The Eternity Project

The morning sun cast long shadows across Project Eternity’s worksite, its weak rays doing little to ward off the perpetual chill. Burnt Brick trudged through the snow beside Captain Hammerhead, their hooves crunching with each step. The captain had insisted on this inspection tour of their defenses, though Brick would have preferred to focus on construction.

“We’ve revised the guard rotation,” Hammerhead said, gesturing towards where Grimhorn and Ingville stood watch. “No yak patrols alone anymore.”

“Worried about them?” Brick asked, noting how the captain’s eye tracked every movement of the guards.

Hammerhead’s wings shifted restlessly. “They’re strong and they’re brave, but they’ve never fought anything like a yeti.”

“Unlike you?” Brick snickered.

“Once. Didn't end well.” The captain’s scarred face remained almost impassive, but Brick noticed the tiny creases around his eye and that ever-so-slightly upturned mouth. “For the yeti.”

Brick chuckled. “Well, it is impressive what your team’s managed with so little.” He gestured at the array of defensive measures before them.

The yaks had dug a series of trenches in a rough circle around the site, their depths concealed by carefully placed snow. Sharpened wooden stakes protruded at angles calculated to discourage any charging predator. What little scrap metal they could spare had been fashioned into crude but wicked-looking barbs.

“Your team too,” Hammerhead corrected quietly. “Unless you’re planning on returning to your life of pointless crime.”

“What, and miss seeing if these defenses actually work? Besides,” Brick said with a sideways glance at the captain, “somepony needs to keep you from doing anything stupidly heroic.”

“Like burning down a building to prove a point?”

“That was petty stupidity. Completely different thing.”

A grunt that might have been a chuckle escaped Hammerhead.

“In any case, yaks understand defense,” he said, steering them back on topic. “Their ancestors built fortifications against dragons.”

As they walked, the first crystal pillar loomed behind them. Its light cast strange patterns through the morning mist. The second pillar had started more slowly than planned—every worker diverted to defense meant slower progress on construction. Its scaffolding stood like a skeleton against the white landscape. The seed crystal at its heart had only just been installed.

“How’s the training going?” Brick asked, noting the packed snow and scattered wooden practice weapons near one of the larger trenches.

“Better than expected. Yaks work together well, as you know. And that griffon—he’s truly something else.” Hammerhead’s eye narrowed.

The wind carried the sharp scent of coal smoke mixed with the delicious aroma of po cha. Somewhere in the distance, a support beam groaned as it settled. The sound echoed oddly across the snow, distorted by the crystal’s constant hum.

“Those pit traps.” Brick nodded at carefully concealed depressions in the snow. “Nice work.”

“Dromius’s idea.” Hammerhead’s voice carried a note of pride. “If we can’t match a yeti’s strength, we can at least control where it moves.” He stomped a hoof. “Channel it away from vital areas. Away from...” He trailed off, but his gaze drifted to Melody’s workshop.

“You think it will be enough?” Brick asked softly.

“We have to protect them, Mr. Brick.” Hammerhead’s tone left no room for doubt. “For the sake of the mission and for their sake as well.

"How many days of coal left?" Hammerhead asked suddenly.

“Fifty-one,” Brick answered without hesitation. “Thirty-eight until pickup. Ten days of gas, same as always.” He scratched his chin. “The yaks are getting quicker. More efficient. Timeline is still looking very tight—”

A shout cut through their conversation. Ingville was barreling towards them. The yak’s eyes were wide with alarm, his breath coming in sharp bursts that froze instantly.

“CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN MUST SEE!” Ingville thrust a spyglass into Hammerhead’s hooves, pointing frantically at the western horizon.

Hammerhead raised the glass to his eye. His wings stiffened.

“Give it to me straight. What’s wrong?” Brick asked.

“We have another visitor,” Hammerhead grumbled. “The first one’s brought a friend.”

Through the lens, two massive white figures stood against the endless snow, their dark eyes fixed on the worksite. One yeti had been unnerving. Two were downright terrifying.

“Well,” Brick said after a moment, “I guess they liked what they saw.” He turned to Ingville. “How long has the second one been there?”

“JUST APPEAR. LIKE GHOST. ONE MOMENT NOTHING, THEN TWO YETI.”

“Good work, Ingville,” Hammerhead said, then turned to Brick. “Let’s not overreact. Our defenses are solid. Even if both charge, I believe we can drive them away.”

The yak gave a quick salute and returned to his post.

“Let’s find Martha and Gruntwig,” Brick said, already turning towards the center of the site. “If anyyak knows what this means, it’s him.”

They hadn’t gone far before something caught Brick’s eye. Near the first crystal pillar stood Leroy, the young yak’s form silhouetted against the pulsing light. His body swayed gently from side to side.

“Probably meditating,” Brick muttered as they passed Leroy. “Yaks do that, right? With all their...” He waved a hoof vaguely. “...mystical stuff.”

Hammerhead squinted at him. “Since when do yaks meditate in synchronization with crystal pulses?”

He was right. Leroy’s swaying matched the crystal’s pulsing beat. Brick wondered if Leroy was even aware of it. The yak certainly looked unaware, the way his eyes were closed with concentration, but he looked... happy. Blissful, even.

Brick started forward, but Hammerhead’s wing blocked his path.

“Later,” the captain grunted. “One thing at a time.”

Brick nodded, though the sight of the normally energetic youngster standing so still, so entranced, made his coat prickle. They found Martha near the storage shed, in the middle of another coughing fit.

“My dearest jenny,” Brick called out, “we require your linguistic expertise.”

Martha’s ready smile vanished as they explained the situation. Together, they located Gruntwig warming his hooves by one of the coal heaters, his gray fur ruffled by the constant wind.

When Martha translated their question about the second yeti, the old yak’s face grew grave. He spoke at length.

“He says yetis are usually solitary creatures,” Martha translated. “They stake out vast territories and defend them fiercely from others of their kind.”

Gruntwig continued, cloven hooves waving towards the horizon.

“However,” Martha went on, “there are stories of times when they gathered in small groups. Hunting packs.” She paused as Gruntwig added something else, his solemn voice dropping even lower. “He says such occurrences are rare... and always ended badly for any creature in their path.”

“Bit short on the details there. Can he give us anything else?” Brick shook his head.

Martha conferred with Gruntwig before responding. “There was a yak settlement, many moons ago. Small place, just a few families.” She swallowed. “They found it empty in early autumn. The snow was stained dark in places. Yeti tracks everywhere, but no bodies. Not one.”

Silence settled over them. Brick felt the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. Numbers danced in his head—two countdowns, and now, two yetis with the possibility of more.

Finally, he spoke. “Look, there’s a point where I have to call this off. Get us rescued before—”

“No!” Hammerhead’s powerful wings flared. “We can hold. We must hold.”

“My dear,” Martha’s voice carried an edge of steel, “what if more come? Can you truly hold against three? Four? Perhaps ten?” She shook her head. “There’s not only our lives at stake here.”

“We can hold.” Each word emerged from Hammerhead like a challenge.

Brick studied the captain’s face, saw the determination etched into every scar. He thought of Luna’s wasteland.

“I think we’re just gonna have to trust our security expert on this one.” Brick sighed. “But remember, we can't complete your princesses’ project while being eaten, so I trust you’ll make sure we remain un-digested. Right, Captain?”

Hammerhead gave a curt nod.

“That settles that, then.” Brick turned to Martha, lowering his voice. “While he plots our heroic last stand, there’s something else we should check on. Something weird with that little yak you keep bringing up.”

Martha squinted. “Leroy? What sort of weird?”

“The kind that makes my neck sweat. Come see for yourself.”

He led Martha back towards the first crystal pillar where Leroy still stood, swaying gently in its light.

“Leroy?” Martha called out delicately.

The small yak startled, his eyes snapping open. He looked around in confusion before focusing on them. “OH! SORRY! LEROY THINK HE HAS MORNING OFF. LEROY START WORK RIGHT NOW!”

“No, no,” Brick said as Martha translated. “We’re not here about work. I was just curious what you were doing here with the crystal.”

Leroy’s expression turned dreamy again. “MUSIC,” he said, then added something in Yakish that made Martha’s eyebrows rise.

“He says the music is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard,” she translated. “That it speaks to him of... some Yakish words I am unfortunately not familiar with.”

Brick and Martha exchanged glances. “Melody,” they said simultaneously.

They found Melody in her workshop, surrounded by diagrams and tuning forks. Her exhaustion seemed to vanish when they explained what they’d witnessed.

“Look, I like those crystals as much as the next guy,” Brick finished his explanation. “But we can’t have those things hypnotizing my construction crew.”

“Bring him in!” Melody chirped, already clearing space. When Leroy entered, she began arranging various crystals around him in a careful pattern.

“First,” she said, picking up her smallest tuning fork, “tell me if you can hear this.” She struck a tiny crystal, one that looked almost like glass.

Martha translated Leroy’s response. “He says it sounds like... like morning frost on new snow?”

Melody’s wings gave a tiny flutter and lifted her into the air a few inches. “Yes! That’s exactly what that frequency feels like!” She struck another crystal, this one slightly larger. “And this one?”

“LIKE WIND IN MOUNTAIN CAVE!” Leroy’s eyes were wide with wonder.

“Perfect! Now...” She selected a crystal that pulsed with a deep purple light. “This one’s tricky.”

Leroy closed his eyes as she activated the crystal. After a moment, he began to hum, a deep resonant sound. The crystal seemed to respond, its light pulsing in time with his voice.

“Incredible!” Melody exclaimed. “He doesn’t just hear them—he’s harmonizing with them!” She turned to Brick and Martha, practically vibrating with excitement. “Do you know how rare this is? Mom said she’d only ever met one other who could do it!”

Brick watched as Leroy continued to hum, the young yak’s face showing the same pure joy he’d seen by the pillar. An idea began to form.

“You know, kid,” he pointed out, “you’ve been working yourself half to death trying to manage all these crystals alone. And now we’ve got someone else who can actually hear them...” He gestured towards Leroy. “Maybe it’s time you had an assistant?”

Melody’s eyes widened. “Do you really mean it? But what about the construction schedule?”

“One yak less on construction duty is worth it if it helps you work more efficiently. And, let’s be honest, he’s not exactly the strongest of the bunch.” Brick turned to Martha. “That is, if you could explain to him what we’re proposing?”

Martha’s translation made Leroy’s face light up with elation. “LEROY HELP CRYSTAL PONY? LEROY MAKE PRETTY MUSIC WITH CRYSTALS?”

“He’d need training,” Melody said, but she was grinning. “Though somehow I think he's going to learn fast.”

Steam rose from Brick’s cup of po cha, the spiced butter tea a small luxury in their harsh environment. He sat with Melody on a makeshift bench near the second pillar, watching the yaks work. Their movements had gained a fluid efficiency that made his role almost ceremonial now. They anticipated problems before they arose, adjusted their techniques without prompting.

“They’ve really gotten the hang of it,” he said, nodding towards where Dromius and Crompus were carefully pouring the crystal and sand mixture around the second seed crystal.

“Mmhmm,” Melody agreed, her own cup warming her hooves. “Just like Leroy with the harmonics. You wouldn't believe how quickly he’s picking things up.”

“Yeah? How’s the training going?”

“He has such natural intuition for the crystal frequencies.” Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she talked about her work. “Though, we had a bit of an awkward moment when I had to ask him to remove his protection token. The little crystal in it was creating interference patterns with the other crystals.”

Brick remembered the tokens all the yaks wore. “He was okay with that?”

“Oh, yes. He said the crystal songs make him feel safer than any charm could.” She paused, watching the work below. “It’s nice having someone else who can hear them. Someone who understands...”

Her voice trailed off. Suddenly, she stiffened, her ears perking forward. Her wings slowly spread wide, each feather extending as if reaching for something Brick couldn’t perceive.

“Kid?”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she stood and closed her eyes, turning her head in a slow arc. Her wings adjusted with each movement, reading the air like instruments. First east, where her right wing dipped slightly. Then north, both wings trembling. Finally west, where she held perfectly still for several heartbeats.

When she spoke, her voice was distant, as if she was listening to something far away. “The pressure’s dropping. Not just here—everywhere. Like the sky itself is holding its breath.” Her eyes opened, but they remained unfocused. “And there’s something else... a vibration in the air. The crystals can feel it too. There’s a storm coming.”

Brick turned his eyes upward. Only a few cirrus clouds marred the otherwise clear sky. The weather was remarkably calm—almost eerily so. The constant wind that had been their companion for weeks had died completely.

Hammerhead suddenly landed beside them with a heavy thump. His wings were rigid with tension.

“Miss Melody, do you feel it too?”

Melody nodded. “How long until it hits?”

“Hours at most.” The captain’s eye narrowed. “And it’s going to be bad.”

Brick shook his head, jabbing his hoof at each pegasus in turn. “No, no, no, no. This is some kind of practical joke, right? We’re not even close to the north’s storm season. There’s no way we can be this unlucky. It’s like Equestria itself is fighting us.”

As soon as Brick spoke the words, Melody’s eyes went wide. If her coat hadn’t been white to begin with, Brick was sure all color would have drained from her face.

“Everything all good there, kid?”

“Yes… I mean no. I mean; can you say that again?” Melody stammered.

“We’re not even close to storm season?” Brick tried, tapping his chin stubble.

“No, the other thing! About Equestria!”

Brick drew his eyebrows together. “Kid, I wasn’t being serious.”

Melody drew in a sharp breath through her teeth. “Um… actually… I really need to do some quick research.”

With that, she was off. Brick shot Hammerhead a confused glance, but the captain just shook his head.

“Deal with the storm first, Mr. Brick.”

The familiar rhythm of emergency preparations took over. He’d done this dance before, though usually with rain, not snow. And usually, storms were scheduled weeks in advance.

Brick looked around the site—at the exposed scaffolding, the delicate crystal formations, the precarious network of supports they’d built. All the weak points a storm could exploit. His mind was already racing through calculations, prioritizing what needed to be secured first.

“Suno! Listen up!” His voice carried across the site. “A storm’s coming. First priority is structural integrity. Dromius, Crompus—get me diagonal bracing on every major support beam. Sahaayak beem par vikarn bresing. Use any spare lumber from the storage shed. I want double-ties on each joint! Sanyukt par dabal sambandh!”

He trotted to the second pillar’s scaffolding, checking angles with practiced eyes.

“These crossbeams need reinforcement. Sudrdheekaran kee aavashyakata. The storm winds will create torsion and we can’t risk any twisting. Grimhorn, bring me those straps we salvaged from the Audacity’s hull! Jahaaz ke patavaar se pattiyaan!”

The yaks moved briskly as Brick continued directing. Where his broken Yakish failed him, he used gestures to make himself understood.

“The pit traps are a problem. They’ll collect snow and compromise the ground stability. I want them covered with the hull pieces we weren’t using, then sealed with packed snow around the edges.”

He turned to where the crystal mixture was stored. “Get all the building material into the storage shelter. If this stuff freezes solid, we’re done for. And clear all loose tools and equipment—anything that could become a projectile.”

“What about the heaters?” Hammerhead called to him.

“Good thinking. We need to protect the ventilation systems—snow blockage could cause carbon monoxide buildup. Ingville, take two workers and use whatever you can find to construct snow barriers at forty-five-degree angles around each vent. Leave enough space for airflow but shield them from direct wind.”

He studied the crystal pillars. What do the crystals need?

“Get those heavy tarps! The waterproofed ones. I want triple overlap on the edges and secure tie-downs every two feet. No flapping edges that could tear free. Check on all the overflow batteries—make sure they’re secure in their proper positions.”

“WHAT ABOUT DEFENSE LINE?” Crompus asked.

Hammerhead cut in. “The storm might actually help us there. The snow will reinforce the ice walls naturally. But mark the edges of the trenches with high poles, if we have any left—we need to know where they are after the snow settles.”

Brick found Leroy near Melody’s workshop. “Leroy, once you’re done here, help me check all the support ropes. We need to fix anything that’s frayed. Remember what I taught you about proper knots?”

“LEROY REMEMBER! TRIPLE LOOP, THEN THROUGH AND AROUND!”

“That’s my yak.” Brick allowed himself a small smile.

Within two hours, the site had been transformed. Extra supports criss-crossed the scaffolding in careful patterns. Snow barriers protected vital equipment. Every loose item was either secured or stored. The crystal pillars stood wrapped and reinforced.

Brick was double-checking the last of Leroy’s knots when Tormand approached, Martha at his side.

“TINY PONIES DO GOOD WORK,” the chieftain announced with clear approval. “NOW TIME FOR STORM TRADITION!”

Martha’s eyes sparkled as she translated the rest. “The yaks are inviting us to weather the storm in their communal shelter. Apparently, it’s customary to gather together, share food and drink, and tell stories until the weather passes.”

Brick glanced around the site one last time. They’d done everything possible to prepare. The first hints of clouds were appearing on the horizon, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Having everyone together would be safer, he reasoned. Also, after weeks of constant work and worry about yetis, maybe they all needed a chance to relax.

“You know what? That sounds perfect.” He stamped his hooves to keep warm. “Though something tells me we’re going to need a lot of that Tongba.”

“YAK PREPARE STORM CELEBRATION FOR PONIES. PONIES COME WHEN STORM COME,” Tormand announced.

“Sounds good,” Brick said. “That should give us about an hour. Let’s grab the captain and stop by the workshop. Melody was acting mighty strange before, and I want to see what’s up with that.”

They found Hammerhead doing a final patrol, his wings spread against the darkening sky. The captain landed, frost covering his feathers.

“Storm preparations are complete,” Brick informed him. “The yaks have invited us to wait it out in their shelter. Some kind of tradition.”

Hammerhead gave a curt nod. “Good. Better to have everypony in one place if things go wrong.”

“Great point, Captain. I’d never have thought of that.” Brick snickered.

As they approached Melody’s workshop, the door swung open. Guntram emerged, his red feathers ruffled in the cold. The griffon’s gaze met Brick’s for a moment. Brick raised a hoof to his eyes and then pointed it at Guntram in a clear “I’m watching you” gesture. The griffon merely dipped his head in acknowledgment before disappearing into the gathering gloom.

Inside, Melody obviously was in a full research frenzy, oblivious to their arrival. Ancient tomes lay open on every surface, their pages marked with countless sticky notes. Diagrams and calculations covered the walls, and in the center of it all sat Melody, mane disheveled, muttering to herself as she compared two particularly old volumes. The third seed crystal was pulsing lazily on her workbench.

“Kid?” Brick called out. “Mind explaining to our less gifted little brains what’s going on now? We’ve got some time until the storm hits.”

“Just a minute,” she replied without looking up. “I think I found something. Something important.” She flipped another page, her wings twitching. “It’s about what you said earlier… about Equestria fighting us...”

Martha shot Brick a worried glance before turning back to Melody. “My dear, you’ve been under considerable strain for quite some time. Perhaps you require a period of restorative—?”

Finally, Melody dropped the book she was holding. “No, don’t you remember? The ‘Whisper Conjecture’! It was in the notes about emotional harmonics I gave all of you.”

Brick eyed the floor. “Riiight. The notes.”

Melody gasped. She looked between each of them. “You haven’t read my notes? None of you?”

Brick was equal parts ashamed and relieved when the others also avoided eye contact with the young crystallographer. “Look, kid, there were equations in the abstract.”

Melody just covered her face with her wings and sighed.

Brick flared his nostrils in response. “Come on, who puts equations in an abstract?”

“They were just… If you’d only have tried to…” Melody took a deep breath. “Alright. Sit down, you all. We have time for a quick lesson.”

Brick raised a hoof.

“Yes, Mr. Brick?”

“Will this be on the test?”

Melody gestured vaguely around her. “This is the test.”

“Right.” Brick gulped. “Whoever fails freezes to death. No pressure.”

“Anyway,” Melody continued, a smile creeping back onto her face. Through the workshop’s window, the darkening sky cast ominous shadows across her diagrams. “What do you know about Equestria’s emotional background frequency?”

Brick plopped down on the floor beside the workbench. The honest answer was ‘basically nothing’. He glanced sideways. With its softly pulsing light, the crystal besides Brick felt like a dozing cat. Brick had to suppress the urge to pet it.

Martha raised her hoof, pausing to stifle a cough. “I believe all creatures emit emotional frequencies according to their dispositions.” She adjusted her position, trying to find comfort among the piles of books and papers. “The rough average of these emissions creates the background frequency. If creatures are generally happy, the frequency reflects that. Likewise, if they are sad, angry and so on.”

Melody’s wings gave a small flutter of excitement, sending papers scattering. She scrambled to catch them. “So you did read my notes!”

“Unlike some other ponies, I did some research on my own before joining this project.” Martha crossed her front legs. “And may I say, my dear, while your mother is undoubtedly a genius, your own papers are positively amazing. Judging from the parts I could understand, at least.”

Brick saw the blush blooming on Melody’s face before she hid it with her hooves. “Oh, Lady Martha, you’re just being nice.”

The jenny shook her head with the gravity of denying a serious allegation. “I’m doing no such thing. I’ve looked at some of the scientific materials. The long-term effects of manipulating the emotional background frequency were analyzed by you and your colleagues, not by your mother and her team.”

Brick took pity on the shuffling pegasus. “What are the long-term effects of manipulating the emotional background frequency?”

“Great question, Mr. Brick!” chirped Melody. “It’s important to understand that this background frequency affects everything in our world. The plants, the animals, the weather. Even us. If we succeed, and actually nudge this frequency towards love, Eternity could even initiate a virtuous cycle. A more loving world creates happier ponies. Happier ponies create a more loving world.”

Hammerhead stood like a statue by the door, his eye tracking the storm clouds through the window. “Which is why we must succeed. If the world is full of love, perhaps we can avoid eventually destroying it. And ourselves with it.”

The crystal beside Brick seemed to deepen its hum as another rumble of thunder rolled across the tundra. This new hum felt uneasy and irritated. If the crystal was a cat, then it had just arched its back and started hissing at the weather.

Brick scooted away a few inches.

“Exactly,” Melody said, though her wings drew tight against her sides. She rustled through her papers, eventually pulling out a diagram covered in complicated equations. “Frolick’s Law states that—”

Brick raised his hoof. “Quick question—did anypony else feel that? The crystal changed pitch when it thundered.”

Melody froze, her eyes widening. “You... you noticed that? You shouldn’t have noticed that. You must be more sensitive than I thought, Mr. Brick.”

He nodded towards the crystal. “Do you think it’ll be a problem?”

Melody thought for a moment. “It can’t be. The weather didn’t hurt the crystals on the airship. Besides, all the overflow batteries we’ve placed should easily absorb any small magical emissions from the storm.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Brick glanced outside again. “Not that we can do anything about it at this point.”

Melody gave a little shrug.

“Anyway,” she said. “Frolick’s Law states that, without any kind of manipulation, the natural emotional emissions of every creature must always be stronger than the emotional background itself.”

She took a moment to drink a sip of water.

“However, we know of many situations where such manipulations take place on a small scale. Think of ponies singing together. They instinctively align their emotional frequencies with actual music to create a localized zone of extremely strong emotional harmonics, which can have significant impact on the world and creatures around them.”

“In short,” Brick said. “When ponies are happy and sing together, that makes good things happen around them.”

“Yes.” Melody nodded. “That’s a good summary.”

“Makes you wonder why ponies don’t do that more often, then. At least the happy ones.”

“Well, this is where it gets complicated.” Melody sighed. “For one, this behavior is purely instinctual. Many have tried to force it, but none have succeeded.”

Brick clicked his tongue. “So, it happens when it happens.”

“Unfortunately, yes. You can think of these localized phenomena like ‘emotional weather’, while the emotional background frequency is like… the climate. The former is always temporary, local and can be manipulated. The latter changes only slowly and affects everything, everywhere.”

Melody paused for breath.

A quiet cough from Martha made everypony glance at her. The jenny fought for breath for a moment, but then she spoke. “Dearie, correct me if I’m wrong: Project Eternity is the first serious attempt to systematically manipulate the emotional ‘climate’ instead of simply manipulating the emotional ‘weather.’”

“Yes, that’s right, Lady Martha. This is where the ‘Whisper Conjecture’ comes in,” Melody said, pulling an ancient-looking tome from her pile. The binding crackled as she opened it, releasing a puff of dust that made Martha sneeze delicately.

“Sounds creepy,” Brick interjected, rubbing his hooves together against the cold. The approaching storm was adding a most unpleasant dampness to the perpetual chill.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with actual whispers.” Melody shook her head, her lavender mane falling into her eyes. She brushed it back absently, leaving a smudge of ink on her forehead. “It’s named after Dr. Ethereal Whisper, a pioneer in emotional harmonics.”

“Right, him.” Brick nodded sagely.

Melody huffed, but there was fondness in her exasperation. She turned a few more pages, then gestured at a particularly dense paragraph of text. “The Whisper Conjecture states that, logically, there should be natural resistance to any process that aims to manipulate dynamic systems that have evolved naturally. The emotional background frequency is such a system. The reasoning behind the conjecture is based on stable equilibrium theories.”

Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the gaps in the workshop’s walls. Hammerhead’s ears pricked at the sound.

“Natural resistance?” the captain asked, his eye still tracking the storm’s approach. “Is that like a defense mechanism?”

Melody chewed her lip, considering. The crystal’s hum deepened again, making her wings twitch nervously. “Not quite—defense mechanism implies we’re dealing with a living thing, which isn’t really the case.” She grabbed a piece of chalk and began sketching on a clear patch of wall. “Think of it more like... think of a branch on a freshly dead tree.”

“A what now?” Brick blinked, watching her quick, precise strokes form a simple diagram.

“Stay with me here,” Melody said, adding more details to her sketch. “The branch doesn’t think, it doesn’t act, it’s not alive. But when you try to bend it and slip off, it will snap in your face. It will appear as if it’s fighting you.”

“So,” Brick said, squinting at Melody’s diagram, “the storm on the Audacity, the yetis and this storm are like...” He made a snapping motion with his hooves. “The tree of Equestria smacking us in the face repeatedly for trying to bend it?”

“Possibly.” Melody added a few more lines to her diagram, chalk scratching against the wall in counterpoint to the wind. “Though it’s more complex than that.”

Another rumble of thunder made the crystal’s light flicker. Melody paused her drawing, watching the patterns dance across the walls until they stabilized.

“But the first storm hit before we even placed a crystal,” Brick pressed, pulling his work vest tighter. “How could the emotional background frequency—or Equestria, or whatever—know what we were planning?”

Martha leaned forward on her crate. “An excellent point, my dear. How does one explain that?”

Melody’s wings drooped slightly. “The world is a much more complicated entity than a dead tree.” She turned back to her books, flipping pages with increasing urgency. “Also, it’s just a conjecture. Maybe we’re just—”

“Unlucky?” Hammerhead cut in, his voice carrying an edge. “Once is unlucky. Twice is coincidence. But this...” He gestured towards the window where the storm clouds were gathering like an army. “This feels deliberate.

“Thinking practically,” he continued, finally moving from his post by the door, “what can we do about it?”

The crystal’s hum had grown so deep Brick could feel it in his bones. Melody glanced at it before answering.

“Not much, I'm afraid.” She closed her books with careful precision. “At least, not until we’ve activated Project Eternity and overwritten the background frequency. Once we break through the natural resistance, it should stop… slapping us in the face. So to speak.”

Brick raised his eyebrows. “So, we’re basically breaking off a branch of the ‘Equestria Tree’ or whatever?” He gave a laugh that sounded off even to himself. “Sounds kind of... evil?”

The others winced. Even the crystal’s light seemed to dim for a moment.

“It’s only natural for ponies to manipulate their environment,” Melody said quickly, her words tumbling out faster. Papers rustled beneath her nervous wings. “We take care of our weather. We change the seasons. Before Princess Celestia and Princess Luna started guiding us, we even controlled the sun and moon.”

“Look, I’m not judging,” Brick murmured, though his eyes lingered on the crystal’s pulsing light. “I’m just saying, fighting Equestria itself?” He shook his head. “That’s kinda shady.”

“Are you having second thoughts, Mr. Brick?” Hammerhead asked, taking a small step towards him. “Wouldn’t want to ask Mr. Burnt Brick, to do anything shady.”

“No, no.” Brick raised his hooves and chose to ignore the barb. For now. “Way past that. I’m already on third thoughts. Perhaps fourth? Don’t get me wrong, I’m still in, but I want to remind the present company that there might be more stable ponies than Princess ‘Makes-red-rain-in-the-night’ to engineer Equestria’s future.”

“We’ve been over this,” Hammerhead growled, taking another step. “Princess Celestia agrees with this plan. And you as a convicted criminal should—”

A violent crack of thunder cut the captain off. It sounded awfully close.

Hammerhead nodded towards the window. “Time to pack up, ponies and jenny.”

Melody visibly deflated. Her wings dropped as all the energy seemed to leave her body. “But I didn’t even get to talk about how the Elements of Harmony relate to Project Eternity.”

The wind’s howl grew even louder. The captain nodded towards the window again, more insistently. “Will have to wait until the next class, I’m afraid.”

“Hold up!” Brick pricked up his ears. “The what?!”

“You really should have read my notes, Mr. Brick.” Melody shrugged as she gathered her papers, the crystal’s light catching the ink smudge still on her forehead. “But you heard the captain. It’ll have to wait for another time.”

He looked between Martha and Hammerhead for support, but they were already heading for the door, the wind tugging at their manes. His hooves fell limply to his sides. “The... what?”

The crystal’s hum followed them out into the gathering storm, its pitch rising like laughter.

The walk to the yak shelter, though brief, was a battle against nature itself. The storm’s fury turned the short distance into a gauntlet of stinging snow and biting wind. They moved as a tight group, shielding each other from the weather. Through the whiteout, the shelter’s entrance glowed like a beacon—a promise of warmth and safety.

The difference between outside and inside the yak shelter was staggering. One moment Brick was trying to keep the snow out of his nostrils; the next, he was enveloped in warmth that hugged him like a blanket.

It took Brick’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The shelter was essentially a vast hollow carved into the permafrost, its ceiling a clever network of supports holding up thick tarps and packed snow. Ventilation holes dotted the structure, releasing thin streams of steam into the storm above while keeping the warmth contained below.

The air was thick with competing scents: the musky smell of wet yak fur, sweet incense burning in brass holders, and what smelled like every spice in creation simmering in heavy iron pots. Somehow, the combination wasn’t unpleasant. It was just overwhelmingly foreign.

Massive dungchen horns filled the space with deep, resonant tones that Brick could feel in his chest. Two younger yaks worked the instruments with speed and skill that spoke of years’ practice, their movements almost meditative.

Colorful fabrics hung from the support beams, their patterns catching and splitting the light from dozens of carefully placed lanterns. The effect transformed what was essentially a hole in the ground into something approaching a palace. Albeit one that smelled strongly of yak.

“Impressive,” Brick breathed. “The engineering involved in preventing collapse under all this snow...”

“WELCOME!” Tormand’s voice boomed over the horns. “COME! SIT! DRINK! STORM OUTSIDE, BUT HERE IS WARM!”

Looking at the gathered yaks—their thick fur adorned with intricate braids and metallic ornaments glinting in the lamplight—Brick had to admit there were worse places to wait out the disaster outside.

The storm’s rumble was barely audible here, drowned out by music and conversation. For now, at least, they could pretend the only thing they were fighting was the weather.

And pretend they did. Before Brick even knew what was happening, he had already toasted with several yaks and downed his first cup.

The tongba was surprisingly strong for something that looked like fermented tea. Its warmth spread through Brick’s chest, mixing pleasantly with the heat from the shelter and the deep vibrations of the dungchen horns.

He watched Melody and Guntram in their corner, heads close together as the griffon taught her what appeared to be some kind of dice game. Her laughter carried over the music, lighter than he’d heard since they’d arrived in the north. For once, he decided not to glare in their direction.

“MORE DRINK FOR TINY PONY?” Crompus offered, already moving to refill Brick’s cup.

“Sure, why not? Not like we’re building anything tomorrow after this weather.” He accepted the refill, observing how the yaks had arranged themselves in small groups, sharing stories and passing drinks. Some were playing games, others simply swayed to the music.

Hammerhead sat with several of the older yaks. The captain’s features had softened slightly—whether from the drink or the atmosphere, Brick couldn’t tell. He was visibly relaxing while they recounted what seemed to be epic tales of survival, judging by their dramatic gestures.

A particularly harsh gust rattled the ventilation holes, sending a shower of snow crystals dancing in the lantern light. Martha’s body convulsed with another coughing fit, worse than before. This time, she couldn’t wave it off.

“Alright, that’s it.” Brick moved closer to her, pitching his voice low. “You’ve been getting worse for days. What’s really going on? And don’t you dare try that ‘it’s just the cold air’ thing again.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t worry about—” Another cough shook her frame.

“No, I do worry about you.” Brick placed his hoof on her shoulder. “You’re always saying how Melody should take better care of herself. And here you are, ignoring your own problems.”

When Martha finally caught her breath, her voice was raspy and raw.

“Remember when I told you about that expedition? The one where we huddled in the dark, praying the gas would last until dawn?”

Brick nodded. He hadn't enjoyed it when she told her grim tale the first time. Now, surrounded by snow and ice himself, he found he enjoyed it even less.

“What I didn’t mention...” She paused, taking a careful sip of her drink. “There was a storm that night. Not like normal storms. It was... it was like the cold found cracks in your soul and poured itself in.” Her hoof trembled slightly as she set down her cup. “Ever since then, when it gets cold and especially when it snows...” She gestured vaguely at her chest. “It remembers.”

Brick shuddered. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? It’s insane to go on an expedition like this with such a condition.”

“My dear, what good would it have done?” Her smile was tired but genuine. “Besides, I’ve survived worse than a bit of winter’s revenge.”

“If you say so.” Brick put a bit more weight on her shoulder. “But remember, if you’re not around, who’ll bring Melody dumplings and tea?”

Martha smiled.

“TINY DONKEY MUST TELL STORY PROPERLY!” Crompus’s voice cut through their quiet conversation. “IS TRADITION! TELL ALL, SO ALL CAN LEARN!”

Martha’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“IS TRADITION!” several other yaks echoed, banging their cups for emphasis.

Despite her obvious exhaustion, Martha straightened herself. Even in illness, she was a brilliant performer. She began the tale again, this time in Yakish, her voice rising and falling dramatically. Though Brick couldn’t understand most of the words, her gestures painted the story clearly enough—the desperate huddle in the dark, the wind’s endless howl, the gradual diminishing of their heat source.

The dungchen players softened their music as she spoke, creating an eerie undertone to her words. When she described the cold seeping into their bones, she wrapped her forelegs around herself, and Brick could have sworn the temperature in the shelter dropped a few degrees. Her voice cracked several times, interrupted by coughs, but she pressed on, turning her weakness into part of the performance.

The yaks leaned forward, entranced. Even Melody and Guntram had paused their game to listen. When Martha finally finished, ending with a gesture that somehow conveyed both victory and lasting scars, silence fell over the shelter.

Then Tormand raised his cup. “YAKS WILL CHERISH YOUR WORDS AND KEEP THEM CLOSE. TASHI DELEK.”

“TASHI DELEK!” the whole room echoed back, and everyone took a drink.

As the applause and toasts for Martha’s performance died down, she turned to Brick with a glint in her eye. Brick immediately didn’t trust it.

“Of course,” she announced in a voice meant to carry, “we simply must hear one of Mr. Brick’s stories next. He has such... interesting experiences to share.”

“NO MORE STORIES FROM TINY DONKEY! NOW BUILDING PONY TELL STORY!” Tormand agreed enthusiastically.

Brick took another gulp from his cup. “Really, I don’t think—”

“BUILDING PONY! BUILDING PONY!” The chant spread through the shelter, accompanied by rhythmic stomping that made the lanterns swing.

Brick didn’t mind being a storyteller. Only trouble was, all his good stories were related to Quick Sketch in some way or another.

He took another sip of tongba. Only way out was through.

“Fine, fine!” Brick held up his hooves in surrender. “You want a story? I’ll tell you about the time I burned down Lord Brass Bits’ warehouse.”

After Martha translated his words, the stomping stopped. Even the dungchen players paused to stare at him.

“Now, first thing you gotta understand,” Brick continued, warming to his audience, “is that this stuck-up unicorn had the worst security I’d ever seen. Seriously, it was like he was asking for it.” He gestured expansively with his cup. “Second thing—he absolutely deserved it.”

Martha translated rapidly, her own eyes sparkling with interest despite her fatigue.

“See, the Royal Guard had just finished telling me there was no way somepony could have deliberately started the fire that killed my partner.” He glanced towards Melody. “‘Impossible,’ they said. ‘Implausible,’ they said.”

A familiar anger rose in Brick’s chest, and he noticed that he was gripping the wooden cup so fiercely that it had started to bend and was in serious danger of cracking.

Just as Brick felt like the anger was about to burst from him, he lifted his gaze and saw his friends looking back at him. Yes, they were his friends. Three cups of tongba deep, hiding from a snowstorm in a yak shelter in the middle of nowhere, he was ready to admit that. Probably it was the alcohol, perhaps it was something else, but just like that, his anger vanished.

He shook his head, placed a sly grin back on his muzzle and took on a mocking upper-class accent. “So, I figured, hey. Why not show them exactly how ‘impossible’ it was? A ‘proof of concept’, if you will.”

As Martha translated, the yaks leaned forward, clearly appreciating both the tale and its spirit.

“Spent three weeks planning it. Made sure the place was empty—triple-checked that part. I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

He paused for dramatic effect, noting with satisfaction every head in the room was facing him. “Then I recreated the exact same conditions I suspected were used in our project’s fire. Down to the last detail.”

He described the technical aspects with professional pride, explaining how he’d calculated wind patterns and structural weak points. The yaks nodded amongst themselves. Good engineering was good engineering, even when applied to arson.

“Should’ve seen their faces when it went up.” Brick chuckled, though he himself could hear the edge in it. “Suddenly my theory wasn’t so ‘implausible’ anymore. Worth every day in the dungeons.”

He raised his cup. “Plus, Lord Brass Bits really was one pompous ass.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Martha gasped in theatric shock.

Brick put up his hooves defensively. “No offense to our floppy-eared cousins.”

She poked his belly a few times. “Some taken, Mr. Brick. Some taken, indeed.”

“AND BUILDING PONY SURE WAREHOUSE EMPTY?” Gruntwig asked.

“Absolutely. Did three sweeps of the building myself. Like I said—crazy, not stupid.”

“GOOD STORY!” Tormand announced. “REVENGE IMPORTANT! BUT MAKING SURE NO HURT INNOCENT MORE IMPORTANT! YAKS WILL CHERISH YOUR WORDS AND KEEP THEM CLOSE. TASHI DELEK!”

“TASHI DELEK!” came the general chorus, followed by another round of drinks being passed around.

Brick caught Hammerhead watching him. For once, the captain didn’t comment on his casual admission of crime. Instead, Brick saw something else in that scarred face. It might have been understanding.

“Well then.” Brick turned to Hammerhead with an exaggerated flourish. “Surely our esteemed captain has some tales that aren’t classified?”

Hammerhead’s eye narrowed as he considered. Finally, he nodded.

“Ever hunt a dragon?”

The shelter grew quiet. The dungchen horns softened to a low thrum.

“This was many years ago, during my first diplomatic mission to Griffonstone. Young dragon causing trouble along the border.” His voice took on a distant quality. “Not a child, but not full-grown either. The kind looking to make a name for themselves.”

Martha translated, her voice still rough but carrying the gravity of the tale. The yaks settled in.

“We were supposed to be there on a peace mission. But you know how griffons are.” Hammerhead glanced towards Guntram. “Peace isn’t exactly their style. Next thing we knew, we were part of a hunting party.”

He described the strategy—how they’d select their fastest flyer as bait, someone agile enough to dodge dragonfire and sharp enough to lead the beast where they wanted it.

“Sky Dancer was our bait that day.” Something flickered through Hammerhead’s distant eye. “Never seen anyone fly like that. She’d dart just close enough to enrage the dragon, then weave through its flames like she was dancing with them.”

The captain adjusted his eyepatch as he recounted the chase. “The rest of us waited in the clouds, watching. It’s difficult. To just watch, while your squadmate plays tag with a dragon.” He took another drink. “Every dodge, every near-miss. You want to help, but you can’t. One wrong move would spoil the ambush.”

His voice remained absolutely flat as he described Sky Dancer leading the dragon through a narrow valley, how close those massive claws had come to catching her.

“Dragon was so focused on catching her, it didn’t even notice us until we were on top of it. Griffons from above, pegasi from the sides.” He demonstrated the maneuver with his hooves. “Hit hard, hit fast, make it hurt.”

Through the tonga’s haze, Brick thought he caught… something. An edge to the captain’s voice, perhaps, a shift in how the lamplight caught his teeth. For just a heartbeat, the soldier’s face seemed different, hungry somehow. But the moment slipped away, and Brick was unsure if he’d seen anything at all.

“Did the dragon leave?” one of the younger yaks asked through Martha.

“That’s one way to say it.” Hammerhead’s expression darkened. “But not before...” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Well, let’s just say I learned why you don’t volunteer for bait duty twice.”

A heavy silence fell over the shelter. Several yaks touched their protection tokens.

“Sky Dancer made it,” Hammerhead added quickly, noting their concern. “But she never flew again. Some scars you can’t see.”

“TO SKY DANCER!” Tormand raised his cup. “BRAVE PONY! YAKS WILL CHERISH YOUR WORDS AND KEEP THEM CLOSE. TASHI DELEK!”

The toast was echoed around the shelter, dungchen horns swelling to match the moment.

“You know,” Brick said quietly, so only Hammerhead could hear, “for somepony who lectures me about violence, you sure got some whoppers of your own.”

“Different times,” Hammerhead replied. “Different reasons.” His eye was focused on a spot far away.

“Still, I do know how it feels to be powerless to help the ponies we care for.”

“I know you do, Mr. Brick.”

“Did you really burn down that warehouse, Mr. Brick?” Melody’s voice beside him made Brick jump.

The motion made him spill the remains of his tongba all over Hammerhead’s back, but that only elicited an annoyed grunt from the captain.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ponies like that!” Brick wagged his empty cup in front of Melody. “But yes, it’s all true.” He tilted his head from left to right. “Well, mostly true in any case. Some details might’ve been embellished. Or omitted.”

Melody chuckled. Her joy rang with the same bright clarity as morning bells at Canterlot University.

“What about you, Sketchy—” He quickly shook his head. “Ah… I mean Melody. Of course. Sorry. Don’t you want to tell a—”

Brick backpedaled, tried to play it off; but using that name on Melody had clearly struck her just as much as it rattled him. Within seconds, her expression transitioned from surprise, to shock, to utter sadness.

Before Brick could react, or say anything else, she had already turned away and joined back up with Guntram. Brick considered following her, but figured he would just mess it up again. Suddenly he was angry. At his newly refilled cup of tongba, at the way it made his head swim. Sober Brick would know what to do.

“GRUNTWIG HAVE STORY!” The elderly yak announced from somewhere. Brick welcomed the distraction.

“WHEN GRUNTWIG YOUNG, GRUNTWIG GET CAUGHT IN VERY BAD STORM.” He gestured at the ventilation holes through which the wind still howled. “VERY LIKE THIS STORM.”

He paused to ask Martha for the right Equish words to continue his story.

“YOUNG GRUNTWIG THINK HE VERY SMART. THINK HE WALK AROUND STORM. BUT STORM TOO WIDE, TOO FAST. STORM CATCH GRUNTWIG FAR FROM VILLAGE.”

“What did you do?” Hammerhead asked.

Gruntwig grinned. “DO WHAT YAK MUST DO. TURN INTO STORM!”

Brick almost spit out his drink. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

“WHEN STORM CATCH YAK, ONLY ONE WAY HOME—THROUGH STORM! NOT AROUND!” He stomped for emphasis. “YAK WALK AGAINST WIND, THROUGH SNOW. HARD WALKING, BUT SHORTER TIME IN STORM.”

The other yaks nodded in understanding, while the non-yaks listened intently. Gruntwig consulted with Martha again.

“YAK FUR VERY GOOD!” Gruntwig patted his thick pelt proudly. “SNOW STICK TO FUR, MAKE SHIELD FROM WIND! ALSO, YAK KNOW HOW READ SNOW, EVEN IN STORM.”

Brick stole a quick glance towards Melody. She had retreated back into her corner with Guntram. Looking at her, Brick could see the sadness hadn’t left, but rather had made itself at home. It lived in the quiet corners of her smile now, more like a longtime roommate than an unwelcome guest.

Gruntwig went on to describe how he’d used the wind’s direction to navigate, knowing his village lay parallel to the storm. How he’d recognized the texture of the snow beneath his hooves. Certain patterns meant he was staying on track, others meant he’d strayed.

“MOST IMPORTANT IS YAK KNOW WHEN TO STOP!” He looked meaningfully at the younger yaks. “WHEN SNOW TOO THICK TO SEE HOOF IN FRONT OF FACE, YAK DIG! MAKE SNOW CAVE, WAIT FOR WORST TO PASS!”

Gruntwig explained how he’d survived the night in his makeshift shelter, using his own body heat to create a small, warm space in the snow, while the height of the storm passed over him.

“NEXT MORNING, STORM WEAKER. LET WIND GUIDE YAK HOME!” he concluded. “NOW GRUNTWIG TEACH YOUNG ONES—RESPECT STORM, BUT NOT FEAR STORM. KNOW WHEN TO FIGHT, KNOW WHEN TO WAIT.”

“That’s actually... really practical,” Brick admitted. “Though I still can’t believe you walked straight into it.”

“SOMETIMES SHORTEST PATH IS THROUGH WORST WEATHER,” Gruntwig said sagely. “BUT ONLY IF YAK KNOW WHAT YAK DOING!”

“TO GRUNTWIG!” Tormand declared, raising his cup. “TO YAK WISDOM! YAKS WILL CHERISH YOUR WORDS AND KEEP THEM CLOSE. TASHI DELEK!”

The rest of the evening dissolved into a kaleidoscope of impressions: the constant deep resonance of dungchen horns, the warmth of shared company, fragments of other stories that might or might not have been told.

But one moment stood out with absolute clarity—when the music suddenly stopped.

The silence hit like a physical blow. Through the haze of tongba, Brick registered Melody and Leroy exchanging a look of pure horror. They were moving before anyone else had processed what was happening, scrambling towards the entrance and clawing at the snow that had begun to seal it.

“What—” Brick started to ask.

Then came the explosion.

They emerged into the storm just in time to see one of the overflow batteries erupt in a shower of crystal shards, its light splintering across the snow like frozen lightning. The sight was beautiful in a terrible way—rainbow fragments catching the storm’s fury, refracting it into many patterns before vanishing into the white.

“No, no, no,” Melody’s voice carried barely above the wind. Her eyes darted between the remaining batteries, each pulsing with an increasingly erratic light. “This shouldn’t be happening! The storm! It’s too much magic! The weather itself must be charged with it!”

Another battery’s glow intensified dangerously.

“The dungchen!” Martha called out through chattering teeth and a rib-shaking cough. “Bring them out!”

The massive horns appeared, their players quickly taking positions around the site. Under Melody’s frantic direction, they began to play—not music exactly, but pure tones that wove through the storm’s magic like threads through fabric.

And they kept playing.

They worked in shifts through the last hours of the storm, fighting magic with music while the wind slowly died.

When dawn finally broke, half their overflow batteries lay in ruins, their fragments glinting in the fresh snow like fallen stars.

Brick watched Melody examining the remains of a battery, her expression grim despite their success. She glanced up at him briefly, and he saw that same flash of sadness as from the shelter.

His chest tightened.

He knew that he had messed up. Messed up badly. Messed up worse than just calling her by the wrong name. By the stars, it was so difficult to think. All he knew was that there were words that needed saying, questions that needed to be asked. But not then. Maybe not ever.

“How bad?” he asked instead, though he already knew.

“We saved half of them,” she said quietly. “But...” She glanced at the two growing crystal pillars. Their light was more erratic than Brick was used to. “I’m not sure if that’s going to be enough.”

Thirty-five days until pickup. Forty-eight days of coal. Ten days of gas.