The Conjuration Wizard

The castle’s halls swallowed the sound of my steps, my boots meeting stone in a rhythm that should have been steady but felt just a little too quick. My pulse beat beneath my skin, a quiet hum of tension that refused to truly settle.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected from Chrysalis, but what she expected from me, and the way she agreed to help with the Heart sat uncomfortably in my thoughts. There was something in the way she spoke, something fragile and jagged all at once. I wasn’t sure if I had given her hope or just taken something else from her.

What surprised me was that I hoped for the former, rather than the latter.

The library door came into view, and I took a moment to exhale slowly before making my way inside.

The library’s familiarity was a necessity after my interaction with Chrysalis. The flickering glow of the singular candle cast long shadows across the shelves and illuminated the wooden table in the center of the room.

Luna sat there, her posture composed but unmistakably alert as she examined a fragment of one of the failed vessels retrieved from the pile of silver and gold resting on the floor beside the table. Her regalia caught the dim light, glinting with each slow breath she took. The moment I entered the room she lifted her head, and her eyes locked onto me with a quiet sort of intensity. She must have ended Night Court early to be here. I could see it in the slight crease around her eyes, in the way her wings twitched with concealed tension.

She had been waiting for me.

Across from her, Thorax sat hunched over, looking more exhausted than I had ever seen him to be. His insectile wings drooped slightly at his sides, and the faint glow of his eyes were dimmed with weariness and hunger.

I closed the door behind me, and Thorax lifted his head at the sound, barely able to force a tired smile onto his face. “Sebastian. You’re back.”

Luna’s gaze never left me. “You took longer than expected, my moonlight.”

I exhaled, stepping closer. “Yeah.”

Something flickered in her expression. Concern. Maybe frustration. But she said nothing.

Thorax shifted in his seat, his ears folding back. “I, um… ran into Luna and Noctra when I was bringing Mira back to her room. I told her where you went.” He hesitated before glancing between the two of us. “I — uh — I should probably get going.”

Luna inclined her head slightly. “Yes. Rest well, Thorax.”

He hesitated. For just a moment he looked as though he were debating with himself whether or not to say something more. But in the end, he nodded and pushed himself upright from his chair. “Good night,” he murmured as he made his way toward the door.

I stepped aside to let him pass, watching as he trudged out into the hall. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

The library held its breath in the wake of Thorax’s exit, the only movement coming from the candle’s flickering glow. Shadows danced, shifting over Luna’s face, but her eyes never wavered. They remained on me — watchful, expectant.

She said nothing at first, but I could feel the intensity of her gaze, the silent scrutiny as she took me in. I knew what she was looking for — signs of strain, anything that might confirm the unspoken worry pressing behind her eyes. I wasn’t sure what she saw, but whatever it was, her lips pressed together slightly, and her wings gave another small twitch.

I pulled out a chair beside her and sat down. The old wood creaked under my weight. My left hand found the edge of the table, fingers pressing into the grain. I didn’t want to talk about it — not yet, maybe not ever — but I owed her something.

No. I owed Luna everything and more.

“She agreed,” I said, my voice low. “Chrysalis agreed to help with the creation of the Synthetic Heart.”

Luna exhaled, slow and measured, but her ears flicked back. “Did she try anything?”

“No.” I hesitated. “Not like that.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Then how?”

I ran my flesh hand down my face, my palm rasping against my scarred face, before letting it drop onto the table. “She looked at me like she didn’t understand why I was asking her. Like she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that I wasn’t trying to get back at her, that I wasn’t there to kill her.” My fingers curled slightly against the wood. “And I think that scared her far more than if I had.”

Luna was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, she set the fragment of one of the failed vessels she’d been inspecting back onto the pile on the floor. The metal clinked softly against the others. “Good,” she said at last. “Let her be afraid.”

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “That’s not…” I trailed off, biting down the rest of the words before they could leave my mouth. Luna knew. She knew what I meant, just as she knew how much I despised the way my own feelings kept shifting, refusing to stay in a neat, defined shape. Hatred should have been easy, should have been second nature after all that Chrysalis had done to me and those I loved. But then I saw her hive, saw her starving children, saw the way the world was ready to let them all starve to death, and suddenly it wasn’t easy at all.

In my mind’s eye I can still see them. The youngling still looked on from where it sat. Hunger, desperation, and a silent pleading look in its eyes.

Luna’s wings shifted slightly at her sides, but she didn’t push the matter. Instead, she asked, “How long?”

I knew exactly what she meant.

“A few minutes,” I murmured. “She said she needed to… make herself ready.”

A quiet noise escaped Luna’s throat, something between disapproval and grim amusement. “More like gathering herself after her humiliation.”

I huffed a breath, not quite a laugh. “Maybe.”

The silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy. Weighted with things unsaid.

Luna reached out, her silver-clad hoof brushing lightly against my knee. Just a touch. A brief connection. “She will not be alone with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

I glanced at her, finding the steel in her gaze. There was no room for argument there — not that I had any intention of making one. “I know, thank you.”

She gave me a smile as her hoof lingered for a moment longer before she withdrew, sitting back. “Then we wait.”

We waited.

The candle burned lower, its flickering glow casting shifting shapes across the library’s towering shelves. Shadows stretched and twisted with each breath of the flame, but I barely noticed.

I took a slow breath, letting Luna’s presence surround me.

Lavender and the crisp scent of the night. Familiar. Comforting. A quiet warmth curled in my chest. This was home.

A sound intruded.

Hoofsteps. Slow. Deliberate. The sound drifted down the corridor, each step measured, each one drawing closer.

And then the library door creaked open.

Chrysalis entered.

The candlelight caught her form as she stepped forward, weaving between the shifting glow and the darkness beyond the doorway. She carried herself with measured poise, but the dim illumination made her look leaner, more worn. Or maybe she had always looked this way, and it was only now — without the shield of her bedsheets — that I could truly see it.

Her slit-pupiled eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on me before snapping to Luna.

Luna didn’t move. She didn’t need to. The weight of her presence alone was enough to fill the space between them, a silent warning crackling like the charge before a storm. Her wings were tucked neatly at her sides, but I could see the faintest tinge of tension in her shoulders, the way her gaze locked onto Chrysalis with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey.

Chrysalis held her ground, but I didn’t miss the way her wing flexed — a ghost of instinct, a reminder of something that wasn’t entirely there.

The silence stretched, heavy and brittle as the two sized each other up.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I realized that blood might actually get spilled tonight instead of the work that needed to be done. “Please don’t kill each other.”

Luna didn’t so much as glance at me. “I make no promises.”

Chrysalis bared her fangs in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Nor do I.”

I dragged my left hand down my face again in exasperation. “Perfect.”

Chrysalis stepped further inside, her gaze shifting to the pile of failed vessels beside me. Her expression flickered, unreadable, before settling into something cool. “And here I thought you had a talent for the creation of magical items.”

I exhaled sharply, brushing a few of the lingering silver and gold dust on the table. “It’s a delicate process.”

She hummed, stepping closer. “I imagine it would be easier if you didn’t insist on using precious metals.”

“Precious metals tend to hold the arcane better,” I replied simply.

Chrysalis scoffed. “They also shatter when not handled correctly.”

I arched a brow. “If you’re already doubting my craftsmanship, feel free to leave.”

Her lips curled, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down, her movements precise, almost too controlled. I noticed the way she settled into the seat, a quiet weariness beneath the sharpness. The hunger had taken more of a toll than I’d realized.

Just like it had taken a toll on her children, on Thorax.

Luna remained silent at my side, her presence solid and unwavering. I could feel her watching, measuring every shift, every breath.

I let out a slow breath. “Chrysalis, I don’t need your help until we reach the final steps of the Synthetic Heart’s creation.”

Chrysalis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then why am I here?”

“Because we’ll need you to attune to it as soon as possible once I complete the vessel,” I replied evenly. “Besides, if you’re not involved from the start, there’s a chance the magic won’t take to the vessel or won’t attune to you as well as it should.”

Her gaze flicked to the ruined vessels again. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “And how long until that point?”

I rolled my shoulders. “Depends. If this next vessel is like the last one, then not long. Tonight.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose but said nothing.

I glanced at Luna, half-expecting a cutting remark aimed toward Chrysalis, but she only nodded once, her focus shifting to me.

I could feel the weight of her trust in that look — the love that wrapped around my heart with just a mere glance of her eyes.

It calmed me.

I turned back to the table, pushing aside the remains of my failures.

The next vessel needed to be perfect. No cracks. No weak points. Strong enough to hold the spells, resilient enough to endure the attunement and the demands that would be made of it.

I fished what I needed from my Bag of Holding. My fingers brushed over the raw materials laid out before me. Silver and gold, waiting to be shaped.

I picked up my tools.

And I began.

The rhythmic scrape of metal against metal filled the library, a steady sound that had become very well known to me since my first attempt at crafting the vessel. The scent of melting silver and gold curled in the air, sharp and clean, as my magic willed the material into a more pliable state. My focus narrowed as I worked, my flesh hand along with my silversheen hand deftly guiding the shaping process. Each movement had to be precise. The vessel needed to be seamless, flawless — anything less, and it would fall apart like the last three.

The world beyond my work faded.

The weight of the tools in my grip, the way the metals softened and melded under careful application of heat and magic — it was all-consuming. There was no room for error, no space for distraction.

Which was why I barely registered the rising tension between Luna and Chrysalis.

Their voices were a dull murmur at first, the edges of their words lost to the meticulous rhythm of my craft.

Then Luna scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut through my concentration for the briefest moment.

"Do not delude yourself, changeling," Luna’s voice carried an edge, the kind that would send any lesser creature cowering. "The only reason you still draw breath is because my consort has decided your miserable existence should serve a higher purpose."

Chrysalis let out a slow, venomous chuckle. "And yet, here we are. Tell me, princess, how does it feel to be reduced to this? Sitting across from your greatest enemy, forced to tolerate her presence while she assists your beloved?"

Luna’s reply was instant, icy. "Do not inflate your ego by assuming that you are my greatest enemy. I do not tolerate you. I endure you — for him."

"You speak as though your approval matters to me." Chrysalis’s tone dripped with mockery. "It doesn’t. I agreed to this arrangement for my hive. Not for you. Not for him."

"Then do it. And keep your mouth shut," Luna snapped. "Or do you insist on proving how insufferable you truly are?"

Chrysalis hummed, unbothered. "I think you’re just angry that you cannot strike me down like you so desperately want to."

“If not for Sebastian, you would be nothing more than a forgotten stain in the pages of history.”

I didn’t stop working, didn’t lift my gaze, but I felt the weight of Luna’s words settle in the room like a storm cloud ready to break. The truth in them was undeniable. If it weren’t for my involvement, for the Synthetic Heart, for my insistence that the changelings were worth saving — Chrysalis would be dead.

She knew it.

They both did.

Chrysalis leaned back in her chair, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across her gaunt features. "Then it must be frustrating for you, knowing that your precious consort doesn’t share your thirst for vengeance." She paused, her voice dipping into something almost thoughtful. "I wonder — does it ever cross your mind that, perhaps, he sees something in me that you don’t?"

The air in the room turned razor-thin.

Luna’s voice dropped to something lethal. "Tread carefully, insect."

Chrysalis smirked, knowing she’d struck a nerve. "Oh, but you hate that, don’t you? That he sees me as something more than a monster? That he has to force himself to remember that not all changelings are the ones who maimed him?"

My grip on my tools tightened. A flicker of heat pulsed through my chest, though I didn’t let it shake my focus. Do it for Thorax. Do it for the youngling. Do it for those who have no one to save them.

Chrysalis was testing how far she could push.

Luna’s wings twitched, her entire form taut with barely restrained fury. "You will never be anything more than a parasite. No matter what he tells himself."

Chrysalis’s smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming. “And yet, despite that, he still chose to help me. Me.”

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Luna stood. The scrape of her chair against the floor was deliberate, controlled — but her presence swelled, a primal sort of magic curling like an unseen current in the air.

Chrysalis held her ground, but I caught the flicker of something beneath her bravado. Hunger? Fatigue? An awareness that she was playing with fire and was about to be burned for her hubris?

I wasn’t sure.

But I wasn’t about to let this escalate.

I exhaled sharply. "Enough."

The single word cut through the space of the library like a blade.

Silence followed.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

But the tension remained, simmering beneath the surface.

I didn’t lift my head, didn’t give them the satisfaction of acknowledging whatever power struggle they thought they were having. Instead, I kept my focus on the vessel, the delicate work in my hands.

This had to work — for Thorax, for his siblings, for the future of all changelings. Every second wasted was another step closer to death, and time was not on their side.

I set down my tools with deliberate care, the faint clink of metal against wood punctuating the silence that followed. The vessel was complete. The silver and gold heart gleamed in the candlelight, the surface unmarred by any imperfections. A small victory, but the final step was next and I wasn’t entirely sure that it would work as intended.

Only then did I lift my gaze.

Luna and Chrysalis were in each other’s faces, their postures rigid with barely restrained hostility. Luna’s wings flared slightly, a subconscious display of dominance, while Chrysalis remained coiled, her fangs just barely visible between the part of her lips. The air between them crackled with unspoken threats, their glares locked in a silent battle of wills.

I rolled my shoulders, the movement easing some of the lingering tension in my own muscles. "I said enough."

Neither of them looked at me, but the weight of my words settled over them.

Luna was the first to react, though her frustration didn’t lessen. She didn’t look at me — her gaze stayed locked on Chrysalis, her jaw tight. "You should be grateful he holds me back," she murmured, voice lower now, but no less hostile. "If you had any sense, you’d keep your mouth shut before his patience runs out."

Chrysalis chuckled, the sound dry. "Oh, I have no illusions about his patience." She tilted her head just slightly, finally breaking away from the glare she and Luna had been exchanging. Her gaze turned toward me, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "He’s running out of it, isn’t he?"

I exhaled through my nose, keeping my voice steady despite the tension gnawing at me. "You're both wasting time." The last thing I needed was for either of them to notice the way fatigue was pulling at me or the paranoia that had settled beneath my skin. "I don’t care who started it. I care about finishing this."

Luna’s ears twitched in protest. "I was not the one—"

"I don’t care," I interjected, my voice harsher than I meant. Luna shot me a surprised look, her frown deepening, but she didn’t press the issue.

Chrysalis leaned back, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Finally," she said, settling comfortably in her chair. "A little authority."

I shot her a withering glare, and for once, she fell silent. The smirk disappeared, leaving behind an unreadable expression. Luna’s frown shifted into a triumphant smile at the sight.

I ran my fleshy fingers over the vessel, feeling the slight chill of its surface. It wouldn’t last. Without Chrysalis, it would unravel, breaking apart before it ever had the chance to fulfill its purpose. But if she accepted it — if she attuned herself to it — it would hold something extraordinary. Fabricated love, yes, but love strong enough to keep her and her children from starving.

Assuming we could get it to work.

I met her gaze again, this time more measured. "I need you to attune to it."

Her expression flickered — just for a moment — but she schooled it into something unreadable. "Of course," she replied, voice smooth. "That was the deal, wasn’t it?"

Chrysalis’s jagged horn lit with her sickly green aura, the glow casting eerie shadows along the library walls. She reached out, her magic wrapping around the vessel with a slow, deliberate touch, as though testing the weight of the magic within. The silver and gold heart hovered between us, held steady in her grip.

Nothing happened.

For a moment, the vessel remained indifferent, suspended in her aura, its surface reflecting the flickering candlelight. I felt the tension coil in my gut. Had I miscalculated? Had all of this — the work, the arguments, the uneasy truce — been for nothing?

Then, without warning, the vessel warped.

A tremor ran through the heart, the metal rippling as though caught in some unseen current. The gold and silver twisted unnaturally, melting together in a way that defied conventional logic, its shape writhing as if something inside were struggling to break free.

Then came the flames.

Green fire erupted around the vessel, swallowing it whole. The intensity of the blaze forced me to take an instinctive step back, the heat licking at my skin despite the fact that the fire wasn’t truly burning. Chrysalis’s magic flared, her control tightening as she held the heart in place, her expression strained.

The fire didn’t consume — it transformed.

Beneath the flickering green light, the vessel’s metal dissolved into something darker, something organic. The gleaming silver and gold were replaced by black changeling chitin, smooth and hardened like a true exoskeleton. The once-lifeless vessel of silver and gold pulsed, a faint, steady glow emanating from the heart-shaped core now nestled at its center — a vibrant green light, shaped like a flickering flame.

It no longer looked like something I had made. It looked… alive.

The Synthetic Heart.

The room was silent but for the low hum of lingering magic in the air.

Chrysalis lowered the heart onto the table, her gaze fixed on it with something I couldn’t quite name. Her magic remained wrapped around it, hesitant, as if she, too, wasn’t sure what to expect.

Luna’s stance remained guarded, wings partially unfurled. "Is it done?" she asked, her voice cold.

Chrysalis didn’t answer her. Instead, she reached out — not with her magic this time, but physically. Her hoof hesitated just above the Synthetic Heart, barely a breath away.

Then, in one swift motion, she pressed her hoof against it.

The effect was immediate.

It wasn’t a visible change, not at first — but I felt it. A presence, something foreign yet familiar, pressing against my senses. The air thickened, humming with an energy that made the fine hairs on my arm stand on end. Then the green flame at the Synthetic Heart’s core brightened, pulsing outward in a slow, rhythmic wave.

A flood of synthetic love washed over the space.

It wasn’t like real love. Not entirely. It lacked the depth, the raw emotional weight that true love carried, but it was still there — warm, lingering, tangible in a way that should have been impossible. It filled the room like an unseen tide, pressing against my skin, curling around my thoughts. It wasn’t suffocating, but it was undeniable in its intimacy.

Chrysalis inhaled sharply. Her pupils dilated before her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, her body shuddering as though she had just taken her first breath in weeks. The edges of her frame softened, and tension bled from her posture.

Then, just as quickly as it came, she snapped back. Her eyes opened, locking onto the Synthetic Heart with an expression I couldn’t place. She swallowed, a slow, careful movement, before finally speaking.

"It works."

The words hung in the air, carrying more weight than I expected.

Luna’s expression remained unreadable, but I could see the way her ears twitched, the way her stance stiffened just slightly. She had felt it, too — that flood of artificial warmth, the fabricated love radiating from the Synthetic Heart.

It wasn’t real love, but it was more than enough for the changelings to feed upon.

Chrysalis exhaled, the sharpness in her features smoothing ever so slightly, but I didn’t miss the way she flexed her jaw as though struggling with something she wasn’t willing to say. Her gaze flickered toward me, something unreadable behind her eyes.

I didn’t have the energy to try to decipher it.

Instead, I turned my focus to Luna. "I need to get Thorax," I said, keeping my voice level. "Don’t kill each other while I’m gone."

Luna’s attention snapped to me fully, the tension in her frame shifting. "You shouldn’t go alone," she said immediately.

I held her gaze. "It’s just down the hall."

Her expression didn’t change. "Even so."

I knew what she wasn’t saying. I wasn’t at my best. I hadn’t been at my best in a long time. And after everything that had happened, the last thing she wanted was for me to be alone — even for something as simple as this.

But I needed the space. Even for just a moment. Once this was all over we would have our time together. Soon.

I met her eyes and spoke quietly, meant only for her. "I’ll be fine."

She searched my face, the lines of her expression tight with barely concealed concern, but after a moment, she gave the smallest nod.

Chrysalis made a sound under her breath — something between amusement and exasperation.

Luna’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t speak.

I turned and left the room. I would need to move fast if I were to return with Thorax before Luna put Chrysalis’s head into a long distance relationship with her shoulders.

Since the summit’s conclusion, the hallways had returned to their normal levels of quiet for this time of night. Along the way I passed only a single pair of Lunar Guards, they snapped into their salutes the moment I entered their vision, and I returned it with a small smile and a nod.

With the Synthetic Heart’s creation, the smile didn’t feel forced anymore.

I reached Thorax’s door and knocked.

A faint shuffling came from within before his voice reached me, muffled through the wood of the door. "Come in."

I pushed the door open.

Thorax was still in bed, barely lifting his head at my entrance. His wings twitched slightly, but there was no real energy behind it. His eyes, normally bright with an almost nervous attentiveness, were dimmed with exhaustion. It would appear that I had awoken him from his sleep.

He forced a small, tired smile. "Sebastian." His voice was weak.

I frowned. "You look like shit."

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle. "Thanks."

I stepped closer. Even from here, I could see the way his body seemed… hollow. His frame, always lanky, looked thinner, his carapace and eyes dulled. His legs, spindly as they were, seemed somehow a bit more fragile than just a few hours ago.

It was the hunger. He needed to feed.

I exhaled, stepping to the side of his bed. "Come on. We’re heading back to the library."

Thorax’s ears flicked back. "I… I don’t think I can get up."

I paused.

Then, without a word, I crouched down and slid my Wizard’s Arm under him.

He barely weighed anything.

It caught me off guard — just how light he was.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

Then, I adjusted my grip and lifted him.

Thorax made a faint, startled sound as I shifted him against my chest, his body light enough that it was almost disconcerting. He was all sharp angles and hollow spaces, his chitin cool beneath my fingers. His legs twitched weakly, but he didn’t protest. If anything, he slumped against me, too drained to argue.

I bit back a curse. He had been running on empty for too long. If we had failed with the heart…

I pushed the thought aside and turned toward the door, carrying him out into the hall. The castle was quiet, the hour late enough only the Lunar Guard remained, but we passed by none on the return trip.

Thorax shifted slightly in my grip. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I… I should be able to walk on my own.”

I snorted. “Don’t be sorry, Thorax. You’re not even strong enough to stand, let alone walk.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. Guess not.”

I glanced down at him, his head resting against my shoulder, his eyes half-lidded. I had seen this kind of exhaustion before amongst his siblings in his hive — deep, gnawing, the kind that settled into a body when it had been deprived of something vital for too long. The hunger of changelings is as similar as it is different with ponies or humans. But for a changeling it wasn’t just about food — it was about love, about an energy that sustained them in a way nothing else could.

Without love… starvation.

And right now, Thorax had not had a drop of love for weeks.

I tightened my grip and picked up my pace. We had only just become friends! I refuse to lose a new friend to something as complicatedly simple as hunger!

When I reached the library, I stepped inside to find Luna and Chrysalis exactly as I had expected them to be — locked in another silent standoff. Luna stood with her wings slightly flared, a subtle but unmistakable show of dominance. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in her frame, the way her magic buzzed just beneath the surface, eager to lash out at a moment’s notice.

Chrysalis, for her part, sat with her head held high, a smirk tugging at her lips, but there was an edge to it — a sharpness that betrayed how aware she was of Luna’s simmering fury. The Synthetic Heart rested between them on the table, still pulsing faintly with its artificial warmth from its center.

Both of them turned their gazes toward me as I entered, their unspoken battle momentarily forgotten.

I ignored them and moved straight to an empty chair, lowering Thorax into it as carefully as possible. He slumped against the backrest, his wings twitching faintly, his breathing shallow.

Luna’s gaze flickered from me to Thorax, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then she turned her attention back to Chrysalis. “Activate it.”

Chrysalis’s smirk widened, but she didn’t argue. She simply reached out, her jagged hoof pressing once more against the Synthetic Heart’s surface.

The pulse of magic that followed was instant.

The air thickened as a fresh wave of synthetic love spread outward, curling through the space in slow, rolling waves. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was undeniably present — a steady, artificial warmth that filled the room.

Thorax inhaled sharply.

I turned to look at him, watching as his body reacted almost instinctively. His wings perked up ever so slightly. He didn’t lunge for it, didn’t devour the energy like a starving animal, but I could see the change happening in real time. The dullness in his eyes lessened, the sluggishness in his limbs easing just a fraction.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. A week or two of feeding upon synthetic love would have him back to normal.

His breath hitched as he exhaled, his gaze flickering toward me. “Sebastian,” he murmured, his voice still weak but a little steadier now.

I nodded. “Just take what you need.”

He hesitated, then closed his eyes, letting the energy settle into him.

Chrysalis watched him carefully, her expression unreadable. If she had any thoughts on the Synthetic Heart’s effect on one of her own, she didn’t voice them. Instead, she simply pulled her hoof away and let the artifact continue its work, its rhythmic pulsing steady and unbroken.

Luna, meanwhile, remained silent, her sharp gaze never straying far from Chrysalis.

I flexed my fingers, both flesh and metallic. We had wasted enough time here. The hive needed to be fed as soon as possible.

“Gather round,” I said, waving everyone close with a silversheen hand. “I’ll teleport us over to the hive. They’ve gone without love for too long as it is.”

I made sure everyone was touching, and the heart was in my hand, before I spoke the incantation for Greater Teleport. The air around us began to hum as the spell’s power surged, the first traces of Greater Teleport coalescing as I focused on our destination — Chrysalis’s hive.

And then, the world blurred.

The sensation of teleportation had become like second nature to me — an instant of weightlessness followed by the sharp pressure of magic as distance collapsed in on itself. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

We arrived in the heart of Chrysalis' hive.

The chamber was as I remembered: massive, cavernous, and crumbling. The throne that once stood as a symbol of her rule was still fractured, its broken resinous form sagging under its own weight. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. But it wasn’t the state of the hive that struck me.

It was the changelings.

Hundreds of them.

They were gathered in clusters across the chamber, their hollow eyes reflecting the sickly glow of luminescent fungi clinging to the walls. Some lay curled together, their bodies weak, their breathing shallow. Others sat rigid, their expressions blank, the movement of their wings a slow, sluggish twitch rather than the rapid, instinctive flutter it should have been.

Many looked up at our arrival. Their gazes, once sharp and wary, held something else now — something dull, resigned.

I had seen this look before.

In the nothingness of Nowhere, when I sat with Meridin around the fire that was fueled by nothing at all. In the eyes of a man who had lost every last piece of himself.

The memory of that moment settled in my mind.

Luna was silent beside me, but I didn’t need to look at her to know she saw the same thing. Felt the same thing.

I stepped forward holding out the Synthetic Heart. “Chrysalis.”

She said nothing as she took it from my hand.

For once, there was no smugness in her movements. No arrogance, no venom. She didn’t look at me, didn’t spare Luna a glance. Her focus was entirely on her hive.

She lifted the Synthetic Heart, her jagged horn igniting in a faint, flickering green glow.

“My children,” she called. Her voice was strong but lacked its usual bite. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a demand.

It was a call.

The changelings stirred.

Some barely reacted. Others turned their heads, their ears turning toward her.

Chrysalis exhaled softly, then pressed her hoof to the Synthetic Heart.

The chamber trembled as the artifact flared to life.

A pulse of synthetic love flooded the space, rolling out in an unseen wave. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was warm. Steady. Something to hold on to.

And the changelings felt it.

A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd. Weak bodies shuddered as the energy settled into them. Some changelings gasped, their eyes widening slightly as strength — however small — returned to their limbs.

Chrysalis stepped forward. “Feed, my children.”

And they did.

Slowly at first. Hesitant. As if they feared the moment would be ripped away. But as the seconds passed and the love remained, they fed in earnest.

The chamber filled with the soft hum of wings, the quiet murmurs of relief.

Luna and I exchanged a glance. I could see the tension in her jaw, the way her stance suggested that she was ready should an attack be sprung. But no attack came.

Instead, we watched as Chrysalis moved among her changelings. She spoke in hushed tones, encouraging them to feed, reassuring those too weak to rise. There was no grand speech, no declaration of power, no backstabbing.

Only quiet words. A mother tending to her starving children.

I didn’t know how to feel about that.

I turned my head, scanning the crowd, watching the way the Synthetic Heart’s energy moved through the hive.

Then, I saw them.

The ones who didn’t stir.

Bodies lay among the living, their forms indistinguishable at first glance. But then I noticed the way some changelings — those strong enough to stand — moved toward them, shaking them, whispering to them.

No response.

The living began to realize it. Some let out faint, keening sounds. Others simply stopped moving altogether, their gazes locked on the still, motionless forms beside them.

I counted.

Half.

A little under half of the changelings in this chamber had starved to death.

My left hand gripped at Promise’s pommel.

Chrysalis didn’t react.

She knew. She had known long before we arrived.

Half of them. Gone.

The Synthetic Heart continued to pulse, sending slow, incorporeal waves of synthetic love across the space, but it would do nothing for the dead. It was too late for so many.

Chrysalis didn’t stop moving. She barely looked at the unmoving bodies. She knew. She had known long before I even came seeking her help with the heart’s creation. She had known long before she even arrived to Canterlot for the summit.

I wanted to hate her for the absence of grief, for not even trying to pretend to mourn those she had lost. But the thought lingered, uncomfortably close — if I had been in her place, if I had watched helplessly as those under my command wasted away, month after month, drained by something I couldn’t prevent… would I have had any grief left in me? Or would it have been spent long before now, burned away by desperation and exhaustion?

More of the changelings who could still move were realizing it too. They nudged their fallen kin, called to them, whispered their names. Some cried out in quiet, wavering voices.

But there was no response.

My fingers curled tighter around Promise’s pommel. My mind was loud — so loud — but I couldn’t let myself fall into that place again. I forced my focus forward, pushed my breath out slow and steady, let my eye scan the chamber.

Then I saw it.

The youngling.

It was there, among the huddled bodies I had seen it with before, still nestled against the older drones. The same dull blue eyes. The same tiny, skeletal frame. The same silent gaze.

It was still breathing.

I moved without thinking, my boots scuffing against the floor. The changelings around me tensed, their eyes darting between me and Chrysalis. I ignored them. My focus was locked on the small figure before me.

I reached down, my silversheen fingers closing carefully around its frail body as I lifted it. It fit perfectly into the crook of my left arm, but it was light. It weighed almost nothing. A breath, a whisper. It settled against me in the same way Aldin once had, but wrong. Too light. Too cold.

But it was alive.

I’d seen it move before. A slow lift of its head when Luna and I first stepped into this very room. Just a few days ago. It had looked at me. It had moved.

It had to be alive.

I adjusted my grip, cradling the youngling closer. "Hey," I murmured, my voice low and coaxing. "Come on, little one. You're safe now. I promise."

No reaction.

Not a blink. Not a breath. Not a tremble.

Something cold and creeping, coiled in my gut.

“Sebastian.”

Luna’s voice broke the silence — soft, careful.

I turned, finding her watching me, her gaze moving between me and still figure in my arm.

She hesitated. Just for a heartbeat.

"Sebastian… it’s dead."

The words didn’t make sense. They didn’t fit.

"No," I said far too quickly. "No, I— I saw it move."

Luna’s ears flicked back as she took a slow step closer. "That was a week ago."

I looked down.

And the illusion shattered.

The unnatural stillness. The hollow, empty stare. The way its tiny body sagged against my arm, too light, too cold.

I hadn’t saved it.

I had only picked up what remained.

The chamber felt smaller, tighter. The sounds around me — soft murmurs, weak buzzing, the hum of the Synthetic Heart — blurred into a single, suffocating pressure against my skull.

I stared at the youngling, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. It didn’t move. It would never move again.

My fingers twitched against its chitin. Cold. Too cold. How had I not noticed that?

Because I didn’t want to.

The realization struck me like a hammer to the ribs, knocking something loose in my chest. My pulse pounded behind my eye, my body felt too hot, then too cold, then nothing at all.

I had done everything I could, I knew that. I had built the Synthetic Heart, had worked until my hands ached and my mind blurred, had pushed through exhaustion, through every screaming instinct that told me I shouldn’t care.

And I was still too late.

My arms locked, holding the youngling closer, as if somehow that could change reality.

"Sebastian." Luna’s voice was steady, but I could hear the thread of worry in it. "You need to put it down."

I couldn't.

Not yet.

Luna stepped closer, her presence a steadying weight against the storm raging in my head. Her wing brushed against my shoulder, hesitant but firm all the same. "We should leave. You’ve done enough."

The words barely reached me, drowned beneath the weight of what surrounded me. Done enough? The youngling was dead. Hundreds lay lifeless in this room alone. Thousands more were scattered throughout the hive, their bodies silent, their futures forever erased. I had been so consumed with fixing what I could that I hadn't stopped to consider just how many had already been lost.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "I can still help."

Luna exhaled slowly. "You already have. The Synthetic Heart will keep the rest of them alive. There is nothing more you can do here."

I forced myself to look away from the youngling, scanning the chamber again.

The changelings that could move were still feeding, still weak, but stronger than before. They weren’t collapsing. They weren’t starving. The Synthetic Heart was working well.

But that didn’t make this any easier to accept.

Chrysalis had been silent this entire time. I turned to her, expecting some sneer, some sharp remark meant to kick me while I was down.

But she wasn’t looking at me.

She was looking at the youngling nestled in my arm.

For the first time, I saw something shift in her expression. It wasn’t anger, or malice, or amusement. It was something deeper, something that looked so foreign on her.

Regret.

Then, her eyes lifted to mine, sharp and unreadable once more. "There is nothing more to be done, Sebastian," she said, quiet but firm. "You have given us the Synthetic Heart. You have ensured that no more of my children will die from starvation."

She paused, glancing around the chamber, her gaze lingering on the bodies that would never rise again. "The rest…" she inhaled, slow and measured. "The rest is beyond us now."

I wanted to argue, to demand why she hadn’t done more — why she had let them wither away, starving until death took them. But the words caught in my throat because I already knew the answer.

She hadn’t had a choice.

Or, rather, she had done everything she could. Even going so far as to humble herself before the rulers at the summit, swallowing her pride to plead for aid that they never would have given even if they could.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my fingers to unclench, forcing my mind to accept what was in front of me.

I couldn’t change what had already happened. The past is set in stone.

Slowly, carefully, I lowered the youngling back to the ground. My hands lingered for a moment before I finally let go, stepping back. The chamber felt colder somehow without its little weight against me.

Luna was at my side in an instant, her presence solid, unwavering. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

I turned back to Chrysalis, her gaze met mine. There was no arrogance in her expression, no hidden sneer beneath her words. Only something raw, something unguarded. “You saved my children from death.”

A pause, her voice dipping lower, almost uncertain.

“Thank you.”

The words were so quiet, so unexpected, that I almost thought I had imagined them.

But no — Chrysalis had spoken them.

Luna stiffened beside me. Her eyes widened, shock easily visible in them before she schooled her expression back into neutrality.

Even Chrysalis herself looked as though she hadn’t expected to say it at all. Her ears flicked back, her wing twitching once before settling against her side.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving me to stare after her as she left the throne room to feed more of her children with the Synthetic Heart. I blinked, my mind trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all.

A choked sound drew my attention away from Chrysalis’s retreating form.

Thorax.

He was standing now, albeit unsteadily, his legs still trembling under his own weight. But his eyes — his eyes were alive once again, their dull haze gone, replaced with something fragile but very much real. He swayed slightly before catching himself, his gaze locking onto mine.

Then, before I could react, he stumbled forward and threw his hooves around me.

I stiffened.

His chitin was cool against my skin, his frame still too thin, too fragile. But he clung to me with a strength I hadn't expected, as if he was afraid that if he let go, I would vanish like smoke.

"Thank you." His voice was thick, shaking. "Sebastian, thank you. You saved them. You saved my family."

I felt my throat tighten.

I had arrived too late. The youngling had been proof of that. I had fooled myself into believing that completing the Synthetic Heart would somehow fix everything, that the heart would solve every problem. But half of the hive was already gone.

And yet…

Thorax was alive. The others who had survived — who were now feeding, slowly regaining their strength — they were alive because of what I had done. Because of what we had done.

I exhaled sharply, my left hand hesitantly coming up to press against Thorax’s back. He was shaking, whether from exhaustion or relief, I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.

Luna shifted beside me, watching in silence. She wouldn’t rush me. She knew better than anyone what this moment meant.

I squeezed my eye shut for a moment to steady myself. Then, I exhaled slowly and stepped back.

Thorax let go, his ears flicking as he wiped at his face. He looked exhausted, but there was something lighter in his posture now. He was no longer weighed down by the crushing inevitability of starvation.

It still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But it was something. Better than nothing.

Luna’s voice cut through the moment, low and firm. “Sebastian.”

I turned to her.

She was watching me with a knowing intensity, but there was no command in her tone — just understanding.

“We should go.”

My gut twisted. It felt wrong to leave, even knowing there was nothing more I could do. The Synthetic Heart was with Chrysalis. The changelings who remained would live. I had done everything I possibly could for them. The rest was up to them.

But the youngling...

Luna stepped closer, her wing brushing against my arm again, taking me out of the spiral before it could sink its hooks into me, anchoring me to the here and now. “Sebastian, we should head back.”

I swallowed hard then nodded.

Then, I gave one last look to Thorax, committing the sight of him standing, breathing, alive, to memory. I had managed to save my friend, at least I had managed to save him.

And with an incantation, and a squeeze of Luna’s hoof, I once again cast Greater Teleport.

The world shifted—

The hive was gone, and in its place was the familiar sight of our bedchambers.

The moment we arrived, the silence pressed down on me.

The air here was colder, softer, carrying the lingering scent of Luna — lavender and something soothing and rich, like the night itself. The fireplace was empty, save for the logs that sat in its andiron, awaiting to be lit should we so choose. But that would not be now. No, this was a time to let the cold seep into our room. The windows stretched high, revealing the endless sprawl of the night sky over Canterlot, but the stars felt distant, like a painted illusion.

I barely noticed any of it.

My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish, my body carrying an exhaustion that ran deeper than mere fatigue.

I shrugged off my clothes, not caring where they landed, my hands moving on instinct, barely guided by thought. The moment I was free of them, I sent the Wizard’s Arm to its storage in the Ethereal Plane as I moved toward the bed — stumbling, almost, as if the floor had shifted beneath me.

The mattress gave way under my weight as I collapsed onto it. The softness swallowed me whole, but it didn’t bring relief. I felt like I was sinking — no, unraveling.

A week ago, the youngling had been alive.

A week ago, who knows how many of the hive had been breathing, starving, but breathing.

Now—

The Synthetic Heart pulsed in my mind’s eye, that flickering green flame burning with the essence of a memory, a love I had poured into it, a love that would never be enough to bring any of them back from death’s embrace.

I squeezed my eye shut, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Movement.

Luna.

I felt the faint whisper of her magic, the familiar hum as she lowered the moon, letting the first traces of dawn creep over the horizon. Another whisper, softer, as she removed her regalia, setting each piece aside with a care I couldn’t bring myself to muster for my own discarded clothes.

Then, the mattress dipped beside me.

And a moment later, blessed warmth.

Luna curled against me, her wing draping over me, her foreleg slipping over my torso, pulling me close. Her presence was solid, real — an anchor in a storm I couldn’t see the end of.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t tell me it would be alright. She didn’t whisper empty reassurances. She simply held me, letting her warmth seep into the places where the cold had begun to take root.

Minutes passed. Or maybe an eternity. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

But eventually, her voice broke the quiet.

“Sebastian…”

There was something careful in her tone, something edged with thought.

I shifted, just enough to acknowledge her. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“The memory inside the Synthetic Heart,” she murmured, her breath warm against my skin. “You never said what it was.”

I opened my eye.

The ceiling stretched above us, dark and endless, so unlike the dawn breaking beyond the curtain covered windows.

Ah, the memory.

The one I had chosen. The one I had let the Synthetic Heart copy, to fuel the changelings with something that wasn’t true love, but was close enough to keep them alive. Synthetic love for the Synthetic Heart.

My throat felt tight again.

I swallowed.

And then, in a voice that barely sounded like my own, I answered.

"The first time." I said, the words slipping past my lips before I could hesitate. My voice was hoarse, cracked at the edges, as if speaking it aloud solidified something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Luna was quiet. Not the peaceful silence from before, but a stillness laced with thought.

Then, softly, “Our first kiss?”

I almost let her believe it.

It would’ve been easier.

But I had never been good at lying to her, she could see right through me.

“No,” I murmured, turning my head just enough to look at her. “Not our first kiss. The first time we had sex.”

The reaction was immediate. Her breath hitched — quiet, almost imperceptible, but I felt it where our bodies touched. She lifted her head, just enough to peer down at me, her ethereal mane shifting like the night sky itself.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t recoil. But the weight of her gaze was tangible.

I forced myself to keep speaking, because stopping now meant I’d never get the words out. “Specifically, the conversation we had after. That night… when I told you I had lied about wanting to be your apprentice to save my own skin. When you told me you knew right away.”

Understanding flickered in her eyes. “That night,” she echoed, and there was something in her tone — something deep, reflective.

I exhaled slowly. “I… I held on to that memory when I died… it was everything in that moment. It was all that I had left.”

Luna’s brows drew together, her lips parting slightly before she closed them again. She studied me, searching for something in my expression, something in the way I lay beneath her, barely held together.

I didn’t know what she found.

But whatever it was made her sigh, her wing tightening around me.

A moment passed before she spoke. “No one can see it?”

I shook my head, my throat thick. “No one. The Synthetic Heart only carries the emotion from the memory. No images, no words. Just… the love.”

In this moment the word felt foreign in my mouth. Love.

Love that wasn’t enough to save me from death.

Love that couldn’t bring back the youngling, or those that I was too late to save.

Love that had pulled those that survived back from starvation’s grasp.

The same love that had failed to save me had, instead, spared those responsible for my death all those months ago. The thought should have crushed me.

And yet, rather than despair, the ridiculousness of it all struck like a hammer.

A sound clawed its way from my throat — somewhere between a gasp and a broken exhale — before it twisted, reshaped itself, and spilled free.

Laughter.

It started small, barely more than an exhale.

Then it grew.

I tried to stop it. I really did.

But I couldn’t.

Laughter tore out of me, shaking my chest, my lungs, my ribs.

It wasn’t joyful.

It wasn’t pleasant.

It was raw, jagged, like something clawing its way free from the pit of my stomach, something twisted and hysterical and utterly uncontrollable.

Luna didn’t even try to stop me.

She just watched.

And when my laughter finally began to wane, when it left me breathless and aching, when the last echoes of it still clung to the air between us—

She smiled.

Not the careful, tempered smile of a ruler.

Not the smirk of a warrior who had found a weakness in their opponent’s defenses.

A true, quiet smile, equal parts warm and cool as the night she ruled.

“You have a wonderful laugh, my moonlight,” she murmured.

Then she kissed me.