The sun had thoroughly illuminated the environment, restoring heat and cheerfulness to Maretime Bay. The temperature had even returned to near-summer conditions, and a few ponies had arrived early to check on the community garden to ensure that their zuccnanas and grapebeans were still viable. By the afternoon, however, the majority of plants had been checked, leaving the garden mostly empty of equine life.

It was at this point that Misty arrived. Or, initially, most of Misty. As she teleport in, the phase-transition ceased, leaving her matter halfway suspended in the horrific and ethereal void she shot herself around when transporting herself. Just before the fear struck, though, she managed to extricate herself and pull herself fully into realspace.

“Huh,” she said, finding herself suddenly shaking, checking her textbook. “That’s not supposed to happen..." She flipped the page, squinting at the second half of the spell she had neglected to cast. "I don’t think I’m ready for that one yet.”

She closed the book. The long-range teleportation spell was still a work in progress. If it worked, it would revolutionize the commute between the Brighthouse, her father in Bridlewood, and her job with Opaline.

A small portion of her matter was still oscillating in and out of dimensional space, but it was only moderately painful. The greater problem was the extreme existential dread it cased as parts of her were flung across dimensions that mathematically may not have existed. As such, Misty decided to walk it off and hope her spare atoms eventually returned home to reunite with her mortal coil.

It was therefore fortunate that the garden was so sunny and cheerful, with numerous flowers of various types and the occasional fruit. Some looked tasty. Others were hideous mockeries of life. All would one day become smoothies and be swallowed by ponies.

Such was the life of a fruit, and Misty contemplated this as she walked down the pleasant stone path.

The only pony present outside that she saw was Sprout, who was busy on an especially dusty plot of land with several strange and lackadaisical plants. He sneezed as Misty approached. It seemed that he had somehow acquired a cold.

“Hello Sprout.” Misty was apprehensive about greeting him—or greeting any pony—but she understood that Sprout was Sunny and Hitch’s friend, and therefore probably fine to be around. “Growing anything good?"

“Huh what who?” he said, looking around in a panic. When he saw Misty, he became slightly more red than he already was. “Oh, Misty. Hey. Did you know I’m a big strong earth stallion?”

“Um...maybe?”

“Yeah. Look at what my incredibly powerful earth-pony magic produced.” He gestured toward the ground. “Look!”

Misty stared at the vegetables.

“They look...edible?”

“Hopefully. My mommy says we can’t afford another fruitsplosion. Or what happened with my last attempt with the mandrakes...” He shuddered. "The eyes..."

“So what are they?”

Sprout looked back at what he had been doing. “Get this! I fused a turnip...with another turnip!”

Misty blinked. “O...kay? That’s very...um...impressive? In an absurdist way?”

“I know, right?! I call them nipnips! They’re so far exactly like regular turnips, but better.” He giggled. “My mommy is going to be so proud when I bring these home. And she can cook them, and we can have dinner together, and then maybe she’ll forget about the fruit explosions. Or me getting fired as a deputy. Or wrecking the Brighthouse. Becoming a dictator. Also the wigs...” He shivered.

“Wigs?”

“Do you like wigs?”

“Um...maybe?”

“Misty!”

Misty turned sharply, terrified at the sound of her own name—because for most of her life, it had been screamed at her before she would be yelled at relentlessly until she cried. When she turned, though, she saw Sunny bounding toward her through the raspbtatoes.

“Sunny,” sighed Misty, revealed, leaving Sprout to approach her friend.

“You’re back! We were significantly worried!”

“It’s okay,” said Misty. “I was with Blank, helping her with her ship.”

Sunny’s head tilted, although her wide smile remained fully intact. “Who is that? And what ship?”

“Blank. She’s...my friend.” Misty’s own smile faded. “And she’s also sick. And getting sicker. I need to find a way to help her but I don’t even know where to start."

“Well that’s not good. Maybe if you ask Zipp? She seems to know things from books. And to be oddly perceptive.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Well. I’m just glad the monster did not ingest you.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her. I defeated her.”

Sunny paused, still smiling. “Defeated it? The flesh-construct? How?”

“The power of friendship, I guess? Turns out it was just a misunderstanding and she’s actually mostly nice. Although I’m not the best barometer of that. Nicer than Opaline. I think you’d like her. And probably understand her weird bodily duality better than I do. Pretty sure she’s some kind of sadness-ghost living in a semi-sentient meat-mech.”

“Well, yes, that does describe the construct very well. Especially considering you do not know the word 'windigo'. Makes sense to me.”

Misty frowned. “Sunny, are you feeling okay?”

“I always feel okay, Misty. I am an alicorn after all. You, though, aren’t looking so good. You really shouldn’t be around that pony. I don’t think we can trust her. In fact, I know we can’t. And you might be catching whatever weird alien disease she has.”

“I don’t think it’s contagious but...” Misty stared at Sunny.

“What’s wrong, Misty? You know you shouldn’t believe what she says. She’s not a real pony. And the construct is not giving you the whole story. It probably never even knew it. Equestria Prime has been dead for so, so very long.”

Misty reached out her hoof and tapped Sunny on the shoulder. Her hoof did not meet flesh, but rather passed through something similar to dense fog. The illusion distorted, and for a moment, Misty could see through the scan lines that made it up. The only solid material it contained as a strangely decorated, hovering cube floating silently in its center.

Misty’s shield spell materialized milliseconds before the near light-speed particle reached her. It impacted with incredible force, but her shield withstood it, assembling itself into the fractal form of a crystal, the point of which sparked through dirt and rock as she was knocked back. Sprout looked up from his nipnips just in time to see a tall head rise from the bushes, shifting and rotating as a robotic body unfolded from her position in the weeds.

“Eek,” he said, shivering as the machine loomed over him. “Do you...like wigs?”

“Somewhat, yes,” replied Synchronia, her hologram of Sunny speaking exactly the same as she did. “However, you need to go elsewhere.”

A cube of ornate machine parts—all cast in translucent, delicate orange—surrounded Sprout, leaving only his head exposed as it clamped around his neck and held his body tightly.

“Sprout!” cried Misty, dropping to the ground.

“Misty! Help me, I’m being turned on!”

The cube then departed with great haste, taking Sprout with it. Synchronia then began to walk forward, her limbs clicking with machine-like speed and precision.

“The skull,” said Misty, taking a step back. “What did they do?”

“The right thing,” replied Synchronia. “I am, after all, the Will of Twilight Sparkle. The last disciple of the Destroyer Goddess, the One True Princess, The Bringer of Mortality. I alone can complete Her holy work. Your friends are helping not just this world, but all worlds subsequent. Twilight Sparkle will so very proud.”

Another blast struck Misty. The plants and fence around her split into cubes, falling away—but Misty had already teleport, moving behind Synchronia. Synchronia’s head rotated on her thin neck to face Misty. Her body then followed it, turning in place with sudden, marching steps.

“You have significantly more magical prowess than I would have expected.”

“I was stole by a wizard when I was a foal. So yeah. I’m pretty good.”

“Had you been born an alicorn in my era, you would have served Her too.”

“Why are you attacking me?”

“The answer is both simple and obvious. I need to control the narrative in this situation.”

“Although,” said the hologram of Sunny, stepping forward. “She’s not actually wrong. That thing you think is your friend was never supposed to have a mind of its own. It is incomplete. And dangerous.”

“However,” continued Synchronia. “I am, of course, bound by the First Law of Robotics. I cannot actually harm you. So you have the option to leave. Now.”

This was followed by a devastating blast of lightning directed in Misty’s direction. Misty attempted to dodge, only to cry out as a translucent orange bear-trap sprung around one of her legs. The lightning struck her, vaporizing her body—but not before she had oscillated into a small formation of herselves, vibrating her way across multiple directions, the clones struck repeatedly as the lightning propagated through them.

She collapsed into a patch of carrotsnips, breathing hard. She had no idea that the spell would work at all—and it had taken an amazing amount of effort to accomplish. The level of magic that was listed in her books required both intense mental focus and extreme internal magical reserves. Misty realized, to her dismay, that it was very likely that she could not achieve it at all—it was meant for alicorns. Like Opaline. Not a unicorn like her.

“You could just have teleported. That was a waste of energy.”

“Except I needed to save up the energy. For this.”

Six small oscillating red spheres around Misty burst forward, stretching into missiles that spread outward in curving lines. Synchronia’s eyes tracked them independently of each other, and several of her cubes popped outward from the foliage around her, meshing with her orange constructs to assemble an armor-like dome around herself to block the missiles. The magic impacted, detonating, cutting through the cubes as they absorbed the impact. Then, as Misty watched, the mercury-like cores of the cubes began to reconstruct them from within.

Misty collapsed to her knees. She reached for her bag, hoping to find another mushroom—but found no bag at all.

Synchronia lifted up the bag, held in a complex robotic hand of translucent light.

“This is mine now. Even if I can’t eat.”

“Never could,” added the holographic Sunny. “She never grew a working digestive system.”

Synchronia’s smile seemed to grow. “Yet.”

The machine began to approach Misty, who—with some effort—stood up.

“Sit back down. You’ve used all your magical potential. Any more and you’ll hurt yourself.”

Misty bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“But you can’t. You do not realize how deeply this saddens me. That you have achieved what it took me nearly eighty centuries to accomplish in...however old you are. I spent so many lifetimes learning what magic truly was. If I still had tear ducts, I would weep for how badly you are disappointing me.”

“Shut up. SHUT UP.”

Synchronia paused. Something dark began to consolidate over her forehead.

Misty took a breath—and cast a teleportation spell.

“Oh,” said Syncrhonia, deactivating her auxiliary friendship cannon. “She fled. How fortunate. I rather abhor violence.”

As she said it, Misty’s invisibility spell dissipated as she fell from above, consolidating water vapor into a spear of ice—and, screaming, she accelerated it to supersonic speed.

Synchronia had no chance to dodge. It penetrated her back, slamming her to the ground as she was transfixed to the floor of the vegetable garden. Misty, now totally depleted of energy, flopped to the ground beside her.

Confused, Synchronia looked at her back where her body was sparking and twitching. Also where a large frost-spear had passed through her body.

“You...you have given me the poke.”

“Relax,” moaned Misty, face-down in the dirt. “I avoided your power core. It’s non-lethal. Probably.”

“Really? You should have aimed for the head.”

“The one made of indestructible metal? Yeah, right.”

“It is technically a hybrid ceramic material,” groaned Synchronia, standing up as a pair of projected hands grasped the spear and pushed it through her damaged body. “And yes. At this point, even severing my head would not stop me for long. Once awake, I cannot be deactivated.” She turned toward Misty. “That said. It has been a very, very long time since any pony has given me the poke. Rarely have I been penetrated with such passion.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not.” The projected hands closed around the spear, shattering it in their grasp. “But I can see you are a mare of great talent. So perhaps we can solve this more peacefully?”

Misty lifted her head. “How?”

Synchronia’s robotic projection of hands disassembled, and came back together as a long, thin needle. She poked at the air for a moment.

“Corrective psychosurgery. A little poke-poke to the frontal lobe and you won’t want to ruin my plans anyway.”

Misty produced her cell phone. Fortunately, she had not kept it in her bag with the mushrooms. “Or how about I call Sunny? The real Sunny?”

“As opposed to the creepy hologram.” Synchronia sighed. “Fine. Violence failed. Then logic and a plea for peace failed. Which leaves one final option.”

“What?”

“Persuasion.”

The holographic Sunny collapsed, the cube joining another three as they were surrounded in transient false-matter. Assembling something complicated and long. A weapon of some sort, intended to fire projectiles. Synchronia pointed it at Misty—and then reversed it, facing the Brighthouse.

“I wonder,” she mused. “You, as a unicorn, have a great deal of power. Even if you barely know how to use it. You could probably even stop an impact from this particular weapon.” She smiled to Misty. “I wonder if the other one can too. The one who smells like glitter.”

Misty’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“She’s making me a cheerful sweater right now. In her craft room. I can target her through the walls. The projectile is narrow. It will barely damage the plaster. I am not a monster, though. I am quite kind. I will shoot her through the horn. Not enough to cause any permanent injury other than rendering her forever unable to use magic. Assuming she is not as strong as you are. Because if you are my example of all unicorns, she will simply stop the bullet.”

Misty stood up. “Don’t you dare lay a single creepy robot hoof on my friends—”

“I am not a robot,” hissed Synchronia, her cheerful guise suddenly and violently departing. “I was a pony. Until Twilight stripped me piece by piece of my organic weakness to make me BETTER. As your benefactor will eventually do to you. She, as She did, will betray you—because you deserve it.”

“You’re sick and hurt,” said Misty. “Please. We can help you—”

“Just leave. Stay away. I am too weak to stop you directly. But I fully intend to heal. Tell the non-pony that I know who she is.”

“White-Rime?”

“No. The other one.”

“Who is she, then?”

Synchronia paused, and the permanent smile on her skull-like face became even more apparent than ever. “Me.”

Misty stared—and wished she had not understood.

Synchronia threw her backpack to her. Misty produced a mushroom, pausing for a moment to see the glowing, humming projection of a rifle. She sighed and ate the mushroom—and then vanished in a pop of blue light.

Synchronia groaned. “Why was that so hard?” she asked herself. “Why did she have to be born on this planet?” She paused. “Am I...doubting my own resolve? This is new. I hate it. So much.”

The door behind her opened. Sunny slid out on her rollerblades, pausing to wave to Syncrhonia.

“Hey, I’m going to work!” she called. She looked around the garden. “Wow. What happened here?”

“I was just doing some gardening,” said Synchronia, holding up the high-energy rifle she had manufactured, implicitly claiming it was a gardening tool before she allowed it to dissipate. She clicked forward across the plants. “Before you go, I need to have a word with you.”

“Really? About what?”

“About your friend, Misty. It occurred to me this morning. The evil blank-pony may be capable of manipulating her.”

“Manipulating her? How?”

Synchronia shrugged. “Mind control? Lies? Something like that. So if you see her, you should be very careful what she says.” She paused dramatically. “Or that it’s even her. After all. There’s a dangerous shapeshifter on the loose.”

Sunny seemed shocked. “Oh wow,” she said. “I didn’t even think of that. I hope she’s okay. I should call her.” She produced her phone, but frowned. “Huh,” she said. “No connection. Oh, well, that happens sometimes. Oplaline’s castle gets terrible reception. Something about pegasus communications satellites or something. Or maybe it’s the giant magical shield? Either way, I’ll be careful. Thanks for the advice, Synchronia.”

“Just trying to be a good friend. Enjoy your day grinding vegetables for the grotesque digestive systems of your organic clientele.”

“Will do!” Sunny bladed away, waving. Synchronia waved back.

Synchronia sighed. She was certainly experiencing doubts. She took great relief in the fact that she had long ago learned to completely ignore them. The Will of Twilight would be completed. These ponies would help her save all of Equestria—and undo the course the Destroyer Goddess had been unable to correct on her own.

It was the last thing she could bring herself to hope for.

Author's Note

An interesting aspect of ponies, and especially the Gen 5 ponies, is their severe innocence. They are child-like beings existing an a world with (generally) at best G-rated violence. So, from a writing perspective, a being from a harsher world (like Synchronia) would probably have little trouble exploiting their naivete and ignorance.

That said, as a result of this, I found a need to "up" Misty's competence. I find it appropriate that Misty, being a magical unicorn raised by a literal tower-dwelling wizard, would herself grow up to have a great deal of wizardly power in her own right.