Author's Note

There is some mild gore in this chapter.

I will probably do interlude chapters once every 5 chapters or so. They aren't required reading, mostly vomit from my worldbuilding doc.

Writing will slow down because life is heating up for me. I aim to post about once a week or so.

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR READING!

6. 新活开始 [New life begins]

Afterwards…

Jubilee line stinks. It always stinks. It’s loud, there’s always a guy that’s high on something singing, and the air quality is so bad you can practically taste the carbon nanoparticles.

But the Jubilee line is also fast, convenient, and goes to every single major hub in London from Stratford to Stanmore. Which is why it’s the most crowded thing in existence. Salarymen and women line the car, uncomfortably close to each other. Most are going into central, probably toward Canada Water or Bank or wherever those soulless ‘young professional’ finance jobs are located.

Pretty sure every single person in this car wants to scream. Cyrus muses. Lucky for him, he was able to get on at Stratford which meant he could sit down. It’s always a bit of trouble, dodging the homeless, crackheads, and homeless crackheads on his way from his shitty university accommodation to the station, but living there is relatively cheap.

Relatively. At least it’s not 450￡per week.

Flipping to his Revolut, Cyrus checks his balance.

33,245￡.

Huh?

At once, the people disappear. The car is empty. There is a distinct lack of the infamous ‘Jubilee line screech’. Cyrus looks up from his phone.

Unease settles in like creeping ivy.

“你好，红线小子 [Sup, red string kid].”

Oddly familiar, yet not familiar at all. Cyrus spins to the culprit, it is an old man. His blue suit glows under the fluorescent light, crisp red tie splitting his torso in half like a bloody gash. Frozen in deja vu, Cyrus can only muster a few blinks.

“我告诉你啊，找你太难了！你比鱼多滑 [I’m telling you man, finding you is way too difficult. You’re more slippery than a fish].” The old man prattles, flicking through his gargantuan book, his black pen darting every so often to make a note or two. Regaining his senses, Cyrus engages rule #3 of his ‘How to Survive London Life’ handbook: ‘Ignore the weirdos’. He turns away, training his eyes on the ‘stop sexual harassment’ advert located above the seats infront of him.

PRESSING

RUBBING AGAINST SOMEONE ON PURPOSE IS SEXUAL-

“哎呀，他妈的 [Ah, fucking shit]. If only I could assume the form of that dream-stalker friend of yours…” The old man mutters, snapping his book shut with a mighty huff, jerking Cyrus out of his focus.

“Wait. What the- what do you mean by dream-stalker? Are you talking about Luna?” Cyrus demands, snapping his vision to the lounging old man. He laughs, pulling a pipe out of his- thin air?

“Got your attention with that one. Well, too little too late, that fucking thing of yours is coming. No matter, we are building our relationship. 没问题 [No worries].” The old man sticks the pipe in his mouth, lighting the tobacco inside with his finger. Taking a drag, he blows a smoke ring into the air as his features relax from the nicotine circulating his blood. He casts Cyrus a side glance before continuing his speech: “It will be here soon, slipping past that guard dog of yours is a pain in my arse. Again, no worries, I’ve read your chapter, it’s-” His face scrunches in, accenting the wrinkles along his weathered face, “-What the fuck am I saying, you won’t really remember this anyway. Hey before I’m mauled to death, let me give you a bit of advice.”

Cyrus leans forward in trepid curiosity, wanting answers for what exactly was going on. The old man stands, placing a hand on the rail to steady himself in the rocking car. The train announcement awakens.

The next station is Canary Wharf. Change here for the DLR-DLR-DLR-

The announcement skips on itself, pitch wavering up and down for every ‘DL’ it manages to spit out. The lights flicker on and off. Suddenly they’re hurtling through the air, a mile above The Shard. Landmarks filter through, not even of British origin. The Great Wall of China erupts from the Thames as the legendary 曹操 [Cao Cao] leaps forward, charging into the British Redcoats as they try and storm the wall. Cyrus can barely cling to his seat as the carriage is rocked by a bout of violent turbulence. The old man scans the room, underwhelmed by the chaos he is seeing.

“Yep, here we go. Remember, don’t push too hard. She’s going to tell you a lot of things, JUST LISTEN. 两只耳，一张嘴，按该比例- [Two ears, one mouth, using that ratio]-”

The Monster tears in, impaling the old man through his chest. Cyrus leaps back with a blood curdling scream as barbed tentacles snake around the old man’s legs, ripping the skin away layer by layer. The old man gives an unimpressed sigh as he’s ripped out of the carriage and into thin air. Black smoke fills the room, causing the lights to crack and shatter, spewing glass onto the floor. A rotting brown eye pokes its way out of the smoke.

Cyrus’ flight instincts activate. He pounds at the windows with reckless abandon, trying to smash the glass. It gets closer and closer, taking Its lavish time, creeping smoke slithering across the floor in filthy webs.

Unable to escape, Cyrus slumps to the floor sobbing, unable to look away at the grotesque filth making its way toward him. Torture was coming, pain, unimaginable anguish, the black smoke makes contact.

小Cy，我爱你 [Little Cy, I love you].

Warm? Is that-

Blood.

Pain.

Red blade, golden orbs. Chanting. Rapid chanting.

He can’t speak. He can’t scream. The pain is unbearable.

He so desperately NEEDS it.

Rip them down!

Blue and red ribbons pull him closer to his death.

BENEATH YOU. UNWORTHY TO EVEN WALK THE SAME-

The duvet is sent sailing into the air by a jolting shiver. Cyrus cranes upward with unholy speed, hands rapidly grabbing at his chest. Short, ravenous breaths cause him to heave, almost spilling what was left of his dinner last night onto the bed. Spinning around, Cyrus checks his surroundings, animal brain unwilling to let go of the primal fear he had just been subject to.

Gently, the logical side wakes up, coaxing the animal out of its state. Breathing returns to normal as Cyrus pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning at the adrenaline crash he was experiencing. Relief mixes with unease as he slowly slips out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom. Once there, he instantly dunks his head into the sink, turning the cold tap as far as it could go.

“Fuck me, they’re back.” Cyrus whimpers as the iciness spreads across his cheeks. Unpleasant past experiences bubble to the forefront of his memory of all the times he had found himself in this situation. Shutting his eyes, he allows the coldness to shock himself out of his fright.

It’s not working.

He was still jolty, thoughts jittering like a deer, only able to be at rest for microseconds at a time. The unknown stalks around him, its fog creeping through his mindscape, obscuring logic behind thick clouds of darkness. Releting, Cyrus flicks the tap off, sinking onto the floor in dejection, burying his head in his hands with a mighty groan.

Begging for peace, Cyrus tries to focus his mind on getting ready, running a hand through his bushy hair to untangle some knots, yanking at them in hopes that the pain will shock him into baseline. His mind would not allow rest, constantly grappling with the gaping hole of memory that his forgotten nightmare left.

I’m supposed to remember something…

What even happened? Why am I so terrified…

I thought I heard a voice…

两只耳，一张嘴 [Two ears, one mouth]. What…

The threads of his thoughts slither around, breaking any sense of coherence in his mind. On impulse, his thumbs find 印堂 [yintang: name of pressure point], rubbing in lazy circles. The instinctual clawing and grasping of deep memory fades away agonizingly slowly.

Too slowly.

Cyrus’ animal brain detects a new, familiar threat approaching rapidly. His perception dims at the creeping blackness, tendrils of terror grip at the bathroom door.

Of course It would come and kick him when he’s down. When he’s unprepared, out of his depth, unoccupied.

Unoccupied.

Rabid, Cyrus flings himself upright and over the sink, snatching his toothbrush with violent vigor. Uncapping the toothpaste, he squirts way too much on before shoving it into his mouth, almost gagging at the sensation. Ignoring the creeping smoke, Cyrus brushes like his life depends on it, rending his gums apart with his savage strokes.

It rattles the door, trying to smash its way in, smelling blood in the water.

Desperate focus. Cyrus spits the solution of blood, toothpaste and saliva out of his mouth.

It gets angrier, screaming obscenities, demanding to be let in.

Hop in shower. NOW! Cyrus screams at himself, obeying his shrieking order, trying his hardest to ignore the black iron lump of dread buried deep in his stomach.

Cutlass will be here soon I’ll be okay when she gets here when I get busy I can ignore it I just need to hold on…

Blasting jets of steaming water scald Cyrus’ skin, turning it redder and redder with each passing second. Precious seconds of pain meant precious seconds of peace. The roaring tide coming from behind the shower curtain demands his attention, but as long as his skin blistered under the burning heat of smoking water, he could stay afloat.

Stay afloat. Keep focused, don’t let it in. These mantras run through Cyrus’ head. His hand darts for the towel, crushing it against his frame and wiping in vehement motion, sanding down his body. He can feel Its eyes on his back as he leaps from the bathroom to the closet, dodging and weaving the shooting tendrils aimed at his mindscape.

Runrunrunrunrunrurnurnrunrurnurnr-

He catches a glance.

That's all It needs.

The pent up dread explodes out of his chest in a sob, tears streaming down Cyrus’ face as His Monster lords itself over him.

Finally caught you. Slippery rat, barely kept it together during that cute little dinner party. They waste their kindness on you. It taunts, retching Its words with a vile expression of pure glee.

W-what do you want from me? Cyrus barely whispers to It. His Monster oozes pure smugness, deriving sadistic joy at the display of utter ruin.

What do I want? You know what I want, YOU CREATURE. Face it. Do you really think you can make a life here? You fucking moron. You animal. You KNOW you don't deserve this. YOU KNOW you don’t deserve anything you fucking stain, fucking insect. YOU KNOW that Cutlass and Luna have better things to do than to play around with a WORTHLESS piece of FILTH. YOU KNOW you don't belong, and never will. Pathetic. All you do is find escapes, all you do is hide. YOU RAN AWAY! YOU KNOW THE REAL REASON-

Knocking comes through, sounding like glorious ringing from on high. His Monster’s visage splits into a scowl.

Saved by the bell. Go on, run away to your insipid little friend. I’ll be back. With that, It disappears into the void, leaving Cyrus shaking on the ground, gaping void of his own in his chest.

“Yeah! I’ll be there in a bit.” Cyrus shouts in fake confidence to silence the knocking. Desperately, he reaches himself toward busyness, trying to knock the shivering unease out of his body. Clothing on, he yanks the door open way too quickly, almost slamming it into the wall it is attached to. Cutlass flitters backward in shock at the sudden movement.

“Woah there, somepony’s happy to- hey, everything okay?” Cutlass’ jest turns to worry as she spies the puffy redness around Cyrus’ still darting eyes. Letting out a short exhale, Cyrus leans against the doorframe in an effort to play it cool, unwilling to allow the dread another chance at resurfacing.

“Yeah, all good. Just got some shampoo in my eyes, innit.” The lie effortlessly escapes Cyrus’ lips as he crosses his fingers behind his back, hoping Cutlass would buy it.

She does. Why wouldn’t she? Cyrus is too practiced.

“Ah I hate that, I’d wash with goggles on but then I’d look like I’ve just escaped from the mental hospital.” Cutlass continues on in jest, unaware. Cyrus breathes an inner sigh of relief, exiting his room and shutting the door behind him. The night atmosphere wraps Cyrus in its cold embrace as the pair begin the walk to the canteen, trading banter all along the way.

Occupied with other things, Cyrus becomes normal again.

As long as he was busy he could stand it.

.

.

.

.

Garden #3.

Ugly, rancid, affront to ponykind. A few choice words Luna would use to describe her latest failure. She erases the sky once more, stomping and snorting in frustration. It had to be perfect, and what she had just conceived was anything but perfect; those ponies looking up and freaking out about the rapidly brightening and dimming stars would have to suffer it.

Perhaps I am out of practice… Luna thinks, dejected at her loss of skill. Still, she was determined to make tonight’s sky as beautiful as she could. Once more, she focuses her mind, bridging the familiar link out toward the cosmos. Meek twinkling sparks out once more as a sketch makes its way onto the night sky.

Luna inspects the geometry, editing and shifting a few sparks to smooth out some curves. Tonight’s night sky would be gentle, friendly, and warm, unlike the haphazard crap she had been throwing up recently. She strengthens the control, brightening the stars, connecting light to light with splotches of color. Red, green and purple expand out from origin points, responding to the pressure exerted by Luna’s mental tether. An explosion of beauty makes it-

A frustrated sigh introduces itself into the night. The canvas is erased again as her mind disconnects from the night sky. To Luna, her efforts were nothing but excrement, at least according to the slew of expletives that exited her muzzle.

“I am not what I used to be…” Luna murmurs aloud to the nature around, planting her hind on the grass. The black sky stares back, boring into her soul at its sheer, blank void, exerting its pressure onto Luna’s consciousness.

She needs to get it done within the next twenty minutes or so and it has to be perfect or else she’ll never sleep again.

Not that she sleeps much anyway.

Grunting through the anxiety of failing yet again, Luna refocuses her mana onto the night sky in what she hoped was the last time this evening. Digging deep, she draws upon the reservoir of inspiration deep within her soul, trying to conjure an image worth painting in her mind’s eye.

Everfree edge? No, too pedestrian… What does Cyrus like? He goes on about his ‘Thames’ river quite a bit… Lucent river? Bleh, overdone… River… Dyrant river?

She can’t stop her mind making the connection.

The demons welcome her into their fold once more……

“Majesty, you must. There is no time.” A bleeding Javelin chokes out, despite the blood filling her lungs. Luna grips onto her friend with desperation, helplessly watching the life flow out of her eyes. Around them, fire rages on the green, fueled by unholy magics, howls of allies and enemies carve themselves into the night.

“Lu- *COUGH* -na, take it… only thy power can end this bloodshed. Before… it… is… too… late…” Javelin retches blood every third syllable, covering Luna’s coat with viscous sanguine liquid, meeting the stream of salty tears from Luna’s eyes. Arrows poke out of Javelin’s broken form, jutting out like antennas to elysium.

Her friend was dying. There is nothing she could do.

And now she was asking for the unthinkable.

“Javelin, hold fast, there is time… please… thou do not understand what thy ask of me…” Luna pleads, pressing against Javelin’s wounds in a desperate attempt to contain the bleeding.

Futility, the blood coats her hoof, running down her frog and into the grass, spreading like a filthy stain on the gashed earth.

“There is *COUGH* no other way…” Javelin whimpers, barely above the screams.

Luna knows she’s right.

There is no other way.

Shaking and sobbing, Luna’s mana-focus slithers out, coming into contact with Javelin’s in gentle, loving emotion. Javelin closes her eyes, relinquishing her defences, allowing Luna to slip in unhindered. Tracing Javelin’s forehead in gentle motions, Luna prepares her friend for what would come next. The spell takes effect.

Javelin’s back arches and her mouth opens to a wordless wail. Ripping sensations arc through her body and mind, bringing unbearable pain. Her biology reacts instantly, rocketing blood through her veins in an attempt to deliver any form of healing to her wounds, pouring through her rent body in unsustainable volumes. Convulsing, foam forms at the side of her mouth as she tries to voice the unbearable sensations being inflicted upon her.

Luna can’t bear to look, each shiver of her friend makes Luna closer and closer to vomiting. The tears won't stop flowing. She hated this filthy magic, this vile power that only she could wield, her birthright.

But what she hated the most was how, deep down in the basest pits of herself, she didn’t hate it at all.

S h e f u c k i n g l o v e d t h e f e e l i n g.

Manic laughter fills the air. The furnace roars to life, mulching what was left of Javelin’s soul into nothing but cold, inanimate fuel. It surges into Nightmare Moon’s veins, making her feel as if she were floating on clouds. Vision narrows into pricks and time slows to a crawl.

The death of her closest friend didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was m o r e.

Her form melts, crawling into her shadow and disappearing from sight. She becomes one with the ethereal plane, her mind stretches beyond her consciousness, greedily prodding for any sign of life.

She wouldn’t have to search for long. To her sadistic delight, dots of light surround her mind as her mind encompasses the space of the battlefield.

And they were all so blissfully unaware of her presence, she could slip into their minds and pry open their deepest secrets with ease. Walk through their memories and dreams as if they were her own.

But that was no f u n.

Her silver blade appears in her victim’s chest as she reaches out of the inky blackness of their shadow. Nightmare Moon’s mind instantly latches onto her victim’s spirit, their defense shattered by the sudden pain. She r e l i s h e s their suffering, giggling at the pained braying of her victim. The body collapses to the floor in a discolored heap, still twitching as its brain fires the last of its neurons.

An arrow finds its way into her chest. Of course she saw it coming, her mind was already wrapped firmly around the poor archer’s own. Whistling Flash was her name, Nightmare Moon could smell the intention of her strike long before it took place in reality. The archer whoops in a cheer, the last thing they’d do before their body is split apart by a silver flash, guts spilling to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

“Hey! Luna! Almost didn't see you there.”

Bleeding dead, they pile on the earth. They will utter no more sound, they will gain no more memory.

“Oi! Did you hear me?”

More and more. It invigorates her body. They could wound her all they wanted, blades, arrows, burns, tears, blunt force. She was just one victim away from recovering.

“LuuuuUUUuUUuUUnaaaaAAAAaa, are you trolling me or what?”

This was better than sex, better than masturbation, better than love. Who was Javelin again? Ally? Enemy? Did it really matter-

Luna leaps into the air with catlike motion at the feeling of a hand on her left wither, wings flomp straight outward as her hind leg stretches out and strikes Cyrus in the chest, launching him backwards and straight to the ground. Landing, she continues the cat cosplay by keeping her back arched, eyes darting between any conceivable threat in her vicinity.

Among the grass, Cyrus groans and gasps in pain, completely winded by the strike. Luna had delivered what she would consider a ‘love tap’, but it was still a love tap from an alicorn.

An alicorn who works out everyday for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of any creature stupid enough to cross her.

“*Gasp* Whuhhhh wuz *gasp* da for…” Cyrus demands through wheezing breath from his new position among the flowers, chest aching where he was struck.

No response from the night princess.

Getting upset at the lack of a deserved apology, the gasping human tries his damndest to get onto his knees, but staggers back to the floor, unable to get the breath needed to stand.

Holy fuck she could actually doughnut me… Cyrus grimly surmises as his limbs flail, eventually gaining purchase on the ground as he lifts himself onto his hands and feet. Finally, some semblance of oxygen manages to get into his lungs, rushing to his burning muscles to deliver relief.

Finally, after quite literally five minutes sprawled on the ground like a baby, Cyrus is able to stand.

And he is furious. Anger coagulates, clotting his brain in dominating fashion. Whirling around, he prepares to deliver comeuppance for the still aching bruise forming on his chest. Oh when he caught her…

He storms up, trampling the grass beneath, death stare locked onto the back of Luna’s head. She refuses to turn, even with all the noise Cyrus is making, adding fuel to the flame. Having learned his lesson, Cyrus instead marches into Luna’s sightline, turning and crossing his arms. Before he can deliver his scalding reprimand, he is paused by what he beholds.

Unfocused eyes, slight shivering, throat twitching? Is she having a… Cyrus deduces, features instantly softening into concern. His arms fall to his side, tilting his head, he inches closer toward Luna. Her eyes see right past him, looking toward a threat unknown.

Silence. The rolling hills around the winding Dyrant river drip with crimson, a ghastly splotch among the peaceful scenery. The vultures and crows circle, cheerily squawking at the grizzly smell of so many free, rotting meals. They descend, true to their nature, as a murder, feasting on eyes and gizzards in the harrowing aftermath.

Luna sits alone.

Nopony dared approach her.

It had been about three hundred years since the last time.

But last time she could control it, she had a say in the matter.

There are no tears left.

The stars would not shine.

Javelin’s broken body floats peacefully down the river, burning brightly against the black night, a tradition where she-

*Snap, snap, snap*

“OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”

The spell is broken, the imps let Luna back into reality. She spots Cyrus standing in front of her, fingers making rapid back and forth motion, producing loud clicks into the air. He would do that during Luna’s lessons to snap her out of her frequent storms of frustration.

Dread takes root. Cyrus was never meant to see her like this.

“*ahem* Greetings! A-apologies if I did n-not seem present. I was simply… uhh…” Luna trails off. Cyrus cocks an eyebrow at the stammering princess, still debating between chewing her out and asking her what was wrong.

两只耳 [two ears]...

“You alright?”

Luna swallows thickly, ears still pivoting unconsciously for threats. Her teal eyes are shrunk to half their size. Her jaw shivers as she tries to choke out a lie: “I am f-fine, do n-not worry.”

It crunches out of her vocal chords, bumbling and crashing, as insecure as a teenager asking their crush out.

And painfully obvious.

“Luna?” Cyrus asks in his best disapproving parent tone. Luna’s eyes dart to the corners of her eyes as she tries to keep up the facade. Cyrus crosses his arms again, tapping his foot impatiently. Like he does when Luna is bullshitting reasons as to why she made the same mistake twice during lessons.

I can't tell him I can not let him know this darkness MUST stay hidden I can’t I can’t I can’t-

She collapses her hind to the floor, unable to carry the weight any longer, starry mane dimming into baby blue. Unable to look, she kept her sight trained on the floor, unwilling to say anything for fear of the blinding pain.

For fear of going back there.

He should stay away from me. They all should. There is no need for me anymore, that is the truth. Luna’s grim musings, she falls further and further into her rabbit hole. Enemies she could face, pain she could bear.

Worthlessness. Identity. What is my role, if not the bloody tyrant?

Her ears pick up rustling leaves along with the crunches of grass.

He must be walking away. Good.

For the next moments, Luna keeps her eyes firmly shut. Escape, retreat. She can not face the world, for it is too cruel. Unwelcome. Never was in the first place. Born, like a rock, unstirring……

Javelin’s son didn’t know how she died. For the wrong reasons, he screamed the truth. “Thou killed her. Thou art the reason……”

Walking the dreams of her comrades, Luna tries to deliver peace as she would in times past. Instead she sees copies of herself rip apart countless ponies in countless dreams. When she reveals herself they always scream, and the dream is no more……

New friends, new time. Peace time. Would it last? Who knows. Celestia is off cavorting with the new Gryphonian Empire, sluttily parading bountiful harvest in exchange for iron, shrewd as a fox. Luna, surrounded by the merriment and drinking of this generation’s friends, is the loneliest pony in the pub……

Luna whimpers, bringing her head down to the grass, covering her head with her hooves. Flopping her ears down to block out any sound, shaking amongst the closed budded flowers.

Go back to your room, Luna orders herself through the attacking memories, somepony might see.

She gently lifts her head from the ground, daringly fluttering her eyes open.

Cyrus sits next to her, legs crossed on the ground, leaning on the arms outstretched behind his back. His expression is mellow, not concerned, not angry.

He stayed?

Luna looks at him.

Cyrus pats the ground, smiling.

Why is he smiling?

Luna shuffles next to him.

Cyrus’ hand makes its way onto her back. She recoils at the strange sensation.

The fingers start to trace the fur, rubbing back and forth gently. Nopony had dared touch her before. The contact feels amazing.

Unable to resist, Luna allows herself to be wrapped into a hug. The warmth spreads. Luna softens into it.

Too soon, the hug is broken. Luna looks into the eyes of her friend.

Never noticed the red before…

She offers a small, grateful smile. Cyrus smiles back, he knew words were unnecessary. They’d only make things worse.

Blends in around the pupil… wonder if I can do that…

Luna’s nose dives in for a gentle nuzzle of Cyrus’ shoulder in thanks. She knew words were unnecessary. They’d only make things worse.

He doesn’t pull away.

And that means the entire world.

Luna exhales.

“A bad memory from the past. I seem to spend most of my time living there.” Luna admits through the chains of anxiety, breaking the vow of silence. Cyrus brings his hand back to her back and delivers a few pats, silently reassuring and urging her to continue.

“I- the truth? I-Is um… I hold many regrets… They… I… am always surprised. No matter how far away they seem…” Luna whispers quietly, vulnerable state borderline unbearable for the thousand years of habits she had imprisoned herself with. She leans onto Cyrus’ frame. He welcomes her.

“I… even thee… I had treated thee… unkindly…” Luna is stopped by the shrugging of Cyrus’ shoulder. Luna refocuses her gaze into his eyes.

“Cmon, let's not think like that,” Cyrus firmly orders, “that leads nowhere. You’re making up for it. That’s what matters.”

“But… it doesn’t change what happened. I am still… still….” That thing. Luna finishes to herself, truth still trapped by layers and layers of shame, her eyes making their way onto the ground below, tracing patterns in the grass. Cyrus shifts his hand to her withers, rubbing in slow circles.

“It’s normal to feel lost…” I’m not doing so hot myself. Cyrus finishes to himself, truth still trapped by layers and layers of shame, his eyes making their way onto the ground below, tracing patterns in the grass. Luna wraps her wing around Cyrus, warming him from the cool night air.

Introspection. Words need not be exchanged any longer, they have served their purpose.

Only solace.

Luna’s horn lights up, Cyrus casts a weary glance to the sudden source of light. Luna’s face is scrunched in determination, wrinkles deepening into trenches of concentration. She shatters her inhibitions, spurred on by the silent confidence from her friend.

Maybe it didn’t have to be perfect.

Above them, the sky shifts, stars begin to twinkle and shine. All at once, everything flows, colors spreading through the air in strange splotches, almost translucent on the black backdrop. Streaming through the color, bright speckles dot the sky, flowing out inebriated and unplanned. They streak the sky in scattered thread, a tapestry in the making.

“Look up. I hope thou enjoy it.” Luna whispers.

Cyrus looks up, spurred on by Luna while also curious as to why everything seemed so much brighter all of a sudden.

His jaw flops open, unable to quite process exactly what he was witnessing.

And, to be frank, it’s quite impossible to describe.

But what Cyrus is feeling at the moment? That can be described.

Bewilderment, wonder, awestruck at pure beauty unfolding, throat-choking, existential and marveling.

If his ass wasn’t firmly planted on the ground, he would have fallen to his knees.

Van Gogh could never. Rembrandt? Forget about it. Vermeer? Dogshit.

He can hear Luna giggle behind him, but he can't tear his eyes away. When the northern lights were rumored to be visible in London, Cyrus camped out all night at Hampstead Heath, unblinking at the smoggy night sky. He always cursed the folly of humans, buried so deep in hubris that the pure beauty of nature is smeared away. So he reaches up, standing and craning his head around in circles to take in the majesty of Luna’s creation.

“Thou find it pleasing?” Luna asks, trepidation staining her tone in a quiet way. Cyrus spins around to look at her, the biggest grin known to man stuck right on his face with superglue.

“Nahhhhhhhhhhh. This? Yeah… nah you pulled a stinker mate- OF COURSE I LIKE IT?!” Cyrus switches between playful sarcasm into screams of faux anger, before he dips into a tone of wavering disbelief, “When you said you ‘held sway over all aspects of night’ I didn’t think you meant this?! Yeah, man, I hate this pure display of beauty, actually.”

Luna snorts a few laughs out at the animated joking of her friend, stepping out from behind her resuscitated mane and into the moonlight. She strides next to Cyrus with conviction, lighting her horn again.

“Then please, look up once more.”

He obeys, and beholds a scene only possible for the most powerful of lucid dreamers. From the center of a pillar of red and purple, comets fly in random directions, leaving a trail of brilliant blue in their wake. The expanding colors mix with the backdrop like waves in a lake, creating new color when they touch old.

Gaping, googling, gawking, flabbergasted, unbelievable, life-affirming.

“This is my way of saying thank you. Thou hast inspired me once more.” Luna mumbles in pianissimo, smiling at the stunned human as he fumbles his way around the garden, swaying drunkenly through the night. Cyrus doesn’t catch it, his brain is too busy redirecting neurons from his ears to his eyes so he can store every little detail of what he was witnessing.

Too soon, the show ends, leaving the pair to gaze upon the aftermath left in the sky. Beside himself, Cyrus starts to laugh, filling the air with unbelieving chuckles and enthusiastic applause. He turns back to Luna, head shaking with bewilderment, mouthing ‘you did this’ over and over, punctuating each repetition with a swift jab of his finger. Luna can only blush at the lavish lauding, bowing with an embarrassed giggle.

Shaking his head, Cyrus lets out a final few chortles before adding: “Right, now I look like a bum. All I do is wiggle my fingers in front of a keyboard…”

“Hark! Do not belittle thyself. The wiggling is, at least, skillful.” Luna jabs right back to shared merriment.

Hmmm… the manestyle is pleasing… tied back like that, it flows like a stream…

“Heh, you know, back where I come from, I’d never be able to see something like that. Thank you.”

“Thou art most welcome, friend.”

New friends. New time. Hope made new. The past gives way for the present as Luna lifts her glass high into the air. She had new aspirations in her life……

They both look back upward, together. An idea pops into Cyrus’ head, so perfect he had to voice it aloud. Without taking his eyes off of Luna’s painting, he says: “You know, now that you’ve shown me something that I never would have seen without meeting you, how’s about I return the favor?”

Luna reaffirms her eyes onto Cyrus, curiosity adorning her features. Cyrus glances sideways to meet her gaze.

“I know you’ve got Chineighese here, but from what I’ve read they’re completely isolationist… so, have you ever heard of Lunar New Year before?”

Luna shakes her head, small divots of nervous excitement showing on her muzzle at the mention of a moon based festival. Cyrus cracks an delighted smile at Luna’s ignorance, plans already formulating in his head.

“Well, I celebrate it. You want to celebrate it with me?”

Luna’s smile outshines her sister’s sun.