And Yet They Lived On

Time Since the Death of Twilight Sparkle: 135 years

Spike walked away from the graves of his friends, his heavy steps muffled by the soft patter of rain. The drizzle didn’t bother him; it never did. This walk had become part of his routine, a solemn pilgrimage through memories and silence. With each visit, he pulled weeds, wiped away dirt, and murmured conversations to the stones as though his friends could still hear him. He lingered a little longer at Twilight's grave, as he often did—not because he thought she deserved more care than the others, but because time had taken its toll on the stone. Cracks spidered across its surface, weathered and worn, but nothing a touch of molten iron couldn’t mend.

Spike sighed, his breath forming faint wisps in the cool air. He hadn’t seen Discord much since Big Mac had passed 43 years earlier. The sturdy stallion had defied time for decades, but even the strongest eventually faltered. Spike smiled softly, remembering the quiet strength of Applejack’s brother. Discord had taken the loss hard, though none hit him as deeply as Fluttershy’s passing. Fluttershy had clung to life for as long as she could, but when her time came, she had gently asked Discord to let her go. The draconequus had been reluctant, of course. If it had been his choice, Fluttershy would have lived alongside him forever. But even chaos had its limits.

Spike chuckled under his breath, though it wasn’t truly funny. The absurdity of it all—the way time marched on, unyielding—was a bitter kind of irony. He continued down the path, his towering frame casting a long shadow in the dimming light.

The Carousel Boutique soon came into view, its once vibrant colors now dulled by age. Sweetie Belle and the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders had long since moved on, and their absence left the building feeling hollow. But now, without Rarity, it felt like an echo of what it had been. Spike paused at the doorway, the weight of nostalgia pressing on his chest. He tried not to dwell on how empty it all felt. After all, he had prepared himself for this—knowing he would outlive nearly every pony he had ever loved. But even preparation didn’t make the silence any easier.

Inside, the air was still, the creak of the floorboards under his weight the only sound. Spike moved carefully, his massive claws too large for many of the delicate tools and fabrics that Rarity had once used so effortlessly. He kept everything in good condition, though he dared not touch the framed photos on the walls. They were far too small for his claws, and he feared damaging them. He smiled wistfully at a picture of the six friends together, their faces frozen in a moment of laughter that felt both distant and immediate.

A knock on the door broke his reverie. Spike opened it to find Discord standing outside, a small scarf wrapped around his arm. The scarf was far too small for Discord’s neck—it had been Fluttershy’s—but he kept it close to him nonetheless.

“Welcome, old friend,” Spike said, stepping aside to let him in.

“Thanks, Spike. I really needed someone to talk to,” Discord replied as he entered, his voice carrying a weariness Spike hadn’t heard in years. Discord gave the dragon a once-over and added with a teasing grin, “Wow, I still can’t believe how much of a stud you’ve grown into.”

Spike chuckled and gestured to his towering frame. “Yeah, I guess I am pretty big now. Don’t think I’ve stopped growing yet, but I feel like I’m getting close.”

Discord nodded, his grin softening. “Careful, though. You’ll crash right through the floorboards if you keep at it.”

Spike shook his head with a smirk and busied himself preparing drinks. He poured coffee into Discord’s cup and hot chocolate into his own. “Never got the appeal,” Spike admitted after a sip of the warm drink. “Coffee just makes me miserable.”

Discord shrugged, taking a long sip of his own. “It keeps me going,” he said, his tone unusually somber.

Spike frowned, setting his mug down. “You know,” he began cautiously, “we haven’t seen the princesses in years. Maybe we should pay them a visit. I think it’d do us both some good to remind them that Equestria still has a dragon and a draconequus holding the fort.”

Discord’s eyes lit up, a flicker of his old self returning. “Dragon and draconequus,” he corrected. “Very different, you know.”

“Same difference, chaos king,” Spike teased with a smirk.

Discord grinned mischievously. “Not really, small fry.”

They shared a laugh, the sound filling the Boutique with an echo of warmth that it hadn’t felt in years. When the laughter subsided, Spike set his mug down and said, “How about this? Stay here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll head to Canterlot together. The princesses will get a kick out of seeing us.”

Discord stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Yes… yes, that does sound like a good idea. Perhaps a little chaos is exactly what they need.” He glanced at the scarf on his arm and added quietly, “And maybe what I need too.”

Spike smiled warmly. “Then it’s settled. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Discord nodded, the faintest hint of gratitude in his mismatched eyes. “Thank you, Spike. I’ll be here.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in hues of orange and purple, the two old friends sat in comfortable silence. The weight of years lingered around them, but for a moment, it felt lighter.

Tomorrow would bring a reunion, a step forward through the echoes of time. But for tonight, they rested, knowing they still had each other—and the memories of those they loved—to carry them through.