The Eternity Project

He walked.

The world before Burnt Brick stretched endlessly in shades of rust and decay. Dead trees reached towards a bruised sky with twisted, blackened limbs. Their branches ended in sharp points that tore at the heavens like claws. A full moon hung impossibly large on the horizon, its pale light casting long shadows that writhed and shifted when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

He walked.

His hooves made no sound as they struck the ground. The earth beneath them felt wrong somehow—not quite solid, not quite real. Like walking on memories of earth rather than earth itself. Each step identical to the last, yet somehow taking him nowhere at all.

He walked.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice falling flat in the stale air. No echo. No response. Just the endless expanse of wasteland stretching out before him.

He walked.

The trees all looked the same. Or maybe they were the same tree, repeating endlessly as he passed. He tried counting them, but the numbers slipped away like ash in the wind. Had he passed a hundred trees? A thousand? One tree, a million times?

He walked.

The moon never moved; the shadows never settled. His legs should have been tired by then, but fatigue, like everything else in this place, felt distant and unreal. Only the endless march of skeletal trees marked whatever progress he made. Time had no meaning here.

He walked.

“If this is some kind of metaphor,” he muttered to nopony in particular, “it’s a bit heavy-hoofed, don’t you think?” His voice sounded strange in his ears, like it was coming from very far away. How long had it been since he’d spoken? Minutes? Years? An eternity?

He walked.

Something shifted in his peripheral vision. A flash of midnight blue against the perpetual twilight. When he turned his head, there was nothing there. Just more trees. More wasteland. More walking.

Another movement, this time accompanied by the soft rustle of feathers. He spun around, but again found only empty air and twisted trees. The sound of his rapidly beating heart seemed impossibly loud in the oppressing silence.

“Alright, Your Royal Spookiness,” he called out, forcing bravado into his voice. “If you wanted to chat, you could have just sent a letter like a normal pony.”

A laugh echoed through the wasteland—a sound like wind chimes made of icicles. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“But we are not normal ponies, are we, Burnt Brick?”

He looked up.

There, perched on the highest branch of a particularly gnarled tree, sat Princess Luna. Her form was different here—more predatory, more alien. Her wings spread wide, their feathers like drawn daggers. Her eyes glowed with an inner light that fell cold upon the world. In the gaze of those piercing eyes, he felt as light and thin as a piece of paper. Completely transparent.

“Is this my subconscious? Nice place I’ve got here,” Brick said, gesturing at the desolate landscape while trying to keep his hoof from trembling. “Could use a bit of color. Maybe a nice rug.”

Luna’s laugh came again, shriller this time. “You hide behind humor, little pony. But we can taste your fear like it’s our own.” She tilted her head at an impossible angle. “Your anger is our anger. Your grief is our grief.”

“Get out of my head.”

“We are not in your head, little pony. You are in ours.” Her wings rustled again—a sound like those feathery knives were being sharpened. “And we have brought you here because you demanded an audience.”

Brick swallowed. “I want to know the true purpose of Project Eternity. Otherwise, there will be no project.”

From on top of her tree, Luna raised her chin. “And you supposed the night would bend to the will of a mortal.”

“Yeah…?” The notion now seemed ridiculous to Brick.

“Well then, little pony”—Luna grinned manically—“plead your case.”

Brick squared his shoulders, meeting her unnatural gaze. “I wanna know about the part where you lied to everypony. Where you’re building some kind of magical superweapon and don’t even have the decency to tell the pony who’s making it possible.”

“Ah, yes. Young Melody.” Luna’s expression softened fractionally. “So much like her mother, and yet so different. So gifted. So... idealistic.”

“She trusts you. She loves you.”

“And she will continue to trust us, once she understands.” Luna’s voice took on an edge. “Once you all understand.”

“Understand what?” Brick demanded. “That you’re planning to use this thing to what—take over Equestria?”

Luna’s laugh this time was almost gentle. “Oh, little pony. Are we not already one of the rightful rulers of this land? Besides, if that were our goal, do you not think we would have chosen different ponies? Ponies loyal to us?”

She spread her wings wider, and for a moment, they blocked out the entire sky. “No, little pony. Your distrust was one of your best qualifications for this venture.”

“Then tell me the truth,” Brick said. “All of it. Or I swear by Celestia’s sun, I’ll burn the whole project to the ground. You know damn well I’d do it. I’m crazy.”

Luna was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of centuries.

“The truth? The truth is that power untamed destroys all it touches. The truth is that progress unchecked leads to ruin. The truth is that sometimes, to save something you love, you must clip its wings.”

She launched herself from her perch, landing before him with impossible grace. Up close, she seemed both more and less real—a creature of shadow and starlight given form.

“Whom would you be willing to sacrifice to save all creation? What would you be willing to destroy?”

“I’m tired of these riddles! I’m risking my life out here, aren’t I?” While Brick was able to keep looking into those sickly eyes, he took an involuntary step back.

“Good answer, but that wasn’t the question,” Luna said, closing the distance between them again.

“Just tell me what you plan to do with Project Eternity so I can wake up and you can go back to whatever it is you do.”

Luna put her hoof on his head with incredible gentleness—a touch that felt both burning cold and numbingly soft, like freshly fallen snow on bare skin. It carried the weight of moonlight and the chill of spaces between galaxies.

For a moment, Brick felt reality blur around the edges, as if that single point of contact was anchoring him to existence itself while simultaneously threatening to unmake him entirely. Through that touch flowed sensations that no pony was meant to comprehend: the slow dance of constellations, the ancient patience of mountains, the endless descent of night.

“In essence, the purpose of the Eternity Project is the one you have been told.” She moved her hoof underneath his chin, and tenderly lifted it up. “However, we have also ensured that we have a fallback option, should our plans fail.”

“Does…” Brick’s throat became dry like the world around him. “… does Princess Celestia know?”

Luna drew back her lips and flashed a row of razorlike teeth.

“We wonder”—her voice dripped with cold amusement—“what has the firstborn ever done to earn such loyalty, such trust? Did she investigate your partner’s death? Did she pardon your crimes? Did she offer you anything but indifference?”

Brick flinched at each question. He didn’t have an answer.

“That’s what we thought. But do not be concerned, little pony. We are above your love, your trust and your adoration. They mean nothing to us.”

Truly spoken like somepony who doesn’t care.

“Oh, please don’t keep your little quips to yourself. They do amuse us so.”

Did she just…?

“Yes indeed.” Luna removed her hoof from his chin. “Regardless, the firstborn is aware of the full nature of this project. Not only is she aware, but she is also the only living being with the raw power to fuel it on her own.” Mercifully, Luna took a step back. She grew smaller and her teeth flattened.

“You can’t activate it yourself?” Brick asked. He finally willed his legs to stop wobbling.

“Where our magic is subtle, her magic is direct. We spin the shadows of eternity; she commands the embers of creation. This is a task reserved for brute power.”

“I see,” Brick managed. “You said that this second purpose is a failsafe. A Plan B. What would happen if your original plan failed, and you didn’t have this failsafe?”

The princess spread her wings as to encompass the whole world. “Look around you, little pony.”

Brick’s eyes swept across the wasteland anew, and suddenly the layout clicked into place. He’d worked this valley before, back when it had been alive with birdsong and forest. Back when it had been part of the Everfree grounds surrounding the Castle of the Two Sisters.

Now it was... this.

He tried to convince himself that Equestria could never become like this. He almost succeeded.

“Do think about our question, little pony. What would you sacrifice to save creation?”

Before he could answer, the world began to dim. The last thing he saw was Luna’s eyes. For a fraction of a second, their white glow faded and revealed thin, dragon-like pupils underneath. Luna’s final words echoed through the darkness that swallowed everything:

“Think carefully, Burnt Brick. For when next we meet, we will demand your answer.”

Brick awoke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs. The construction plans he’d fallen asleep over were scattered across the floor, and through his window, he could see the first hints of dawn painting the frozen horizon.

But in his mind, those eyes remained, and that final question still echoed.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know his own answer.

Like every morning, he visualized the countdown. Sixty-three days’ worth of coal. Ten days’ worth of gas.

Back to work.