Trailside Banquet

Castle of Friendship - nightfall

The atmosphere in Twilight’s castle lab was stark. Once a place of endless curiosity, filled with the sounds of discovery, now felt cold and sterile. The two mares didn’t say much to each other as Twilight worked at the workbench. Pinkie sat on a stool a few feet away, still flipping through Starlight’s journal - something meaningless to keep her mind occupied. To keep her thoughts of the recent events at bay.

The only sounds that echoed in the castle’s halls for a few hours were metal scraping against metal, the hum of Twilight’s magic, and the occasional crackle of energy. Twilight levitated the disassembled parts of Pinkie’s old party cannon. The familiar blue metal glinted faintly as she worked with practiced precision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Pinkie spoke softly. “This could have saved them.”

Twilight’s magic faltered as the statement caught her off guard. She paused briefly before continuing her work. Her eyes remained focused on the cannon’s modifications as she replied, “You can’t know that, Pinkie. We had no way of predicting what would happen.”

Pinkie laughed bitterly at the statement before continuing to flip through the journal in her hooves. “I should have known, though. I’m always the one who’s prepared, right? The one with backup plans for the backup plans? Secondary cakes, emergency streamers, surprise balloons. But I wasn’t prepared for this. And now, they’re gone.”

Twilight looked at her friend, dark circles around her tired eyes. She set down the cannon pieces and approached Pinkie slowly, her hooves making soft clicks against the crystal floor. She looked at Pinkie with a shared sadness as she responded. “You’re not the only one who feels like that, Pinkie. I keep thinking that, maybe if instead of the Elements, I casted a different spell or if we’d reacted faster--”

“No.” Pinkie cut her off, shaking her head. She glanced up at Twilight, and for a moment their eyes met. Within that moment was the old Pinkie - the one full of warmth and laughter - flickering behind her eyes. But she was gone as quickly as she had appeared. “No, Twilight. It wasn’t just you. We all messed up. We went in thinking we could handle this, and we couldn’t. We weren’t prepared.”

There was a long pause between them. The silence felt heavy, like they were back in the Zone. Back to witnessing Starlight and Spike’s deaths. Back to being pulled in by the orb. Twilight hesitated, her mind racing for the right words to ease both their pains. But she knew there weren’t any.

She instead held up the modified cannon - now a makeshift rifle - and spoke once more before returning to the workbench, “I just need to make a few more adjustments, Pinkie.”

Pinkie, not wanting to sit anymore, stood and walked over to Twilight’s side. She watched as Twilight pieced the rifle together with precise movements that only magic could do. Every click and twist of metal resonated in the stillness of the room. When the final piece slid into place, Twilight handed the rifle over to the pink mare.

“It’s done.” she said, her voice almost hollow.

Pinkie stared at the rifle for a long moment, her eyes tracing every curvature, every detail. It was sleek, the party cannon’s familiar colors were bright and vibrant. The design, still largely a cannon, was enhanced with a long barrel and a reinforced frame for accuracy. A scope was welded into the top, to give the rifle the ability to aim more precisely. A sigil was inscribed in the back of the cannon - the containment spell noted in Starlight’s journal. Starlight intended the spell to be a means of deterring an anomaly. Twilight modified the written spell’s strength and enhanced it to not just deter or immobilize, but kill.

A tool of joy turned to an instrument of violence.

She took the rifle from Twilight’s magical grasp and cradled it close to her chest, like a foal clutching a treasured toy.

“I’ll take care of it.” Pinkie whispered, her voice barely audible.

Twilight watched her, feeling the weight of what had transpired between them. She wanted to say something - to reach out to the pink pony, to tell her that they were still friends. That this wasn’t the end. But she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she nodded, her own heart heavy with the knowledge that their friendship was no longer what it once was.

Their friendship, once bright and unbreakable, now hung by the thinnest of threads. And they both know that even the slightest pull one way or the other could snap it entirely.

Pinkie broke the weighted silence, her voice steady and devoid of her usual cheer. “Thank you, Twilight. For this.”

Twilight swallowed the lump of grief in her throat, and spoke back, her voice, too, devoid of any happiness. “You’re welcome.”

Without another word, Pinkie turned and left the lab, the rifle she mentally dubbed the “Party Popper” slung onto her back. The sound of the door opening and closing behind her echoed in the empty castle walls, leaving Twilight alone with her thoughts.

Twilight found herself staring at the Cutie Map. At the symbol floating above it. She hadn't just helped Pinkie build a weapon. She had built a wall - a wall between them, separating what was from what could never be again. She crumpled into a ball on her throne, and sobbed herself to a restless sleep.