Please yeah me. Please!” She shrieked, incredulous that the eccentric zebra she’d met a mere few months ago would share much beyond the basics with her. It was well-known among her people that masters of their craft rarely shared their secrets, let alone with outsiders.

“Quieter, Morning Dew. We may be beyond the barrier, but they can still hear you.” Zecora reminded her protege. As if to accentuate her warning growls emanated from behind them, growls that grew louder as the pack descended the rubble heap.

***

For the first time in four hundred years, the voice stopped speaking. Nightmare also stopped. Why had it stopped?

Nothing had stopped it before. Talking back only made it louder and vindictive, doing nothing just stopped her from obscuring the noise with her thoughts, and tonics and spells did not affect it whatsoever. The only thing that helped was keeping busy in thought and body, and even then she could hear whispers in the shadows. So why was everything so quiet?

Why could she remember any of that? She blinked her slitted eyes and looked down in thought. She hadn’t looked back in… years. Many years, she realized.

Nightmare started, realizing that she’d forgotten she could remember. The voice had been there ever since she had — had what? The voice must have been with her forever.

No. She knew that was wrong. Other ponies didn’t have voices in their heads. She knew that like she knew her coat was black or that she was the oldest alicorn alive. It was a fact. It had to be true. It had to be.

In time, she remembered other things too. She saw herself with a silver-grey coat talking with somepony else, looking up to them. Who were they, and why was she someone else? When was the last time she talked to somepony else?

Yesterday? It must have been yesterday, she thought, but that didn’t make any sense. She had talked to the grey pony but they had said nothing back. That wasn’t a conversation, and why were they so grey? Normal ponies weren’t one color.

Did she win? Was that why everything seemed so dead? She hadn’t wanted that. The spell was supposed to provide for life during Nightmare’s reign. Endless fields of grey stretched toward the horizon in every direction broken only by craters dotted irregularly about.

The white one had called her something. Once. Lu-something. There was something after that, but as the sun came and went she lost interest. Why should she bother worrying about what the white one called her if she, Nightmare, couldn’t remember her name? She clearly wasn't anyone important.

This wasn’t Equestria, it was too small, and if here wasn’t Equestria then maybe it was somewhere on the other planet in the sky. She kept running though. Perhaps if she searched everywhere she could find a way over there.

She had run about the entire surface for months, but she had found nothing but deeper craters and more choking dust. Now she was tired. So very, very, tired. Weakness the voice murmured. It had come back at some point during her search but was still quiet most of the time. It let her think.

The Nightmare prowled the surface as the blue sphere passed overhead. It was always there, like the voice, unlike the sun. It was torment. Something had brought her there, and she had seen for a moment more than green or blue. There were many colors and many bodies. She woke up though, she wanted that back.

How was she going to paint with only grey rocks? She was a painter more artist protector creator. The voice didn’t disagree, that was progress. She was a creator, and so she would create. Maybe then she would remember something more.

Clarity, suddenly, rocked her. She was sculpting stacked rocks in a field, and she was talking to them. She was talking to rocks in a vacuum on the moon, and sometimes they talked back. Immediately she gathered magic to her horn and vaporized the abomination before her. Oh dear Luna what happened? What have I done? What happened? I need to get out of here. she thought, but as she looked around all she saw were more sculptures. Some peeked over the lips of the crater she was in, others slunk through the dust and shadows forever frozen leering at her in the center of the crater. Moonie took that in, and instead of running away... she collapsed.

As the mare on the moon stumbled over what had been, the ponies below moved on from her. All but one. Because she knew the Nightmare would return someday. And where decades ago she had failed, then, she would succeed.

Then, she would save her little sister.

Author's Note

As always, thoughts and pointers are appreciated. Have a great night!