Of the first five minutes Tempest Shadow spent upon arriving in small and unassuming Celestial Hill—high up in a mountain, not so far from Canterlot, advertised on the brochures as a retirement village—one of them was for assessing the town's defenses. Another was for talking with the receptionist at the local inn or bed and breakfast. The next two were for rallying the total double-digit population to protect themselves from the apocalypse.
Then, an old face takes up the last minute: Derpy Hooves, a familiar mailmare. She's been serving the Ponyville post office for over thirty years, recognizes Tempest for taking on some mail delivery jobs together while she'd just started out wandering all over Equestria again, finding a new purpose in life after the Storm King's defeat. Her wings remain as strong and as enduring as ever, carrying this sixty-something-year-old mare over mountains and valleys, down the rivers and up the rails. A true Pony Express, if there ever has been one.
But she panics. So does everyone else, despite Tempest's drills in her impromptu boot camp of muddy ditches and strenuous push-ups. The newscaster on the TV in the inn says it's less than a day until magic disappears on Princess Twilight's orders, and the receptionist relays more bad news: the nearby train station is out of commission. "Fizzle, it's my daughter," Derpy confesses sincerely, using and remembering Tempest's old name. "I want to take an express ride to Manehattan to see her before it goes away, but I don't know."
"She's all grown up, right?" Tempest asks. "You told me she's in the police force. 'Faithful to death?'"
"Oh, Fizzy..."
"Right, right, my bad." She turns to the rest of the crowd—residents of elderly homes, tourists trapped with nowhere to go, scant security for a two-star vacation spot where some of the grass is fake, all about to be swept up by the loss of magic—watchable on TV soon. They exchange glares and glance at horns and wings even when Tempest orders them to fall in line and to follow her every word.
Tempest scavenges the inn and the other lodges for radio equipment. Communications, radio—checking frequencies, hearing the chatter of the airwaves. Cheap and mass-produced, the devices now find themselves slung around most ponies present. Those advanced in age ask questions; the answers come out rehearsed from Tempest, her throat straining under its own age.
Then in the middle of Derpy's break from her patrol route mandated by Tempest, Tempest herself finds no rest. The TV's loudspeakers says it's hours until the princess does the deed. They repeat the facts: "...magical alleged alicorn Opaline behind this latest danger to Equestria... having gained much power from the chaos of dividing the tribes, she says that unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies were better than each other thanks to their special abilities... with this plan, the threat of Opaline will be contained along with many of her followers..."
"What if I try to talk to Manehattan?" Derpy asks. "I can contact Dinky on the radio."
"You can try, but it will take a lot of work," Tempest says. "She's busy corralling the chaos over there. The place is a big city." She hoofs her some equipment teeming with knobs and screens and an antenna that sticks out an inch too long.
Derpy fiddles with the black box, trying to achieve the right frequency. From the noise, words filter in—Canterlot is entering lockdown, Tall Tale is facing an emergency. Manehattan is crackles, echoes, and white noise. What breaks the monotony is an official announcement commanding everyone to stay indoors and wait for further instructions. "They don't look at you nicely," Derpy then says much later when there's less than an hour to go.
Tempest takes a look and assesses everypony else. They're hopped up in the toughest clothes they can find, withering under her gaze. Most follow their patrol routes, overseeing their space with makeshift weapons like spears and javelins, as well as an attempt at crafting a catapult. Defensive structures are under construction, hammers and power tools firing away at stone bunkers made with the wood of torn down sheds and abandoned attractions like water slides and a six-hole golf course. "Yeah, how can you tell?"
Derpy looks to the side. Tempest notices her smile has never faded. "You just came into this town and acted like you owned it?"
"If the mayor hadn't bailed on them when Twilight broke the news, things would've been different. Not that most of these ponies have any experience dealing with this anyway."
"Oh, but don't we all have experience? We fended off Chrysalis, Tirek, and Cozy! Then we befriended half the bad gals that come around!"
"That's because you always win in the end."
"Yeah, and that's true! Sure, we didn't know we were gonna win this time, but the day is always saved. It might come very late, but if we don't believe the day will be saved, what's the point?" She smiles wider now. "Maybe this Opaline pony can be redeemed, too!"
"Or 'stoned to death' like the Legion of Doom. If only Twilight had the guts to go through with a nation-wide marehunt."
"Fizzle!"
But Tempest glances at her watch. Derpy's break ends soon, and Tempest herself goes back to checking on everypony. Where have they gone? What do they see? Any monsters or other threats to neutralize?
Clouds darken the sun's rays, the first sign of Twilight's ceremony, so says the news. Tempest's assigned guards watch the perimeter, mindful of the sharp drop below that would've been perfect for skiing in the winter. The ceremony itself is broadcast on live TV, with everypony watching—Derpy's face glued to the screen, Tempest with half of her body outside for the sake of safety and watching over Celestial Hill.
Promises about harmony and friendship enduring forever and ever are made. The clouds on camera then darken into pitch, uncomfortable black. Tempest covers her broken horn, its light fading and being sapped into the air. Distant screams echo in, coming probably from pegasi too late to find a place to land. The wind picks up from a fresh mountain breeze to something approaching a gale.
"I barely know anyone out here," she later says in the harsh wind, shoveling dirt with a flightless Derpy with eyes freshly red from magic's loss. Her own personal loss.
"It's fine! You can still be friends with them, right?"
Tempest nods. Another shovelful for the bunker; this now has to double as a hurricane shelter, everypony digging to the rhythm of hooves in sync. "Remember the Hearth's Warming story, Derpy? Ponies fighting each other, windigoes going around? It's gonna be those days again."
"But the windigoes are magical, so they'll not appear!" Her smile now seems utterly contagious.
"Yeah, and what does that make us? What happens when we're left to our own devices?"
"At least without windigoes, we can be friends much easier during the terrible winter. They won't be stalking us and making us starve or worse!"
Tempest's shovel hits hard rock. She pauses to consider. "What makes you think that will automatically make things easier? Because I've seen the opposite happening firsthoof for outcasts like me. I'm to blame for what I've done, but even now, so many years later, many ponies can't understand why I accepted the Storm King's offer. Not just don't understand, but can't. I saw their faces when I threw them into the cages. They were sad, but it was a 'hopeful' kind of sad. They never had friendship, harmony, or anything fail them so badly in their lives, they'll be fine staying in a cage for a whole day."
The shovel hasn't moved from that hard rock. Derpy then leans in. "I thought you changed, though? Friendship did save the day in the end, right?"
"I did change. I've had my time with Glitter Drops and Spring Rain. I spent time with Princess Luna and a few other former villains. Doesn't make it any less true when I say we haven't learned a thing."
They return to muscle-straining work, heaving dirt to make way for more shelters, killing off historical structures so their materials can be repurposed for more bunkers despite the protests of several long-time Celestial Hill residents. The aging demographic's complain that it's "ruining their fair and free town." They contend with Tempest pointing out the bad weather outside and the radios blaring out bad news after bad news—Las Pegasus under lockdown, Baltimare closing its ports, the Crystal Empire going silent since their magic shield fell apart and the snowstorm of the century rolled in.
"We should try asking Canterlot again," Derpy asks while carrying a plank, laying down the stepping stones for just one more bunker. Her bones groan under the weight. "Or going to Canterlot."
Tempest sighs, carrying a plank with her. She feels the cracks and crunches; the amount of years crosses her mind. "Why are you obsessed with Canterlot? What happened to worrying about your daughter?"
"I'm still worried sick about her, but Manehattan's gone bad on the airwaves, so I want to see if Twilight and the others are okay! If they're okay, then things will be alright. Also, I heard tons of my friends from Ponyville made it to Canterlot before they abandoned it."
"It'll be much harder now, Derpy."
"But you travel a lot!"
"I can trust myself in a fight."
"But what about trusting me in a fight? I've traveled far and wide!"
"What did you fight, exactly?"
"Oh, you know, the usual! A few monsters when we go through a forest sometimes or if there's a magic cave. Ponies respect the mailmare uniform!"
"Not even bandits? Or somepony trying to steal your delivery?"
"That's more of a monster thing. We're Ponyville ponies! We deal with monsters every week! I had a lunch break with one of them once."
Each plank is laid up, and whatever can be melted and crushed into almost-concerete is formed into solid bunkers left to dry in whatever dry spots can be found, hidden away from the budding storm. The ears of the whole town listen in to the radio, Derpy and Tempest fiddling with the controls. Notes are taken on which settlements have fallen. A map taken from the inn, detailing much of Equestria, is then riddled with x's, names and dots crossed out every time the response is static.
"How much...?" Derpy begins saying in the evening, eating in the inn. She can tell it's evening thanks to the clock. Though the fires keep her warm, the weather outside howls, full of fright. "How much food are we gonna have left?" She is relaying the same question said by a frightened tourist. From Manehattan, the accent tells.
"Enough for a few weeks," Tempest replies.
"More than enough time for the princess to get on her case," an elderly mare whines. "I remember when Sandbar and his friends defeated that turtle thing! That took a week!"
"So the total loss of magic is somehow better than a giant enemy turtle?"
"Or Princess Flurry Heart defeating the eternal blizzard the pegasi caused!" cries out someone with the shimmering coat of a Crystal pony.
"How do you know you'll bounce back from this soon?" Tempest asks.
"Friendship always does!"
"We're preparing for the worst-case scenario. If a few weeks go by and nothing gets better, what will we do then? You'll have to work your sorry legs up and start running because you'll run, you'll fight, you'll move from one place to the next looking for food."
"Stop fearmongering!” a stallion cuts in. “Is this how a lucky unicorn like you subdued the locals when sucked up to the Storm King for your precious horn?"
"At least I have the spine to save everypony from certain death!"
"Fizzy!" cries out Derpy, and Tempest looks at the old, familiar mailmare. The crackling, fading fire highlights the creases in her eyebags.
The inn's former receptionist rallies everyone's attention, distracting them from the probable heart-to-heart between the two. "Let's have some more of the rations and talk about our feelings while they hash things out, hmm?" she half-plead, and so everyone else empties the room.
"I thought I could see her," Derpy then says. The dying embers crunch like hardtack or expired biscuits. "So I can set everything right. They say, 'get your affairs in order.' I've sent some of those letters. Letters telling loved ones that somepony died. I did it early on, even my first year on the job. I was so young, back then...." But the words are loud enough for the not-so-far-away crowd of ration-eaters to listen in if they try.
Tempest takes her in slightly, pulling her with her forelegs. "Why are you saying this?" Only now does she stop and notice, too, the gray streaks in Derpy's usually blonde mane. They shine like silver, blending in sometimes with her coat.
"Dinky's almost forty. Everything's falling apart. I didn't expect things to be this... chaotic. I thought about... what is it, Fizzle? When plants wither away?"
"They decay, they grow old. You've been feeling it, huh? Midlife crisis long before the magic emergency?"
"Yeah, and those elderly ponies remind me of it. They remind me a lot." She looks up to see the stars flickering, disappearing as thunderclouds wrench them out of sight.
"So you don't want to huddle up like them and just wait for the end?"
"That sounds a little mean."
"I'm not wrong, Derpy."
Catching announcements on the radio later on, Derpy watches the old mares and stallions listening in along with the rest of the crowd. They continue to their glares on one another, eyeing more horns and wings as each station responds with silence. The wall of white noise has closed in to consume Rainbow Falls then Appleloosa. Barely discernible words reach out to them from Dodge Junction: anarchy, punctuated by the rule of sheriffs and bandits against unicorn supremacists.
Derpy closes her wings tight. Her mailpony shirt keeps the wings warm and cozy. There are pockets where she can also keep them hidden or closed. The others look at her, remarking about how she's one of "them."
Tempest is on the side, talking to the receptionist. She's still harsh. Gives a few spears to her along with a badge. Probably fake but the air of authority is there. Afterwards, Tempest whispers into Derpy's ear after a short walk: "What do you say about going?"
"Going where?" Derpy asks.
"Canterlot. We bring these ponies down to one of those long lines to the city. They'll be safer there, waiting for their turn to enter and get some real shelter."
A few calls and commands later, they trek down treacherous paths with recently installed railing. Passing by broken down trains and carriages, the receptionist raises a concern about the elderly not able to hoof it for much longer. Tempest commands everyone to carry them up a wagon and pull, and so at the front, Tempest marches, and everypony still spry and springy steps and marches together until they reach the train station. Graffiti fills the walls with rumors and conspiracies. One talks about how Princess Twilight is hoarding every public service in Canterlot, leaving the rest to die. Pamphlets were made to prove that point. Some of them have illustrations of wings, horns, and muscles (or soil with growing plants) crossed out.
At the crest of a rolling hill, the heap of a burning derailed train stands. Wisps of smoke say it's a recent crash. From this high up, Canterlot can be faintly seen in a soft spot of cool weather. The approaching storm clouds will soon steal this sight, too, from their view. Lines of ponies, of all tribes, wait. They can hear a few distant arguments.
They're dropped off at the nearest available line, right at the back where there's still a dozen kilometers to go, wait, rest, eat, and sleep in. Guards in both police and knight uniform brandish their weapons. Those distant arguments are now inches away, ready to spill over the moment they intervene. "Serves you right to have your sinful horn broken off!" "Why are you using the weather to hold us hostage?" "I am not having a tribe traitor take us back to the days of the Storm King!"
The plan is to let the receptionist represent the whole town—she's stayed calm, shows some care. A good head on her shoulders. The outsiders Derpy and Tempest then retrace their steps back up the hill. The burning husk of a train has smoldered away into ash heap, a mound of ruin. A few colorful dots in the distance spot them, rushing their way, screaming insults and threats. The two retreat to the train station, then further still—the smoke wafting out of Celestial Hill brooks no good news about its latest visitors.
Having fled from every sign of mountain or hill, they follow a raging river down to a deep, dark forest. Rocks surround them. The still wind picks up, and the trees sway. Branches fall in abundance, and a tent is made thanks to Tempest's experience: leaves on branches, a few plastic bags, and some nails and a hammer.
"What do we do now?" Derpy asks. Her voice shakes and stutters. Then the tent sways—the wind howls once more.
"What do you want?" Tempest replies, cramped inside, her own graying mane stuck on a zipper before pulling it out.
"I... want to look forward to Dinky. Find out if she's safe."
"And then what? What happens after that?"
"I... I don't know. I just... I...."
The world outside isn't much. The embers of a stillborn campfire remain fiercely against the world. "I want to see Twilight. I want to see the princesses. The Elements. If I can't see Dinky, I want to see them."
"You saw the line. That place will explode if we waited long enough. They'll tear your wings apart. It's like old Klugetown."
"It's... no, I don't want to believe that we've gotten so bad, right?"
"We have. I've seen ponies capable of shunning you outright. They're that bad, and they just.... How could we be so fragile?"
The answer doesn't come. She simply hugs it out, dragging Derpy close to her. Tempest's years in the wilderness, wandering the land, condensed and compressed into a tightening hug. She feels the sagging coat of a pony approaching the twilight years.
"I don't know," Derpy says. "You said something about... cakes, parties? A long time ago? I thought cakes and parties were our thing! But now... now, I don't know."
"If what you ponies needed were some hard friendship lessons, then I insulted you wrong," she says with a chuckle, trying to defuse the tension. The screaming wind makes the job difficult. "You weren't full of patty-cakes and parties. Everypony's breaking down because of a couple rumors some evil alicorn made."
Derpy lies there. One of her last victims as the Storm King's right-hoof mare just lies there and she hugs her tighter still. Softer than stone and obsidian. Somepony to have and to hold. "So what do we do, Fizzle?"
The howling outside scratches at their failing ears. "Where do you wanna go, Derpy?"
The ground rumbles; a far-away tree just fell. "I'll—no, we'll go to Manehattan. Find Dinky."
The world flashes white—lightning rends the air. "Then what?"
"We'll... we'll see if she's safe."
"Then what?"
Derpy looks further, bawling her eyes out. Any vision beyond the camp darkens, plastic bags for doors blurred by a swarm of murderous water drops from the great eternal untamed storm.
Tempest holds on tight.
