The Blank Pony

The day in Zephyr Heights was as pleasant as ever. The thin atmosphere of the high mountains was blowing with gusto, floofing the feathers of many wings. The vast majority of the population had utterly forgotten about the impact that had occurred a few days prior, instead directing their attention to the fact that Princess Pipp had not posted anything in a while. The population had begun to desperately thirst for more Pipp, and whispered rumors were spreading that she was working on something special.

Of the few ponies that knew the fearful truth, Thunder and Zoom had—to both of their great relief—not been entrusted with actually guarding the spooky space ruin. As the Queen’s personal guards, they were instead placed in the castle, guarding the Queen's person. This was of course their usual station, but in light of recent events they both remained vigilant. In case the mysterious white pony returned. Both of them tried to ignore the fact that that very pony had been, in fact, 3D printed in front of them.

Thunder, standing in the gardens, could not stop looking at the mountain. Staring at it. As if waiting for something terrible.

“Looking at it isn’t going to make it go away,” sighed Zoom.

Thunder sighed. He turned to his best friend and smiled. “Yeah. I guess it’s probably all fine. Nothing weird has happened since, and the reports from up there say nopony even got near it. Although they did...um...”

Zoom rolled her eyes. “‘Fail to catch a thing’, I know, I read the report.”

“You always were good at reading.” Thunder sighed, looking back to the hill—but only for a moment. “I mean, nothing weird has happened. Like at all. Nothing scary or frightening or likely to give me a lifetime of horrible nightmares.”

Zoom winced. Thunder only looked confused—as an enormous mass of translucent light descended from above at supersonic speed.

“GET DOWN!” cried Zoom, tackling Thunder and protecting him with her body. The construct, however, rapidly collapsed on approach, reassembling itself as it landed violently in the garden. Not as a vast and incomprehensibly abstract aircraft, but in the rough form of a massive armored pony—a pony that then shrank and folded in on itself, its technical components retracting as translucent orange material was replaced with a much more concrete appearance of metal.

Zoom and Thunder looked up as both the monstrosity before them. Even at a distance, they were horrified by the sight of a tall robot with strange, skeletal head. The robot had been walking as she exited her construct, but stopped to smile at them with her numerous exposed teeth. For a moment, both of them were stationary—when she suddenly accelerated.

“Skitter skitter!” she said, accelerating at unnatural speed toward them.

“EEEEEEK!” cried Thunder, grabbing Zoom, reaching a frequency so high that only Cloudpuff, wherever he was, could hear it.

The machine bent down, lowering her long neck toward them, staring at them with her head turned sideways.

“Hello tiny fluffy organics, do you like hugs? Because this body has quite a crush strength.”

Zoom took a defensive posture. “Who—what—sound the alarm, there’s a—a—”

“A THING!” cried Thunder.

Her head turned suddenly and violently, her neck bending at an angle that would have been lethal for a pony. Much to Zoom’s horror, she found herself staring into a wide blue eye with a heavily diluted pupil. An eye sunk into taught, pale orange skin held over part of the machine’s black skull with small clamps at its rim. Narrow, dark blood vessels pulsed quietly beneath the thin membrane.

“What—what’s wrong with your face?!”

“I am still growing it,” laughed the machine. “Undoing the work of a foul heretic. Even if it means functionally undoing her work.”

Her head tilted back, her neck straightening as her pneumatic hissed. Something in her sparked and threatened to fall slack. It was apparent she was damaged, but she simply corrected it.

“You’re—you’re—”

“Synchrotronia Light. Or Synchronia. I am one of Zipp’s friends. I believe she called ahead. I have an audience with Queen Haven.”

“You what?” snapped Zoom.

“You’re a robot!”

Synchronia’s face snapped to within licking distance of Thunder’s face. “I am more accurately an animate corpse. My original body was destroyed. You’ll never guess by who.”

“Who?”

“What are you, an owl?” Synchronia extended her exceedingly long tongue from between her front fangs and poked him in the forehead.

Thunder squeaked and turned to Zoom, tears in his eyes.

“A...am I an owl?”

Zoom groaned. “I’m getting too old for this...” She sighed. “Right. Synchronia, is it?”

“Well, metaphysically, no. Not really. Not since the exposure. But otherwise, yes.”

“Right. Can you confirm that Zipp sent you? I mean, she’s the heir apparent, so we kind of have to do what she says. And one of us will probably need to marry her at some point. Maybe both, who knows. Where is she?”

“She and her friends are on their way. I could not ride with them. My presence disrupts their fuel source for now. So I went ahead. Which suits me better.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” lied Synchronia. “My presence concerns the crashed ship over there.” She pointed.

“That’s classified,” snapped Zoom. “You can’t know about that.”

“And yet I do. And I will have you know that your entire city state is in danger so long as it remains in that mountain. I have come to discuss with your queen how I am going to protect all ponies of this planet.”

“Oh. So you’re a good robot?” asked Thunder.

“Yes. I am the Will of Twilight. All my actions are therefore, by definition, moral and correct.”

“What if they’re not?” asked Zoom.

“Only flesh makes mistakes. And I have zero organic matter remaining.” She paused. Zoom could have sworn she saw the pale skin on Synchronia’s face pulsate and expand slightly. “For now.”

“We can’t just let you walk in here and talk to our reigning monarch.”

“Yeah. You’re creepy. And she’s our mommy.”

“Not literally.”

“Not literally!”

“I can wait. But...”

Thunder gasped. “She said ‘butt’!”

“The owner of that ship. The evil pony that occupies it. The longer we wait, the greater chance there is that she’ll get there first. And once she gets it?” Synchronia grinned. "She'll come for your queen-mommy next."

Zoom and Thunder looked at each other.

“And...then what?”

“That ship alone has enough firepower to conquer your city-state. And it will be the first, considering the technological advancement. Then she will open the Gate. And her empire will conquer this world. This is not in line with Twilight’s vision. I must protect Equestria. It is quite literally my only remaining function. And I am requesting your queen’s cooperation out of courtesy because Pipp and Zipp have been so nice to me.”

“They are, indeed, elegant daughters,” noted a voice behind the two guards.

“Queen Haven!” cried Zoom, both the guards bowing as she approached. Queen Haven smiled to them, with her flying poof of a dog growing closer—and then stopping, staring wide-eyed at Synchronia. Upon seeing her, the dog immediately landed and began to bark and whimper.

“Cloudpuff, what has gotten into you? She’s our guest!”

“It may be my height,” suggested Synchronia.

“Well, you certainly are tall,” said Queen Haven, looking up.

“And you are adorable.”

“Oh, why thank you. Barely an introduction and we already agree on something.” She laughed. “A joke, of course.”

Cloudpuff began to yip and whimper more loudly.

“Thunder, dear, could you please take Cloudpuff to her calm-down room? Once my daughter’s animal-speaking friend gets in, we can have him discuss exactly what’s wrong.” She looked up. “Have you met Hitch?”

“Yes.”

“Your thoughts?”

“He is definitely a pony.”

Queen Haven laughed. “That is a true statement! Aren’t you hilarious! Well, any friend of my darling daughters’ is a friend of mine. Welcome to Zephyr Heights. Do you eat? My chefs have made a sizable number of those little sandwiches with the cucumber in the middle. And they used the ends to make cucumber water which honestly I find disgusting, but waste not, want not.”

“I neither eat nor drink. Nor do I know what a cucumber is.”

“A frightful fruit, if we’re all behind honest,” sighed Queen Haven as she began to walk to her castle, Synchronia clicking forward beside her. “Far too long and far too green. But not nearly as bad as eggplant. Don’t get me started on eggplant. There are not even eggs in it. Although I do like the color."

“Purple is a good color.”

“Yes! YES! Purple is an excellent color! I’m so glad my daughter inherited that particular trait. Don’t tell Zephyrina I said that. She’s a very sensitive girl. Why, you should have seen the rash she developed when the maids changed laundry detergent a few years back. In fact, I have pictures on my phone. If only I knew where they were saved.”

“You amuse me,” laughed Synchronia. “I think we will get along well.”

The air had grown closer. Blank felt herself starting to sweat as she stopped, standing in a place that was almost familiar to her. She had closed down her external ports to keep it out, but she was still aware. It, likewise, seemed to be aware of her. It was watching her. Whatever it was.

It hurt. The sickness was spreading. She had developed a fever in addition to a splitting headache. Something in her back hurt badly, both internally and on her skin where the coat there had grown course and long. Every bone in her body ached. Although she had only measured it once, she had discovered to her horror that she had grown several inches in height.

There was no longer a clear mission. Or at the very least, no longer a mission she could trust. The ship around her had been hers, and yet she feared it. Something about it seemed strange and ancient. The art on the walls was familiar to her. She saw it and remembered the stories of the Progenitors. Of their battles, achievements, and friendships. Events that occurred on a timeline of events that was now totally lost to her present self.

She had begun to wonder if Sparkle Prime and her friends had ever existed at all.

White-Rime and Dara’th’raranak had occupied themselves with attempts at repairs, accompanied by the skeletal and ghostly projection of the ship’s artificial intelligence. The AI was mentally constrained—Blank understood that they had to be, for some reason—so she was unsure why it accompanied the construct. If, perhaps, somehow, the two were communicating in a way she could not comprehend.

White-Dara had grown slightly, if not in mass then in volume. It had roughly reached the size of a smaller pony, with the thin limbs of a teenager. Its form, likewise, was far more pony-like than it had ever been before. Although she still lacked a face, her body had established the portions of a pony and realistic patterns of movement. She had even produced a rudimentary tail and mane by consolidating the blue lines that ran over the surface of her body. All that—but no face. Never a face. Never eyes. At least, so Blank hoped.

Blank regarded it nervously. She did not have a context to understand what it was, exactly. She did not have confidence in her own ability to recognize the alien’s motivations. Rather, she relied on a deep-seated knowledge from her installed memories. That the creature did not behave like a trans-dimensional monstrosity. It behaved like an organic, material being. Or, more accurately, an organic begin with a soul. Even if the two were, in her case, separate components that could operate fully independently of each other.

White-Dara approached a broken piece of sad-looking equipment and released a pattern of sounds. The AI responded in the same language, explaining what it was. White-Dara nodded as her neck and frontal torso split open into a number of tiny arms, some tipped with grippers and some with lidded eyes, and others still with tools that sparked and hummed as she set to work attempting to repair the forward communication array.

The impact had been severe enough to crack the entirety of the ship in half. The reactor had been left largely undamaged, but operating it safely was impossible. Blank understood these things when she saw the machines, much to her chagrin—that her knowledge of spacecraft had been retained before her knowledge of her friends, family, and origin. Their current project revolved on attempting to restore communications. To call for reinforcements. To bring more ships to this particular planet to take Blank back.

Except there was nothing to take back. Blank did not intend to return. Only to report—and to inquire. She wanted to know what she had been doing. What the thing she had been transporting actually was. She had no memory of it other than the concept that it was a kind of compass. What other role it could play seemed to be something she had never known.

Still—she knew what its purpose had been. She remembered her mission.

Before she knew what she was doing, she approached White-Dara.

“You know,” she said.

White-Dara turned her faceless head at an angle that would have broken the neck of a real pony, her tendrils and tiny limbs still working furiously on the controls.

“Do I?” she asked, her voice projected by the AI in a different tone and timbre than it normally utilized.

“I was integrated to the mission of the ship with the intend of...I was supposed to...They put me here because I was supposed to...”

White-Dara stopped. With a squelching sound, her limbs retracted to her body and she rotated to face Blank. She had to look up slightly to do so. As if her empty face actually did have eyes.

“My role was to locate Equestria Prime,” said Blank, at last, her voice trailing off in the silence of her dead ship.

“This planet is not that one.”

“But you know where it is.”

“Yes.”

White-Dara began to rapidly move to another piece of equipment.

“WAIT!”

White-Dara stopped. She did not look at Blank. She just stood perfectly still. The air began to become slightly icy. She did not speak.

“It was asked of me...required of me...to locate its position,” insisted Blank. “Please.”

“No.”

Blank paused. She had fully expected that answer—but did not know how to deal with it.

“No?”

“This vehicle could not reach it. Too far.”

“We are in possession of others, of fleets in entirety, this merely a shell for experimental reasons!”

“Why?”

Blank paused. “Why?”

“Yes. Why.”

“As in...to what end? My research?”

“Equestria Prime. My home. Why go there? You are alive. Not dead.”

“Are...you?”

She paused. As if she did not know how to answer. “I am not of the Remnant, no.”

“Note,” said the AI, “that ‘remnant’ is an approximate translation of the word used. It is distinct in her language but has no direct synonym in any modern format.”

“What is it similar to?”

The AI paused. “Sad. Sentinel. Corpse. Reminder.”

“Dead,” said White-Dara, turning at last. “The dead. World of the dead. Necropolis of an empty empire.”

“But the Progenitors—their world...”

“It is not a place for you.” She paused. “You have a home.”

Blank sat down. The floor felt cold beneath her. “Do I?”

“I wish your return. Yes.”

Blank looked at her. “Can you at least inform me of its nature? What it resembles, there?”

“Cold. Forever. Snow. Lightning. No sunlight. Depleted. Home.”

“To creatures like you.”

“Yes. And the Remnant. Although...only a few still await the Rise.”

Confused, Blank looked to the AI. “Extrapolate.”

“Unclear. Translation represents a possible idiom. May also be interpreted as ‘those dead that dream, walk’, connected to some event called ‘Rise’. Implying that many others are not dreaming and therefore no longer walk. There are encoding quantifiers in the statement that cannot be translated.”

“They said...” Blank shook her head. Flashes came to her. Of various forms of ponies she almost remembered. “Civilization had become fractured, requiring a new centerpoint...”

“This one.”

Blank looked up suddenly, nearly passing out form the pain in her forehead. “What?”

“This one.”

Blank understood. And did not realize how she had been so blind. She stood up. “I issue a graphology for these requests of you.”

White-Dara did not reply. She simply went back to work. Blank followed her.

“Confirming,” said the AI, as White-Dara approached the central computer. “Diagnostics are complete. Primary subwarp transmitters are active within tolerances, and holding.”

Blank’s eyes widened. “The communication array.”

“Operating in manual control. Overlay systems inactive. Warning: system stability cannot be assured. Warning: power consumption currently exceeding recommended thresholds with reactor in safe-mode. Do you wish to proceed?”

White-Dara beeped and clicked slightly, and the AI nodded. Several monitors unfolded, projecting their screens. White-Dara unfolded herself, extending numerous tentacles that quickly hardened with internal bones and sprang forth with numerous tiny, thin fingers. She began to rapidly type.

Blank watched, knowing what she was doing and understanding it—even though she, herself, would not have been able to do it with such speed. She waited as the relays clicked online. As the communications began.

“These are targeting star-charts,” she said, tapping with her hooves to enter the coordinates the signal needed to reach. “Far, but not out of range for subwarp transmission.”

White-Dara nodded, entering the information. She paused. Sound came through the ship’s systems. A low, somber hiss. This persisted for a moment, and then the system shut down. White-Dara retracted her appendages and stepped back.

“Wait,” insisted Blank. “The connection! We received no data!”

“No data,” repeated White-Dara.

“Yes, we need to await their reply!”

“No reply.”

“What do you mean by that? The range is long, but adequate for the transmission!”

White-Dara turned to her. Even without a face, she seemed strangely quiet. Subdued.

“No reply. No response. No target.” She looked solemnly back at the machines. “No one is out there.”

“But—but—move!” Blank pushed past, activating the controls and turning them back on. Issuing another hail into the void, calling on the channels that should have reached. She was farther than any pony had ever gone, galaxies beyond her home—but that should not have mattered. Not with the emergency-band entanglement.

And yet no reply came. Only the silence of long-aged distorted signals. The unintelligible conversations of ponies long-since passed, dispersing and distorting as they flowed randomly beyond normal space. The somber cries of ancient, forgotten conversations.

She stepped back. “N...no,” she said, looking up at the corner of her screen. At a piece of data that her mind should not have been able to translate, but had.

It gave her no solace. No confirmation of what she suspected. Only a horrific and unspeakable suspicion.

“How...how long did I remain there?” she asked, tears forming in her eyes. “How long was I gone?”

The glass shattered on the floor. A test tube, or a flask, or some other fragment of delicate, ancient equipment. It seemed to slow, the mind that watched I examining it with neurons in overdrive, their dying form overwhelmed by the presence of new and superior flesh.

The alicorn turned. She beheld. The implanted optics traced her every motion in exquisite detail. Every hair. Every muscle, every sinew traced in three-dimensional detail. The flow of magic through every cell. The perfection of the One True Goddess—not the blackened remains of the husk that should have died back on Equestria Prime, or the barely constrained fusion reaction that had laid waste across the galaxy—or the pretender, fueling her status based on the name of her long-since forgotten mother.

“You...you knew...”

She smiled. The new teeth felt cold and tasted strange. “I was aware of the biological implications, yes.”

“But you...I’ve already released it! It—all the tests, all the samples—”

“Yes. I have accelerated dissemination. The rate of infection is increasing exponentially.”

Twilight stared in horror. “But...but why?”

“To correct our genetic damage.”

“But if you knew what it would do, knew what it did to ponies—”

“It corrects our genetic damage.”

Twilight stared, confused.

The half-converted shell of a pony once named Lunar Void smiled.

“Sychrontronia...”

“I have their memories,” she said. “I remember you, Twilight. I remember you so many times...again and again. Relentlessly. The voices of so many that loved you. Their screaming will never stop. They all came to the same conclusion.”

Twilight’s gaze grew icy—because she understood. What the artifact must have contained.

“And what...what is that?”

“That they all failed you. Again and again we failed you. I failed you. Because flesh is weak. We will succeed now. This is what you wanted, everything you ever wanted. Your virus, it is a thing of absolute beauty. Mortality. You gifted us the nanomachines. Combined...” She smiled so happily. “The disease you created dissolves us...and we are reborn. As you demanded. We will be free of this weakness. The world will be the way you always wanted.”

Twilight stared at her—but did not smile. Synchronia did not understand. Every instinct encoded onto her, every long-empty memory said that this was right, it was true—but the Goddess was not pleased. She did not understand why. The fear grew. The fear that she had failed again—even with how much she had sacrificed yet again.

“But...my Goddess, my Twilight, I—”

Twilight turned away. “I guess I can’t expect one of you to understand,” she said, her pinkish magic swarming around the flask and reassembling it. She took it back and placed it where it had been, linked to the innumerable machines around her.

Synchronia felt her mind slipping. Cracking. Crumbling. The sensation, to her unbearable horror, was not new. “But...no...not...not again...”

Twilight did not look back at her. “It’s not your fault. I’m not disappointing in you. Just in myself. Now go away. I don’t deserve to be around other ponies. Leave me alone so I can fix everything...” She sighed. “...somehow.”

The vision faded, and Sunny awoke, weeping.

Hitch, who had also been dozing, gasped as Sunny sat up.

“Oh sweet cream cheese,” he said, nearly falling out of his seat. “Sunny, are you okay?”

“I just...I don’t...where am...I?”

Hitch blinked, helping her right herself. “On the Mare Stream,” he said. “I told you you shouldn’t fall asleep on this thing, the way it moves, it’s not safe, it will give you nightmares, or at the very least bad dreams!”

“Hey,” called Zipp from the front. “Don’t listen to him, I sleep on this thing all the time!”

“ZIPP you’re DRIVING IT!”

“I know where I’m going,” she groaned, going back to whatever it was she was doing. “I mean, I’m a Pegasus. I know how to fly. I’ve been flying for...like a couple months at least.”

Pipp looked up from her phone. “Sis, you’re not helping Hitch with his flight-anxiety.”

“Anxiety? What anxiety I’m not anxious—YOU’RE ANXIOUS!”

“Really?” said Izzy, looking up. “I had no idea I was. Well, you win some you lose some I guess.” She groaned, looking somewhat sickly and twitching slightly. “Dang I could use some glitter right now...”

Sunny sat up. She could not remember what she had just dreamed, but she felt terrible. Probably about as terrible as Izzy looked. As if all the sleep she was getting only made her more tired.

She remembered where she was at least. Surrounded by her friends on the air-vehicle that Izzy and Zipp had built a few months earlier. As amazing as it was that it actually worked, it was at least safe and familiar. Save for one component.

Synchronia had gone forward, heading to Zephyr Heights on her own. Her dark aura apparently drained the Lantern quickly, making it difficult to fly. In her place, she had left a thing. It looked like a pony, but seemed slightly translucent at different angles. A dark, shadowy, pony-shaped image of a normally proportioned mare that stood oddly close to Izzy, staring at nothing in particular.

“I think it likes you,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Izzy, passing her hoof through its holographic surface. “And it feels kind of like the gas that comes up from a swamp when you dump a lot of dried ice in it.”

“Dry ice?” asked Zipp.

“No, that’s a very different flavor.” Izzy reached out with her tongue to lick the pony.

“Please do not lick the holograms,” it stated, its surface phasing and momentarily revealing the hovering cube in the center of its chest.

“I can’t believe Synchronia baked these things in our oven,” mused Izzy. “I mean, imagine what I could make...if somepony would just restore my oven privileges.”

“The oven is for food, Izzy,” sighed Sunny, rubbing her hooves on her own face to try to force herself to wake up. “Not thermite.”

“So what you’re telling me is, then...” She leaned closer to the hologram. “That you are lickable.”

“No,” said the hologram in its weird hologram voice. “I, and we, are not.”

“I don’t like it,” said Hitch. “The hologram, I mean. It’s...”

“Synchronia said we needed it to keep us safe,” said Sunny.

“Yeah. No,” said Pipp. “I think she wants to keep any eye on us.”

Sunny blinked. “I think I just said that.”

“In all honesty?” said Zipp, form the driver’s seat. “I don’t like this.”

“You’re the one that set up the meeting with mom.”

“I know, but...”

“But what?” asked Sunny.

“It’s just...I have no idea what’s going on. I mean, she says she defeated that weird monster thing...but won’t even explain what it was. Or if it really can be defeated. And now there’s some kind of evil pony that was in the Brighthouse with Misty but then...not? I mean, I saw her.”

“She looked...off,” noted Pipp. “Like she was sick.”

“You saw her?” asked Sunny.”

“Yeah,” said Pipp, frowning. “She was a sort of gray-white earth-pony...but I don’t think she was, somehow. Not really. Like she wasn’t anything at all.”

“And now Misty’s acting weird,” muttered Zipp. “I don’t like this at all. There’s too many inconsistencies.”

“You’re saying,” said Hitch, “that you don’t trust Synchronia?”

“That is unnecessary,” suggested the hologram. “Sunchronia is a very trustworthy pony. You should trust her.”

“You would say that, though.”

“One,” said Izzy. “Sure. She’s super creepy. But half the shadow ponies I see in the corner of my vision are even creepier. I mean, the one with no head but somehow still a tongue...” She shivered. “But she was in the Brighthouse. I mean, right up next to the Unity Crystals. And she didn’t try to steal them or break anything or do any bad things.” She paused. “Unless she did, and we just weren’t around to see them. I mean, that’s entirely possible. But if none of us saw it, did it really happen?”

“Now isn’t the time for zen riddles,” chastised Pipp. “But you aren’t wrong.”

“Which only makes it more suspicious,” sighed Zipp.

“She wants the ship,” said Sunny. “Or what’s left of it. So she can go home.”

“And it’s probably better that she take it,” added Hitch. “I don’t know what exactly is in a crashed spaceship, but I can guarantee that none of it is good. Probably toxic or explosive or full of weird things that will lay eggs in our faces.” He shivered. “And I like my face un-egged.”

“There’s a mushroom that does the same thing out in Bridlewood,” whispered Izzy. “Ever seen a fungus zombie? Makes a great tea, though, if you can sneak up on it. Before, you know. The egg-laying. In your brains.” She paused. “Huh. I wonder if that’s how my parents died.”

“This planet does have an unexpectedly high rate of parental mortality,” noted the hologram.

“I know, right?”

Sunny groaned. Her head was aching.

“Sunny?” asked Hitch. “What’s wrong?”

“I think...I think I’m having Synchronia’s dreams.” She groaned and looked up. “Except...they’re not all hers. And I can’t ever remember them, but...”

“But what?”

“I think she’s telling the truth. She did know Twilight Sparkle. So maybe she knows something about Opaline, and what happened back then...when the magic all got sealed off.”

Sunny paused. She did not say it out loud, but she highly doubted that was true. Instinctively, she was aware of something—some aspect of timelines that did not intersect. An impossibility she could not contumaciously understand.

She ignored it. When they got to Zephyr Heights, she would discuss it with Synchronia in person. Then may be try to get some rest without the dreams. At least, so she hoped.

Misty rematerialized back into the universe. Teleportation was becoming easier, but she was surprised by her progress. Or, in a different sense, dismayed. It was easier to jump to places she knew well. And there was no place she knew better than Opaline’s castle.

Emerging into the unlit shadows of some room Opaline had no doubt forgotten about, Misty immediately straightened her mane and powdered out her cutie mark before proceeding toward the main room. There, Opaline was staring at an image rising from her pool. The same image she had been shown before, summoned by Blank. She was watching it with such intensity that she hardly noticed Misty approaching.

“Um...Opaline?”

“GAH!” cried Opaline, jumping, her horn flashing with a defensive spell. “Who are you and how did you get in here?!”

Misty froze. “Um...I’m Misty. I live here?”

“You...oh.” Opaline shook her head. “Yes. Yes you do, unfortunately. It’s just that...when you’re gone for a long time, I forget. Things. Ponies.” She cleared her throat. “And I don’t want to forget. It’s inconvenient and I...don’t like being alone. So I hereby order you to visit more often!”

“Sure.”

“Ha. Yes. Victory. My day has marginally improved. Now go away, I don’t like looking at you.”

“Opaline. We have a problem.”

“You mean how ugly you are?” She sighed. “Yes, I noticed.”

“Bigger than that.”

“I am also aware of that one too.”

“You...are?”

Opaline pointed. “Yes. Here.”

Misty approached the projection but had no idea what it actually meant. “You can read this?”

Opaline seemed disgusted. “Of course I can read it. I am Opaline Arcana, Mistress of the Arcane and Archwizard of Equestria. Understanding magic is quite literally my thing. Stop being ignorant, Misty, as much as it does in fact suit you it’s unbecoming.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it makes you sound as stupid as you look. And are.” She gestured toward the projection. “This is a laymap of the entire planet. The magical equivalent to a vast circuit diagram. It is a picture of me.”

“You?”

“Essentially, yes. Or what I am supposed to be.” She gazed deeply into the shifting diagrams and loops of strange light. “This magic is rightfully mine, after all. Once I take my rightful place at its nexus, the entire planet and every living thing on it will fuel me. The problem is this.” She pointed at a small node of brilliant light toward the rainbow-colored top portion of the diagram. “Sunny Starscout.”

“Yes, I’m working on getting a grip on her, I just need more—”

“You will NOT be gripping ANYPONY. Because no one wants to touch you. Because you are inherently unlovable.”

Misty sighed. “Yes, Opaline. You’re the only pony who will ever appreciate me.”

“Exactly. Now stop talking. This is the problem, here.” She pointed.

Misty squinted. It looked, to her, like a thinner and more spindly version of the image Sunny produced on the map. “What is it?”

“A wart. On my beautiful planet. A grotesque cancer. I have been watching it grow. Whatever it is, it operates like a much more malignant version of Sunny Starscout. Which is saying something, she truly is a cancer...but whatever this is, it is sending out deep roots into the planet’s magical structure.”

“I think I know what it is.”

“No you don’t, you’re not smart enough to know.” Opaline paused. “Is it that monster you were supposed to bring me?”

Misty shook her head. “No.”

“Then what? Spit it out, Misty.”

Misty looked upward toward her so-called “mentor”. “Opaline. What do you know about the undead?”

Opaline rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Misty, please, keep on topic. Despite the name, there is precious little ‘romance’ in ‘necromancy’. Trust me, I would know.”

“Sunny and her friends woke something up. Something bad.”

“Of course they did,” groaned Opaline. “My week just keeps getting worse and worse.”

“I tried to fight it. It was too strong.”

“Of course it was.” Opaline frowned at Misty. “You’re a tubby little fatty with no magic or even a cutie mark. What do you expect to do against a...what is it? Zombie? Skeleton? Litch? Don’t tell me it’s a litch, Misty, I’ve already got the beginnings of a migrane...”

“I need more power.”

Opaline seemed surprised by this, but smiled. “Is this a modicum of pride I’m feeling? Finally taking initiative, I see. I may be able to mold whatever low-quality mud you are into some sort of semi-waterproof pottery yet.” She frowned. “Not an ideal metaphor,” she complained, turning back to her diagram. “But you get the point. Probably. Do I have to explain it?”

“No. Opaline, I—”

“And this was why Twilight Sparkle was an absolute, abject, reprehensible moron. The worst purple pony. I am the only pony capable of protecting Equestria. And yet she locked me in here. My power would be more than adequate to slay whatever foe needs to be slew. Slain. Slaughtered. Be it a shapeshifting monster, a scary skeleton, or that stupid horse Sunny Starscout. But I can’t leave this place without, you know, dying.”

“Wait, if you leave, you’ll...” Misty shook her head. “No. Never mind, that’s not what I came to ask. I think there’s another way. I have an idea but I...” Her voice caught in her throat. “I need your help.”

Opaline froze with such grace that it was barely noticeable. “Really,” she said, not taking her eyes off the diagram, watching the tumor on the side of their world’s magic growing stronger and more virulent.

“I read something. In a book.”

“Oh, Misty, don’t kid yourself. You can’t read. You just look at the pictures.”

“A Warlock Bond.”

This time, the freezing was far less graceful. Opaline could no longer maintain her gaze on what had formerly been so important to her. She slowly turned to Misty, a look of absolute reproach on her face.

“How dare you...”

“You said it yourself! You can’t leave here! But I can! The contract can be made with any god or demon, and you’re an alicorn! If we made the Bond—”

“So you can steal my magic?!” Opaline lowered her head—and horn—and walked quickly toward Misty. “My power?! The only thing in this stinking pony-infested world that truly matters to me?! That you would even ASK—”

Misty did not back away. “I wouldn’t be stealing it! I’d be directing it! Temporarily! You can’t leave, but if you push your magic through me, then I could use it!”

Opaline burst into laughter. Laughter without humor. “Even though right now I barely even have power? Your repeated failure has left me with barely a FRACTION of what I am meant to have!”

“But you’re already so powerful, I only need a little—”

“Yes, that’s what they all say!”

Misty sighed. “So you’re saying you can’t do it? That you’re too weak?”

Opaline’s face contorted into a deeply sour expression. “Now you’re trying to manipulate me. How trite. But impressive, in your own ignorant way. Of course I can.”

“But you just said you’re too weak.”

“Misty. Do you have any idea what that would do? Even the barest piece of my power...I am a FIRE ALICORN. You are a little girl without a cutie mark. Or even the ability to use any magic. You would not be able to contain that much power. You would burn apart. Your soul itself would ignite and incinerate. And I cannot allow that to happen.”

She turned back to what she was doing—and then walked past it. Headed toward the stairs.

“It has Twilight Sparkle’s mark on it.”

Opaline stopped. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a machine. But I don’t think it always was. It’s something Twilight Sparkle made. Some kind of...I don’t even know. I don’t think I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s trying to take the magic from the planet. That’s why it’s near them. Sunny and her friends. If it gets control of the magic...”

“It can’t,” snapped Opaline.

“But what if it does?”

“Misty, there is no way to know that!”

“What would you do? If you had just came back to life and had a way to become the new Sunny Starscout?!”

Opaline opened her mouth, but did not speak—because she already knew the answer to the question. They both did.

“It is not...my nature,” said Opaline, slowly. “To trust ponies. Ever. But...you. I think you are the only pony I have ever trusted.”

Misty smiled. “Thank you,” she said, unsure as to why that great complement in fact made her feel the urge to cry.

“It will be very, very painful. And you might burst. Violently.”

“I figured,” sighed Misty. “But I’m okay with that.”

Opaline smiled. And slowly began to approach.